Tag Archive for: drabble

Hospital Corridors

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by Dale Parnell

 

The nurse at the main desk said my father had been moved; G-ward, at the other end of the hospital. I had missed visiting hours, but they said the rules were relaxed for certain patients. I knew what they meant.

It’s surprising how quiet a hospital can be.  Long corridors with cold fluorescent tubes flickering overhead. Naked, abandoned beds, stripped of warmth and comfort.

Once or twice I thought I heard footsteps, but I never saw anyone.

When I finally arrived at my father’s ward, the duty nurse gave me the news, and I understood whose footsteps I had heard.

Dale Parnell

Dale Parnell lives in Staffordshire, England, with his wife and their imaginary dog, Moriarty. He writes fiction, mainly fantasy, science-fiction and horror, along with the occasional poem. He has self-published two collections of short stories and a poetry collection to date, and is featured in a number of excellent anthologies. You can find Dale on Facebook at www.facebook.com/shortfictionauthor

 

Dared

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by S. Jade Path

 

Her friends had dared her to enter the ward. She was young, brash, invincible—foolish. Her breath chuffed out. Teenage pride.

The wind wended through the shattered halls; a remnant of laughter, and a memory of screams.

A shriek of tortured metal and the scent of old blood rise into the air where her hands settled on one of the bed frames rusting in the gloaming.

Her eyes skimmed the scarred floors, littered with detritus.

In the corner, empty liquor bottles surround a wilted mattress. Mostly hidden by a shred of faded blue denim, her skull stares back at her.

S. Jade Path

S. Jade Path is a fledgling author of small fiction and a prolific creator of dark poetry. She has had a life-long obsession with crawling into the depths of the psyche and forging shadows into words. Her work parallels this penchant for delving into the fantastical and strolling amongst demons. https://www.facebook.com/SJadePath

A Nice Long Soak

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by Mike Rader

 

I heard them climbing the stairs. Tourists. Mayday Hills Asylum attracted the morbid to Beechworth.

I waited on the second floor of that Victorian pile. In the bathroom. Where each tub has a sturdy wooden cover. Back in the day, only an inmate’s head was visible when the attendants poured scalding hot or freezing cold water over the poor unfortunate locked inside. Shock treatment, they called it.

Two kids entered. Gawking.

“Bet they screamed,” the boy said.

“Gross,” the girl said.

I smashed their heads together, bundled them into a bath, locked the lid.

Boiling hot water did the rest.

Mike Rader

James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet.  He writes horror and noir fiction under the pseudonyms Mike Rader and JJ Munro.  As James Lee, his horror and mystery stories for middle readers are bestsellers in Asia. His work is featured at www.flameoftheforest.com

Where the Dead Things Are

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by L.J. McLeod

 

Wendy hated the morgue. As the hospital’s night cleaner, it fell to her to keep it spotless. But that didn’t make it any less creepy. The silence felt heavy and the smell of cold corpse hung in the air as she mopped. Tonight’s storm only made it feel more oppressive. Lights flickered periodically and she could hear the thunder rumble through the walls. Her heart began to race at the thought of being trapped down here in a power outage. Sudden darkness filled the room, making nightmare reality. A cold hand seized her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You’re never alone here.”

L.J. McLeod

L.J. McLeod lives in Queensland, Australia. She works in Pathology and writes in her spare time. She has been published in several anthologies and has been nominated twice for the Aurealis Award.  In her spare time she enjoys diving, reading and travelling.

Fleeting Fame

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by Colleen Anderson

 

Daiyu gasped. This rare discovery—a complete warrior’s burial chamber—ensured her career trajectory.

She pulled a carved jade amulet off the leathery mummy’s chest. The lantern flickered, the chamber echoing with more than falling water. Howling whooshed up the tunnel. Misty apparitions sliced her like freezing knives as she tried to block their access to the sarcophagus.

Slashing with archaeological picks did nothing as they dived into the shrivelled warrior’s form. Clawlike fingers twitched.

Taking the lantern oil, she doused the rousing body. Daiyu dropped a match, and flames cleansed everything, consuming the zombie.

There would be other finds.

Colleen Anderson

Colleen Anderson writes fiction and poetry, and her works have appeared in such publications as Polu Texni, Pulp Horror Book of Phobias, On Spec, and Cemetery Dance. A Body of Work was published by Black Shuck Books. She lives in Vancouver, BC, where she watches for mermaids and mould monsters.

Bartender Lobotomist

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by Jodie Angell

 

A sharp wind whistled through the forest. The abandoned bar’s shutters rattled. Leaves fluttered through the open door to join the broken glass. Fluorescent light flickered.

A blown transformer snuffed the last of the light.

The bartender downed a shot of Tequila, then descended into the cellar; her makeshift practise.

She grabbed her finest knitting needle and twisted it between her fingers.

Her captive fought against his leather restraints—his screams muffled by the wad of cloth in his mouth.

She clamped his head against the chair and pressed the needle into his eye. “This may hurt just a little.”

Jodie Angell

Jodie lives in rainy Wales, United Kingdom with her partner. She drinks lots of flavoured coffee—pumpkin spice is her favourite. She has a passion for the high fantasy genre, and her debut novel is due for release on April 15th with Champagne Book Group. She’s recently expanded her writing repertoire to cover dark fiction which she thoroughly enjoys. She’s now officially a part of the BHP family (yay!)—her first contribution was written for Hell. https://www.facebook.com/Jodie-Angell-Author-102185304807211

The Diner

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by Tracy Davidson

 

Manager and monster struck a truce.

It was easy enough, in an out-of-town diner, to drug an on-foot drifter or a hitcher in between rides. Easier still to escort them out back, leave them unconscious in a dark corner, hidden from the highway.

Like this vagrant, tonight.

The manager retreats. He watched once. Never again.

The monster smells fresh meat. It’s hungry. No prey comes near his territory anymore. It prefers human flesh anyway, however seldom it appears.

It bites…slashes…gorges on gut and gore.

Before morning, the manager will clear the mess away. As a good brother should.

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, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

Last Words

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by John Lane

 

With zombie apocalypse nonstop on mainstream news, Don, terminal manager for Moe’s Truck Stop, unplugged the television.

Greg Watson staggered inside, repeatedly mumbling, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Outside stood Greg’s reefer trailer—the constant shaking was a red flag. Inhuman moans reverberated throughout the parking lot.

When Don walked over, he noticed the trailer side’s convex impressions of human-sized hands.

He peeked through the small rectangular door. Four stiff and slow, pale figures in torn clothes kept walking into walls.

Back at Moe’s, Don handed the keys back to Greg. Don’s last words? “I can’t do this anymore, either.”

John Lane

John Lane’s fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Black Hare Press, Ghost Orchid Press, Rejected Manuscripts, Dark Dossier Magazine, Trembling with Fear, The Drabble and other venues.

John’s story, “Dimension Traveler,” tied for Rejected Manuscripts’ third most voted entry out of 130 stories in 2020.

The Helpful Attendant

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by Stephen Johnson

 

The neon bulbs flickered, casting a foreboding crimson shadow outside the isolated truck stop. I pulled to a stop on fumes, staring inside at the solitary light portraying only the back of a head visible in the store. Cautiously, I walked in and entered a surreal silence that engulfed me. I turned to the register to see a mangled bloody severed head staring back at me positioned on the counter with a devious smile placed on its lips. I felt a putrid cold breath slide across my neck and a gravelly voice whisper in my ear, “Can I help you?”

Stephen Johnson

Stephen Johnson is a retired Naval Officer serving 22 years on four different ships over his career.  He is married to his wife, Angelia, and they have two children, Logan and Isabelle. He plans to complete his first novel, The Fizz Prophecy, by the end of March 2021. He has published “The Hollow” in Eleanor Merry’s Dark Halloween Holiday Flash Fiction Anthology and “The Other Side of the Mirror” in Scare Street’s Night Terrors Volume 8.

Full Service

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by Andrew McDonald

 

It was 3 a.m. when the 18-wheeler pulled into Phil’s twenty-four seven rest stop. Phil’s was a massive and all-encompassing set up—restaurant and store, gas pumps, car wash, efficiency units and showers—basically everything a trucker needs.

 Pulling up to the car wash area, an attendant ran to the truck and hopped up onto the wide step. The driver asked for the premium full service and went to shower and change his bloody clothes.

 The attendant removed the mangled corpse from the cab, to be disposed of later, before doing a deep clean. The driver tipped well, as usual.

Andrew McDonald

Andrew McDonald lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada with his wife and daughter. His short story “First Visit” was included in Pulp Science Fiction from The Rock by Engen Books.