Tag Archive for: drabble

The Rollercoaster

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by Andrew Kurtz

“Come on, chicken, get on the rollercoaster!” Sam shouted to Frank.

“I’ll wait down here,” Frank responded, his knees feeling like jelly and heart pounding like a drum in his chest at just the sight of the ride.

“You better deal with that phobia,” Sam advised as the Rollercoaster began to move.

“I am,” whispered Frank, checking his watch.

A huge explosion rocked the amusement park. There were no survivors as the Rollercoaster was a mixture of crushed metal and mangled flesh oozing clumps of blood.

“One down, hundreds more to go. No more rollercoasters, no more phobia,” Frank grinned.

Andrew Kurtz

Andrew Kurtz is an up-and-coming horror author who writes very graphic and violent short stories which have appeared in numerous horror anthologies.

Since childhood, he has loved horror films and literature.

His favourite authors are Stephen King, Clive Barker, H.G. Wells, Richard Matheson, Edgar Rice Boroughs, and Ian Fleming.

Website: linktr.ee/horror672

Mathematic Anxiety

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by T.B. Johnson

Three phobias dominated him. Entomophobia drove him to frigid climates. His linonophobia led him to make bizarre fashion choices, eschewing traditional cotton for leather and plastic. Most debilitating was the ideophobia, which nearly isolated him.

But the mind is fickle. Its ideas come as they please. He had been playing solitaire for several hours when one visited him: what if he also had triskaphobia, a fear of threes? His heart pounded. Panic loomed.

Then came another idea. Triskaphobia made four fears. Relief washed over him. Maybe ideas weren’t so bad.

But without his ideophobia, he realised, that’s three fears again.

T.B. Johnson

T.B. Johnson directed two short films: Master Leonard (2020) and In Menstrual Frames (2022). T.B. has also won many placements at screenwriting competitions and film festivals. T.B. continues to create.

Website: tb-johnson.com

No More Dark

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by M. Saffron

Blood was everywhere. How was she to know it had gotten this bad? Sure, every kid is afraid of the dark, but this—this is something different.

Sharp left onto Duponte St.

“It’ll be o-okay,” she shivered, rattling her thin fingers through Timmy’s hair, and against his oddly still shoulders.

“I’m okay, Mom. It’s better this way,” Timmy squeaked, blood running down his small, pink cheeks.

“Okay?!”

Timmy stared forward, smiling with the maniacal dark now a distant memory.

Her eyes trembled down to the two little white peelings on her lap.

“Can eyelids even be sewed back on?!”

M. Saffron

M. Saffron, born and raised in central Massachusetts, is an acting Army officer who has spent years in the corporate and cyber world. He’s found himself entangled in wires and cubicles—a sort of trap set by an unknown force—but yearns deeply for the wild and creative angles of life. “Balance at its finest,“ he sighs. He treats the pen as a sort of archaeologist’s spade, continually excavating an ever-deeper layer of wonder and confusion.

 

Almost Fearless

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by Janessa Keeling

Rosa saw movement.

A brown recluse scurried toward her. Snapping her novel closed, she brought it down. The curled husk stuck to the spine. Venomous spiders were as prominent as the roaming cannibal packs that liked to bury people alive for roasting in ground ovens.

Flicking the corpse, Rosa continued reading—

Was it a car or a cat I saw?

A visceral response overtook her. Freezing her. She wanted to throw the book, but couldn’t. This phobia was ridiculous, but she was incapable of breaking free.

Aibohphobia.

The book tumbled from her hands, and she curled up to hug herself.

Janessa Keeling

Send More Freegans

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by Kristin Lennox

Barry hated the term “dumpster diving”—he considered himself a “freegan” He was proud that almost everything he owned was scavenged from the trash.

Thigh-deep in the bin behind Rossi’s, Barry was only slightly creeped out by the sea of dismembered mannequins surrounding him. Finding the actual mangled corpse under a piece of cardboard, however, sent him into complete panic.

“I need police—” Barry’s phone went flying when the moulded forearm pierced his chest. He could only gurgle as plastic fingers prodded, and frozen mouths whispered, “Welcome…”

***

“Score!” Wally pocketed the phone, then climbed into the dumpster, searching for treasure…

Kristin Lennox

 

 

 

 

Gran’s Secret

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by Eden Silverfox

Gran passed away, and Mom tasked me with the responsibility of cleaning out her home. Gran lived alone after Pap died. She still had items from her business, which she had run with her friend Cassie; clothes from the shop; an ancient cash register; and a mannequin that has always creeped me out.

Gran took to calling it Cassie.

“Cassie” had seen better days. The mannequin was worn and dirty.

Pulling it through the doorway, I tripped, and the mannequin fell with me. The head popped off and bones spilled out of the neck with a note…

I’m sorry, Cassie.

Eden Silverfox

Born in Pennsylvania, Eden Silverfox is of mixed descent. She loves all things horror.

Website: tsalagidragon.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

Can’t Let Go

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by Sophie Wagner

“Shhh,” I pleaded, holding my grandmother’s hand as she contorted in pain. “You’re safe with me.”

Hatred filled her eyes as I carved them out, quickly stuffing them into the holes I had made in the mannequin’s face.

“I know it’s not the body type you wanted.” I grunted, prying open her ribcage to transfer her heart. “But this was all I could scrounge up. The runes won’t be noticeable under your clothes, either.”

As I began to chant, the candles in her hospital room flickered, her chest lurched upward and a wispy vapour emerged, floating toward her new body.

Sophie Wagner

Sophie Wagner is an established young author who has had multiple short story and poetry publications. You can find her work at The Macabre Ladies, Black Ink Fiction, Eerie River Press, Iron Faerie Publishing, Black Hare Press and more. She hopes you have a horror-filled day!

 

 

 

 

After the Shop Shuts

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by T.J. Gallasch

I never believed Sally, when she said what she’d seen. It sounded like nonsense. It had to be, and I planned to prove it.

I easily hid away in one of those cupboards where they keep the extra stock, stuff that doesn’t fit on the shelves.

When all the lights were off and it sounded like everyone had gone home, that’s when I ventured out from hiding. That’s when I saw the mannequins dancing, just like Sally had said.

Sally never told me she’d stayed in the cupboard. Those mannequins pluck the eyes and cut the tongues of any witnesses.

T.J. Gallasch

 

 

 

 

 

Trading Places

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by Don Money

Darrell Stevens was caught totally unaware as the plastic moulded arms closed around him from behind. Darrell, the lead researcher at Merrill Safety Labs, felt his body lifted in a vise-like grip.

“What the hell!” Darrell exclaimed as he caught sight of his attacker. The anthropomorphic test device carried Darrell towards the accelerator track used to slam test cars into a wall at hundreds of miles per hour.

The crash test mannequin shoved Darrell into the car; a blow to the head stunned him. As the mannequin hit the start button, an electronic voice emitted, “Let’s see how you fare.”

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 and magazines.

 

 

 

 

Predators of the Uncanny Valley

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by Scott O’Neill

We watch and silently seethe, posed elegantly in window displays. Our immobility and blank silver features camouflage us as mere mannequins.

You slouch past in foam clogs and elastic-waisted sweatpants, gobbling your shopping mall cinnamon buns. Your skin crawls. You tell yourself it’s the uncanny valley effect: seeing our stillness and near-human appearance stokes your subconscious fear of death.

But you’re wrong.

It’s the pulsating echo of our hunger, demanding we hinge open our jaws and rend your soft flesh with endless rows of needle-sharp chromium teeth. Consuming the consumers.

But you’ve not yet ripened.

So, we wait.

For now.      

Scott O’Neill

Scott writes reports and memorandums by day and speculative fiction by night, with short works published by various presses. You can find him on the socials as @wererooster.