Tag Archive for: drabble

Animalady

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by Jasiah Witkofsky

What the hell are these kids watching?!

I flip on the tube after my sons scurry off to finish their homework.

A blinding series of flashes and I nearly spill my brewski on my crotch. Damn kids!

The voices of some bratty teens squeals over the worst music I have ever heard.

For some reason, a wide-eyed, pink-haired punk starts a fight with a demon. Up-skirt shots and so much blood…

My boys should know better than watch this shit! And what’s with all the tentacles?

These damn kids are gonna be the death of me.

 

R.I.P.

Marvin Gaylord

1975-2023

 

Jasiah Witkofsky

Jasiah Witkofsky is a philosopher-gardener who spends his off hours penning dark speculative fiction and swashbuckling tales of daring and adventure. He resides at the foothill base of the magical Sierra Nevadas of Northern California with his merry band of rascals and rapscallions. His works can be found in more than ten publishers, magazines, and journal companies from all over the English-speaking world.

Facebook: @jasiahwitkofskyauthorpage

 

Am I Pretty?

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by Don Money

The task force had found the monster’s lair after months on the trail of the kuchisake-onna, The Slit-Mouth Killer, as the papers dubbed her. The investigation had consumed Captain Suto, the bloody images were a web of scars in his mind.

Suto’s department issued .38 Special revolver looked out of place amongst the weapons of the Special Assault Team. He followed the breach team in but was immediately pushed back outside.

The officers meant to shield him, but it was too late, the captain saw the body of his daughter under the red smeared “Am I Pretty?” on the wall.

 

Don Money

Don Money writes stories across a variety of genres. He is a middle school language arts teacher. His stories have appeared in a variety of anthologies.

 

 

All Over

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by JB Corso

Thomas floats away in bloody chunks towards their subterranean nest. Bits of his ear, sections of his tail, and several whiskers are carried away after their workers methodically snip each bloody piece away. Memories of his guttural whining hang within my tortured mind like mangrove tree seeds. The locals warned me about the outback’s jack jumper ants. I should’ve listened. Instead, they’re beginning to close in around my rock sanctuary. My refuge shrinks as they begin jumping closer like an excited ebony mass of finality. Thousands of golden mandibles clicking together near my open-toed sandals. Each tiny pincer advances closer.

 

JB Corso

JB Corso is a mental health clinician who continues to work with vulnerable populations. Their writing motto is “Developing stories into masterpieces.” They’ve been published several times in The Siren’s Call and are a Horror Writer’s Association (HWA) member.

 

 

A Siren’s Pitcher

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by Rowan West

She called to me from the jungle, a voice more beautiful than the moon itself. I was compelled to follow. She was exquisite to behold, perched on the ridged edge of a wellspring, its shape the most feminine thing I’d ever seen: a green and wine-coloured teardrop with a gorgeous canopy rising up behind. The beauty beckoned, invited me into that sweet smelling vessel. Unbelieving, I rose to her, and slipped over the lip into the pool. It was warm…So warm! And as the nectar enveloped me, I saw that canopy begin to close; and then I knew.

 

Rowan West

An Aussie-American, Rowan West is an award-winning screenwriter who grew up moving around as a child. He has lived on three continents, in three countries, in eight states, a parish and a region, one of them four times. He has worked as an actor, writer, designer, and enjoys studying psychology.  

 

Deathly Hitchhiker

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by Maggie D. Brace

Blindly, my capitulum squirms, seeking the sweet spot as I splay my grasping palps upon this hairy creature. Sensing throbbing hot blood, I gnash my chelicerae, slicing a channel into moist flesh. Legs akimbo, I jut my torso at an angle, lower my hypostome, and begin to satiate myself. I eject the anticoagulants that suppress all defences. For days, I alternate between feeding and pulsing out my toxin filled spittle. Slavering onward, I trace the life-giving juices transverse my foregut, as my body slowly engorges. Satiated, I release. Dropping downward, I can only pity the paralysed hiker’s throes of death.

 

Maggie D. Brace

Maggie D Brace, a life-long denizen of Maryland, teacher, gardener, basketball player and author attended St. Mary’s College, where she met her soulmate, and Loyola University, Maryland.  She has written ‘Tis Himself: The Tale of Finn MacCool and Grammy’s Glasses, and has multiple short works and poems in various anthologies.  She remains a humble scrivener and avid reader. 

 

Beware the Thylarctos Plummetus Tour

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by Lisa H. Owens

Mr Smith had one unticked item on his bucket list: to capture an elusive Drop Bear, one last hurrah with which to punctuate his life story. He dusted off his passport; forty-eight hours later, was deep in the rainforest of the Great Dividing Range with a tour guide called Jiemba. He was provided protective gear: a helmet of welded forks and a slathering of vegemite repellent behind both ears, but was so intent on watching the dense canopy above, shouting, “Here bear-bear-bear,” he marched into the arms of a murderous gympie-gympie. His liquified remains shipped home in a ziplock baggie.

 

Lisa H. Owens

Lisa H. Owens, an author residing in North Texas with two motley rescue dogs, has been published in several anthologies and various media outlets, including a two-year stint as a monthly humorist columnist. She credits her success to the support and mentorship of the late, great Steven Lester Carr. Her stories are often inspired by true events, usually including private jokes and family nicknames.

Website: www.lisahowens.com.

 

Welcome to (Deadly) Australia

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by Geoff Hart

Welcome to Oz! Good on you for ignoring the slander that everything’s out to kill ya. Funnel-web spiders? Easily avoided. Keep feet and fingers out of dark, enclosed spaces, like bedsheets. (Kidding! They almost never infest bedsheets. Almost.) Don’t fret over copperheads either; taipan’s more likely to do for ya. Don’t step on anything long, thin, and brown and you’ll be right, mate. Blue-ringed octopus? They never come ashore to hunt humans; they’re too worried about the taipans and spiders. And the salties? They’re real. If you don’t see any Aussies swimming, don’t dip a toe. Nasty buggers, those crocs.

(With thanks to Matt Stevens for an Australian reality check.)

 

Geoff Hart

Geoff (he/him) works as a scientific editor, specialising in helping scientists who have English as their second language publish their research. He’s the author of the popular Effective Onscreen Editing and Write Faster with Your Word Processor, and has sold 58 stories thus far.
Website: www.geoff-hart.com

 

Three Lads in a Pub

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by Tim Law

“Mate, I call bullshit. We’ve got the deadliest spiders, snakes galore, even killer koalas and you’re telling us the thing you fear the most is a bird?”

“Yep, the cassowary, seen it firsthand.”

“So, what’s so scary?”

“Beady little eyes that you just can’t trust, horn on its head that can run you through.”

“Fair enough mate, sounds pretty deadly.”

“The worst thing is the claws, massive ones on its feet. It can jump a metre and a half, and then with a kick it rips you open from neck to navel.”

“Bloody hell.”

“And all for a banana.”

“Vicious.”

 

Tim Law

Tim loves drinking with mates. He hates cassowaries though, ya can’t trust the beady eyes.

 

Rosemary

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by Megan Larson

“It’s called a lobotomy,” the doctor explains. “Your father thinks this is for the best.”

Embarrassed by my outbursts, Father abandoned me in Bedlam with only my memories as solace.

I’m sorry, Daddy.

He tightens the leather straps confining me to the chair and grabs a knife. Warm blood oozes down my face. “Count backwards.”

“10, 9, 8…”

I remember the sun’s warmth kissing my skin and waves crashing. Taste the salty air and listen to my siblings’ laughter. Mother’s gentle, beautiful face.

“5, 4, 3…”

The ocean evaporates. It is silent and cold.

He stops cutting.

“Rosemary?”

Who’s Rosemary?

 

Megan Larson

Megan Larson lives in Indiana with her husband, adorable dog and treacherous parrot. She writes fantasy but wants to explore horror and sci-fi. 

 

Patient Update

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by Corinne Pollard

“Doctor, how fares my elder brother? He’s been locked inside for five years now. Is he cured? Will he take back his inheritance?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Your brother continues to show odd behaviour and disturbing symptoms like scratching at walls, screaming, attacking himself and others.”

“Pity.”

“Rest assured, we will find the right treatment for him. In the meantime, sir, have you detected any disturbances of the mind?”

“Me?! None whatsoever. How dare you! You forget your place.”

“Apologies, sir, but we believe it can run in the family and it would explain why you’re here, talking to yourself.”

 

Corinne Pollard

Corinne is a UK disabled horror writer published in Sirens Call and Trembling with Fear. Follow her on Twitter: @CorinnePWriter