Tag Archive for: drabble

Camponotus Vampiricus

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by Robert Bagnall

 

Doug sharpens Swan Vestas.  Making both ends useful, he says.  “Wait until dark.  Then you’ll see.”

We watch purple dusk turn to night through the broken sash window.

A rattle at first, then a scratch.  Doug’s flashlight scans the floor.

“Becky!”

Doug’s lit match waves a tide of them back.  I swing my miniature spear, stick it to the critter through the thorax.  It writhes.  Becky Parsons, vampire killer!

Suddenly something’s not right.  “Doug?”

By my ankles, the flashlight is carried away, turned on us.  Doug’s slumped, bitten, jerking.  I’m down to my last match.  The vampire ants have won.

 

Robert Bagnall

Robert Bagnall lives on the English Riviera, within sight of Dartmoor.  His speculative fiction has appeared in a variety of magazines, websites and anthologies since the early 1990s.

 His first novel ‘2084’ was published in 2017 by Double Dragon Publications.  He can be contacted via his blog at meschera.blogspot.co.uk.

 

Countess D

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by Robin Braid

 

“The Countess must die,” the cry went up as the crowd surged forward, “Destroy the demon.”

The flames held aloft illuminated the tree lined roadside. Creatures of the night blinked once in the glow then scurried for sanctuary. I walked among the throng of townsfolk, head hooded and bowed. They did not, could not, know my true heart.

The castle would burn that night. But come sunrise I would be gone and you would be within me, always.

I touched my neck, fingertips traced the marks there. This was your final hour, my love, but it was my new dawn.

 

Robin Braid

Robin Braid writes stories of the mysterious and macabre. A resident of Fife, Scotland, he graduated from Dundee University with a degree in English Literature. When not working in his regular job he can often be found rambling over hills and glens in search of inspiration for further weird tales.

twitter.com/robinbraid

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Carnival Nights

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by Trisha Ridinger McKee

 

Patsy was plain and blended in well at the carnivals. No one noticed if she had been at the previous town. No one thought to mention her when the authorities asked questions. She slipped in and slipped out with that plain face and those hungry eyes. The same eyes that looked away right before sweeping in for a bite. She did not enjoy the terror she evoked from the man lured behind the cotton candy stand or the young teenage boy that took her to the field for the fireworks. There was only hunger nipping where her soul had been.

 

Trisha Ridinger McKee

Trisha Ridinger McKee resides in a small town in Pennsylvania where carnival nights rule. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications including Tablet Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine, Night to Dawn Magazine, CommuterLit, Deep Fried Horror, and more.

 

The First Bite

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by Jodi Jensen

 

Lush, full, delicious lips were all he could think about. All he could focus on when she was near.

And man, she was near.

So close he could smell her coconut shampoo. See the vein throbbing in her neck as she gazed at him, breathless.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her against his body. “I’m going to eat you up.”

“Promise?” she whispered, a seductive smile curving her ruby red lips.

“I promise.” He dipped his head closer. “And I always keep my promises.”

He bit her lip, savoring her gasp, her blood, then her screams.

 

Jodi Jensen

Jodi Jensen is the author of time travel romances and speculative fiction short stories. With a passion for old cemeteries, historical buildings and sweeping sagas of days gone by, it was only natural she’d write about all the places that sparked her imagination.

Twitter: @WritesJodi

 

The Day I Died

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by Clint Foster

 

There was no warning before I died.

A sharp flash of pain, a weakness as the blood left my body, then I was tired, and I slept. I can’t say how long I rested, nor could I have guessed where I was. I remember the taste of metal and the fire in my throat and gut as I was fed. When I woke, I wondered if this was heaven, or perhaps hell. Maybe it was both, or neither, or something in between. Yet I woke, and I woke hungry, and where most newborns mewl for milk, I craved only blood.

 

Clint Foster

Clint Foster lives with his herd of four cats, his beloved Basset, Zero, and his wonderful wife, Nik. He loves to tell stories as much as he loves to read them, and hopes you like his work! Follow on Facebook: www.facebook.com/ClintFosterAuthor

 

Moonlight

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by Annie Percik

 

I am a light in the darkness, obscured by the shadows of the world. You are drawn to me by fascination and longing. You seek my brightness, shining amidst the dullness your mundane life. Witness my full unshielded splendour and you will be consumed, dying in ecstasy to feed my light. This is an experience that cannot be transcended. Fitting then that it should be your last. Your essence subsumed but living on forever. Release your memories, your loves, your pain. The stolen experiences that give my existence reflected meaning. Give up your life so that mine will never end.

 

Annie Percik

Annie Percik lives in London, where she works as a University Complaints Officer.  She writes a blog about writing and posts short fiction on her website (www.alobear.co.uk), which is also where all her current publications are listed.  She likes to run away from zombies in her spare time.

 

The Power of Love

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by Paula R.C. Readman

 

“The first bite is as powerful as love,” he whispered. Cold lips brushed mine as his stale breath caressed my neck. In his empty eyes, death lingered.

His chilling arms snaked around my waist, leaching my body’s heat.

I shivered.

The moonlight edged his fangs as he bent to take a bite. I tried not to stare at his bloodless lips as I gently manoeuvred the stake into my hand.

“No, love’s full of warmth and passion,” I said driving the stake upwards.

After I brushed the dust from my clothes, I crossed his name off my list and left.

 

Paula R.C. Readman

Paula R.C. Readman learnt ‘How to Write’ from books which her husband purchased from eBay.  After 250 purchases, he finally told her ‘just to get on with the writing’.  Since 2010, she’s had 34 stories published and is now busy editing her crime novel again.

Blog: paulareadman1.wordpress.com

 

The Cautious Predator

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by G. Allen Wilbanks

 

These children have no appreciation for the subtlety of the old ways. They flaunt what they are for the whole world to see, confident in their invulnerability.

Books and movies make them bold. Humans love vampires for the moment. Revere them. Want to be them. But that will change. It always does.

Eventually, the fear will outgrow the worship as the humans realize the true risk they face from us. They will turn on us. The careless will be weeded out. It is only a matter of time.

And for the cautious predator, like myself, there is nothing but time.

 

G. Allen Wilbanks

G. Allen Wilbanks is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 80 short stories in various magazines and anthologies, including publications with Black Hare Press. He is the author of two, story collections, and the novel, When Darkness Comes. For more information, please visit www.gallenwilbanks.com.

 

Liquid Diet

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by Steven Holding

 

Fluids feed us, true enough, but not all rely upon the claret for sustenance.

Divergent breeds born with differing needs; consequently, some thirst for more…eclectic refreshment. The Lachrymose relish the taste of tears, breaking a heart or an arm before a feast. A Perspiration Prince favours the flavours of an athlete’s fresh armpit, whereas some poor suckers simply sup upon the seed of a man.

Myself?

All that is required is one fleeting glimpse of my true countenance. The sight of such delights and everyone soon feels the lukewarm tickling trickle of fear.

It’s a piece of piss, really.

 

Steven Holding

Steven Holding lives with his family in the United Kingdom. His stories have appeared both online and in print. He is currently working upon further short fiction and a novel. You can follow his work at www.stevenholding.co.uk

 

Hard Wood

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by Hari Navarro

 

The tip of his stake pushes the cloth from my chest and settles against my hardening nipple. I prick my tongue on the rapier prongs in my mouth, and I open the moist stick of my lips and offer he, who would be my killer, a glimpse of their reddening shine.

“I’m human. See in me a ghost of the life that was torn from my neck?” I whisper as my long fingers wrap around the hard black wood in his fist.

“I see you. I’m not here to kill the beast. I’m killing the wretched man you once were.”

 

Hari Navarro

Hari Navarro has for many years now been locked in his neighbours cellar. He survives due to an intravenous feed of puréed extreme horror and sticky-spiced unicorn wings. His anguished cries for help can be found via 365 Tomorrows, Breachzine, AntipodeanSF, Black Hare Press and HellBound books.
Keep up to date on Tumblr: harinavarro.tumblr.com/