Tag Archive for: drabble

ADikT

/by

by Liam Hogan

“There’s a new video game, ADikT, available on the darknet. We think it’s killing users.”

Anders half-rolled his eyes before catching the chief’s stony gaze. “What’s this one do? Drag players into the game world? Inflict the virtual damage they get there on their real bodies?”

“We’re not sure. Hence: a case for you.”

Anders plugged in. The menu was limited, but the game wasn’t; a MMRG, with emphasis on massive.

Five hours in, he still hadn’t found the danger.

Twelve hours.

Thirty-six hours…

Ninety-six hours and no sleep, food, drink, or toilet breaks later, ADikT claimed its next victim.

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, who dabbles in drabbles.

Website: happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

Unplugged

/by

by Greg Schwartz

“Josh!” His mom stomped into his room. “I’ve been calling you.”

“Sorry, Mom. Trying to kill this monster.” Josh feverishly manoeuvred the controller, his face contorted in concentration.

“You’ve been playing all day,” she said. “Time to turn it off.”

“Two minutes,” Josh pleaded, eyes never leaving the screen.

She yanked the power cord. The screen went black.

“Mom!” Josh’s face paled. “You don’t understand—”

“Next time, listen when I…” Her voice trailed off. “What was that?”

Far away, there was a thud. Then another, closer.

Thud. THUD. The floor shook.

THUD. THUD. The windows rattled.

Josh whispered, “Run.”

Greg Schwartz

Greg Schwartz writes speculative fiction and poetry. He lives with his wife, children, and dog. No spiders.

Sucked In

/by

by Tracy Davidson

He starts his missing son’s latest game. Something to distract him from constant worry, to see what his son played that day.

Graphics have changed since his childhood. His avatar walks through a post-apocalyptic landscape. Bodies burning, animals scavenging.

Far ahead, a faint figure jumps up and down, screaming at him to run.

Something drives him forward. The figure sharpens. His son’s avatar, disconcertingly realistic, even wearing his brand-new trainers.

“Dad, you should have gone back,” it says, tears on claw-marked cheeks.

But there’s no going back in this game…

At home, a worried mother reports her husband missing too.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Black Hare Press, Modern Haiku, Femku Mag, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

Nobody Puts Baby in the Deleted Items Folder

/by

by C. A. Fulwell

LifeLike: Kelly’s favourite game since age fourteen. So much joy in the virtual family. No pain. No “stupid fucking mistakes.” Just love.

After a mistake at twenty-two, she had Emily. Alone. No matter.

A little Emily joined LifeLike. Kelly didn’t remember making her, but loved them both.

Months passed. No money. No sleep. No help. Time to pull the plug on the LifeLike subscription.

Little Emily appeared next to the delete button. She stared at Kelly.

At Kelly.

“No, Mama.”

Sleep deprivation. Kelly readied the mouse.

“Mama?”

Emily!

Pain peeled across her ankles. Emily raised the knife again.

“No, Mama.”

C. A. Fulwell

C. A. Fulwell is an author from Oxfordshire, England, where he lives with his wife and two young children. His work can be found at 101 Words, Black Hare Press and in the inaugural Black Spring Press CrimeBits. When not writing, he can be found avoiding most temptations, or thinking about writing.

Instagram: @caf.writer


Immersive Gameplay

/by

by Jonathan Tolstedt

Teri wasn’t prepared for what she found in the apartment the biohazard company sent her to clean.

The corpse was still sitting on the edge of his couch, mummified, clutching the controller in rotting hands. There was a horrific grin frozen on his face; empty eye sockets locked on the still active display. She had to break his fingers to take the controller. She turned to set it down when she noticed the game responding to her movements.

“Huh,” she said. She pushed the hood of her hazmat suit back, sat down next to the corpse. “Maybe a quick game.”

Jonathan Tolstedt

Jonathan Tolstedt is a patent agent by day and evolving writer by night. He has previously published a short horror story (2018) and had three of his 100-word horror stories accepted for publication in recent Dark Moments calls for Black Hare Press (2024).

Educational Games

/by

by Randall Andrews

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Chester hooted softly and toggled the windows on his laptop. A moment later, the doctor stepped into the room, accompanied by a stranger.

“Hey, buddy,” the doctor said. “How’s Tetris?”

Chester hooted again and signed a response. Level 5.

“That’s great.” Then, turning to the stranger, the doctor said, “The neural-enhancers are working. He’s learning so fast—faster than any other chimp could.”

Casually, Chester returned his hand to the laptop, hiding the tab for his paused game of Mortal Kombat. He was learning a lot. Soon enough, they’d find out just how much!

Randall Andrews

Randall Andrews is the author of two books, Finding Hour Way and The Last Guardian of Magic, which won the National Indie Excellence Award. His shorter works have appeared in places like Abyss & Apex, Space & Time, Mystery Tribune, and Sci-Fi Lampoon. Check out the books at:

Website: thelastguardianofm.wix.com/author

The Herald

/by

by Dei Walker

In her headlamp’s dim light, Mirrim traces the shapes on the ancient stone wall. They resemble claw marks more than runes, but she tries to speak them anyway. She shapes sounds and twists her tongue around impossible syllables with growing ease. Her fingers catch on jagged stone, slicing skin.

In the subterranean darkness, something moves. Her injured finger pulses. The marks glow as the sounds grow ever louder, an arrival accompanied by gusts of cold, stale wind.

We’ve been gone so long, something whispers longingly in her skull. They made us leave. We will reward you for bringing us home.

Dei Walker

Dei Walker a linguist, fibre crafter, and author living in China. A queer speculative fiction and romance writer, her stand-alone short stories have been published by Duck Prints Press. She has short stories published/forthcoming in their Many Hands and A Truth Universally Acknowledged anthologies as well as Inkd Publishing’s Impulse anthology.

 

 

 

Resilient Relics

/by

by P.S. Traum

Alicia pointed as the archaeologists entered the labyrinthine Amazonian temple.

“See? These ancient ruins predate Mayan, Olmec…”

Vik shrugged. “Why build in dark caverns and cliffs under dense jungle canopy?”

“Nocturnal? Look, these murals depict an extremely violent culture… My God. Cannibals?”

As she stared upward, Alicia stumbled on a pile of skeletons. Human. Bloody filth soiled her hands.

“It’s still inhabited! They’re not extinct!”

Deathly pale naked women sprang out of side tunnels. Their lanky, muscular bodies were covered in tribal scarring. Vik screamed as claws and fangs tore into him. Enormous eyes glared madly at the fresh prey…

P.S. Traum

P.S. Traum is an author with a range of styles who has had short stories published in several small press genre publications. Traum eschews publicity in the hopes the storylines and characters get all the attention without preconceived perceptions of external context.

PST writes speculative fiction. Traum prefers to remain invisible, allowing the storylines and characters to remain free of distractions or perceptions. Forthcoming: a story collection with three dozen fiction stories published since 2020.

 

 

 

Rapid Colonisation

/by

by D.R. Forge

Locals called the mushrooms that grew on the sacred resting place of their goddess “The Flesh of The Lady.” Maya was curious.

“Beautiful, but the natives won’t go,” William warned Maya, winking. “Let me take you.”

And he did. To an unmarked, overgrown grave, thinking she wouldn’t know the difference. The jungle was full of mushroomed graves. Massacres.

Places William’s ancestors had renamed in bloodshed.

He leaned in close, besotted. Ravenous. Maya caressed William’s cheek.

And he screamed.

Mushrooms blossomed over the man’s head. Golden, pulsating—

Flesh-eating.

Maya watched William become bones.

Then she slipped her skin on again.

Awakened.

D.R. Forge

D.R. Forge writes horror in the city that never sleeps. Forge spends their days hunting for cryptids, and nights hanging out with their Sphynx cats, Hannibal and Will Graham. They are anchored by a loving spouse who provides the daily stoking they need to weave their chilling tales.

Website: drforgeauthor.com

 

 

Finding Paradise

/by

by Jeff Currier

Squeezing through the crevice, Kianu emerged into a verdant valley. Golden fish filled languid ponds. Pagodas climbed heavenward. A lost Tibetan paradise! But no inhabitants?

A breeze swirled grey powder into drifts across the stonework. Kianu rubbed some between his fingers. Ash perhaps?

Inside the largest temple, an intricate sand mandala encircled a desiccated mummy. Kianu stepped forward, knelt, reaching for its glimmering pendant.

An emaciated claw grabbed his wrist. Kianu’s skin, muscle, bone dissolved into dust. Jianshi can’t be real!

***

The qi-stealing vampire scraped through Kianu’s fading memories, searching. Ah, the way out! And beyond? So many people. Paradise!

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.