Tag Archive for: drabble

Preyed Upon

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by Evan Baughfman

Days ago, the alien Hunter sent a distress call to his homeworld, but his plea remains unanswered. Crash landing in this terrain—a harrowing ordeal.

The Amazon’s endless heat and humidity overwhelm the Hunter’s vision, his thermal imaging. Panicking through an unwelcoming environment, he stumbles across cold-blooded foes. Vipers. Anacondas. Caimans.

Retreating from aquatic reptiles leads to painful encounters with piranhas and a bull shark.

The alien’s invisibility tech can’t hide him from mosquitoes. They’re addicted to his neon-green ichor.

Feverish, woozy, the Hunter sobs. Prays.

Faints.

Plummets from a tree branch perch, again crashing to earth.

Stupid, inhospitable Earth…

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays.

 

 

 

 

Observations Made While Paralysed By A Bite From An Amazon Coral Snake

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by Jaime Gill

You could scream again.

Your lungs are still moving, after all. Just. But there are no humans nearby, only beasts.

You’d scream anyway, if your limbs still worked and you could run or fight. But only your lungs and heart are moving now.

Your pinned eyes watch nature’s cruel, ceaseless carnival. A python swallows a still-twitching iguana. Swarming ants besiege a writhing centipede.

The photography that won you fame depicted jungles as paradise, but this is a savage hell. Everything doomed to be eaten—dead or alive.

You hope your heart stops before you know which fate is yours.

Jaime Gill

Jaime Gill is a British-born writer living in Cambodia, whose stories have been published by Litro, Tulsa Review, Pinky Thinker, In Parentheses, Beyond Words, voidspace, Write Launch and others. Several stories have been finalists for awards including Masters Review Annual Award, Bridport Prize, Rigel Award, and Plaza Prize.

X: @jaimegill

 

 

 

In Search of Monsters

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by Kristin Lennox

No one believed it existed.

After three seasons of “Cryptid Quest,” we could stretch strange noises and unexplained heat signatures into hour-long episodes; no actual creature required.

But that stench—not even my producer could have faked it. Then the howl that echoed through the Amazonian canopy…

The upside? I have Pulitzer-prize-winning footage, proof of the mythical Mapinguari: I kept filming as the one-eyed beast massacred the camp, disembowelling the crew with its sloth-like claws.

True, I’m bleeding out, but the camera’s still running—the creature just gave the lens a curious lick with the gaping mouth in its belly…

Kristin Lennox

 

 

 

 

Cabin Fever

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by Bridget Holland

Leanna hunkers in the torn-off tail of the plane, watching the afternoon downpour fill her plastic containers. She peels foil from one of the remaining meals. Larvae move.

So hungry.

“Protein.”

She forces herself to swallow.

Raindrops pound the fuselage. Vines with blood-red flowers twine over the jungle floor, over bumps which were once passengers, over the jagged rim of her sanctuary. She hacks them off every day, then huddles damp with fear-sweat while night rustles in the trees.

Overnight, the vines grow back—closer—their flowers red and hungry mouths.

“Leave me alone!” Leanna whimpers.

Her voice cracks.

“Alone…”

Bridget Holland

Bridget’s a reader, dreamer and writer living in Australia and in her imagination.

 

 

 

Keoki’s Unfortunate Business

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by C.A. Fulwell

When Keoki lost the client in the jungle mist, he feared for his reputation, his business. That was hours ago, in daylight.

Dog-tired, he hunted for the clumsy, rich, white woman playing Lara Croft, with perfect teeth and $300 nails.

Piercing cackles from the dark triggered goosebumps on his arms. Laughing gulls—noisy fuckers.

The air grew cold. More gulls. Then whispers. Keoki froze.

A hiss. The arrow struck his calf; as Keoki buckled, breathless, the archer emerged, naked, bloodied. Cruel laughter from the trees: not gulls. More crimson nightmares appeared.

The archer drew her bow, smiling with perfect teeth.

C.A. Fulwell

C.A. Fulwell is an author from Oxfordshire, England, where he lives with his wife and two young children. His work has been accepted for publication at 101 Words. When not writing, he can often be found snacking, or thinking about writing.

Instagram: @caf.writer

 

 

Alive in the Jungle

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by Jonathan Worlde

Damp ferns conceal my position. The relentless beast draws nearer, but I’m not defeated that easily. I must survive for the sake of my unborn. This creature is gigantic, but I can play that against it. I have stealth on my side. The early jungle mist provides cover. When it passes by this tree where I perch, I can use the element of surprise, targeting a vulnerable spot.

Here it comes, close enough. I leap, my eight legs gripping tight. I’m driving venomous fangs into the human’s exposed neck. Screaming, he crashes to the jungle floor and into my web.

Jonathan Worlde

Jonathan Worlde’s novel, Latex Monkey with Banana, was winner of the Hollywood Discovery Award. He has over forty mostly speculative stories published in various journals, including Cirque Journal, Raven Review, Antietam Review and Gettysburg Review, most recently Mystery Tribune, Stupefying Stories, and Daily SF.

 

 

Sleepless

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by Patrick Campbell

Months after returning, he still awoke at night sweat-drenched with lingering dreams of the terrors that had kept him awake in the Amazon. Spiders that lay eggs under your skin. Parasites that swim up your urethrae. Frogs that paralyse you with venom.

He inspected the bite on his hand. The guide had said it was nothing, but it wasn’t healing.

He poked it.

The scab moved. Broke.

There was something underneath.

A thin black spindle emerged: a spider’s leg.

He awoke breathless. A dream. Thank God. He turned to his wife lying beside him. Eight black beady eyes stared back.

Patrick Campbell

Patrick Campbell resides in Birmingham, UK, where he writes to exercise his demons. Find more of his work at:

Website: linktr.ee/PatrickCampbellWriter

 

Foraged

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by Amy Tasillo

We’re lost, but that’s beside the point. I don’t know how long we’ve been wandering—I remember nothing before we ate the fruit. We grabbed it by the handful and ate desperately. It grew low over the forest floor, its crimson inside gelatinous and painfully tart.

Feeling dizzy, I yell, “Stop.”

The man walking ahead of me calls back, but I can’t understand a word. All I can tell is the ground beneath me is breathing. And I’m running, and the sky is green, and something is following me. And there’s no man ahead of me, and possibly never was.

Amy Tasillo

Amy Tasillo is a writer and filmmaker based in New York City. She lives with her extremely judgmental Jack Russell Terrier mix. Her screenplays and short fiction focus primarily on gothic fantasy, and she works as an educational animator by day.

 

Forbidden Fruit

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by Randall Andrews

From the look of it, the jungle Kai and I are gathering fruit in could be the Amazon back on Earth. But it’s not. Not by twenty light years.

“Have you tried one of these apple-looking things?” he asks as he reaches for a low-hanging branch.

I fail to respond because I’m distracted by a message from base camp. The scientists have finished dissecting the giant snake the soldiers killed. They’re intrigued by the bulbous red tip of the creature’s tongue, and I can see why. In the picture, it looks just like an apple.

“Kai, check this out. Kai…?”

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

Home

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by Amanda Bergloff

“You’re not my family!”

“We are now, Zuri, and when you call us, we will always answer.”

Zuri paced the floor, remembering their last words to him. Words that bound him to them.

Words that condemned him.

You’re not my family, Zuri thought when the pain drove him to his knees…his mouth fixed in a soundless scream as his bones realigned and shaped into something no longer human.

The howl that finally broke loose from him was answered by the ones in the distance, understanding his longing to join them in his new form.

Understanding his need to come home.

Amanda Bergloff

Amanda Bergloff is a speculative fiction writer who has had short stories included in anthologies published by World Weaver Press, Darkhouse Books, and Transmundane Press, among others. She lives in Denver, Colorado, and collects vintage toys and books.