Tag Archive for: drabble

The Glutton

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by John A. DeMember

 

The infernal flames licked at his alabaster, gnarl-spined body.

Frail and naked, he wiped his vomit glazed chin and glanced up at the bone-house hordes crowded around the smoldering river’s edge.  Eternally famished, they covered the shattered landscape like a blanket of human sorrow.  On hands and knees, each cadaver feverishly clamored their way to the muck.

Somewhere hidden, dark sentries screeched while their piercing, stab-wound eyes scanned the fire ravaged expanse of the jagged, sulfuric wastes.

His memory again flooded by sin, he quickly plunged his gluttonous mouth back into the ghastly bile, and chugged, and chugged, and chugged.

 

John A. DeMember

John A. DeMember is a U.S. Army veteran and a high school English teacher with a passion for writing horror.   When John isn’t teaching, correcting, or writing, you might find him either at The Tower visiting Xur or somewhere in the wasteland battling bloatflies.

Stay up to date with John on Amazon: www.amazon.com/John-A.-DeMember/e/B00EWT35DE

 

Headmoths

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by J. Motoki

 

His last words hiss under the pendulum of the lightbulb. Flash burns, sloughed flesh. He is an insect collapsing on itself, body rocked by spasms, arched back, feet drumming the basement floor.

Dad, attending to death, stumbles through the house at odd hours. His child sleeps with both arms wrapped around himself. Dad the County Coroner, searching for truth in flesh and fluids, doesn’t notice his child sleeps too long, too often.

The boy leaves clues in dust and shadows. He disintegrates into a thousand flying things in the white eye of the light.

How long until the Coroner comes?

 

J. Motoki

Motoki earned her BA in Literature at University of California, Santa Barbara. She is the Short Story Editor for Coffin Bell Journal and Assistant Editor for Rune Bear Magazine. Her works have been published in Nowhere.Ink, Rue Scribe, Blood Song Books, and Coffin Bell Journal, with one flash nominated for The Best Small Fictions 2019 (Braddock Avenue Books).

 

Your Ride Has Arrived

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by Evan Baughfman

 

The hearse came to a silent stop alongside the curb. The driver asked through the open passenger-side window, “You remember what happened at the bar tonight?”

I’d gone into downtown, ordered a cocktail at O’Grady’s, and then…Then…?

The hearse’s rear door creaked open.

“Plenty of room in the back.”

I realized I was part of a small crowd, standing together in a blanket of fog. Nearly everyone looked as confused as me.

Nearly everyone was riddled with bullet holes.

I had a gaping cavity in my chest.

The driver said, “Come on in, everybody. You’ve all got the same destination.”

 

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman works in a very scary place: a middle school! He writes all genres, but horror is where he’s most comfortable. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. He’s had many different plays produced across the globe. Heuer Publishing has published his Poe adaptation, “A Taste of Amontillado”.

Additionally, Evan has adapted a number of his short stories into screenplays, of which “The Emaciated Man” and “The Creaky Door” have won awards in various film festival competitions.

Evan’s “Ugly Sweater” was recently published in Grinning Skull Press’s 2018 Christmas horror anthology, O Unholy Night in Deathlehem.

 

A Psi of Relief

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by Shawn M. Klimek

 

Once the mushroom’s psychotropic effects kicked in, Philip and Janice realized they could read each other’s minds.  The thought stream which culminated in their copulation went as follows:  I sense we’re both horny. Horny, not desperate. Screw you, then. Sorry, that just came out. Don’t pity me. Your vulnerability is attractive. Your compassion is sexy. Oh, screw it, let’s do this.

It was during the post-coital denouement, a morphing, emotional stew of confused lust, self-loathing and disillusionment that the telekinetic effects kicked in, allowing Janice to satisfy herself and Philip to stack all the beer cans into an impressive tower.

 

Shawn M. Klimek

Shawn M. Klimek’s stories and poems have been published in scores of e-zines and anthologies, including “Grumpy Old Gods, Volume 1”, Zombie Pirate Publishing’s “World War Four”, and “Gold: The Best of Clarendon House Anthologies, Volume One, 2017/2018. Find more, including links to all his published works at A Jot In The Dark

 

Other Oceans

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by Blair Frison

 

An epidemic of suicide and madness swept the planet as the Thing neared. Many believed it was God himself, bringing with him his promised purge.

As the shape in the sky grew more rapidly, Earth was unchained from her eternal path, succumbing to the immense gravitational pull. Soon, the Thing was so close, its face filled the spinning horizons. The sky was a fast-flowing sea of eyes and teeth, a sight that brought the remnants of humanity to their knees.

Titanic jaws chewed through continents ravenously while the beast continued on without pause, savouring its sustenance as Earth died screaming.

 

Blair Frison

Blair Frison lives with his family on the island of Cape Breton. He has written for various publications such as Year’s Best Transhuman SF 2017, Fossil Lake IV: SHARKASAURUS!, The Edge: Infinite Darkness, Deadman’s Tome, Boxing 24/7, and Haunt of Horrors. Blair is currently working on a collection of  stories.

 

Cosmic Horror

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by Dustin Pinney

 

Ray saw the asteroid long before anyone. He understood, has always understood, that space, with all its wonders, wants us dead.

For years he searched the sky for the one constellation missed by vast generations of stargazers, the sum of the Zodiac, the sinister face scowling at mankind.

On a ridge in San Pedro de Atacama, the cosmic clockwork came into view, a billion points of blazing light sneering on the little man facing it down in defiance.

The rock spat from the mouth of the cosmos barreled towards him. Trembling with rage, Ray said, “No.”

And the universe blinked.

 

Dustin Pinney

Dustin lives and writes various kinds of things in upstate New York. He is both inspired and terrified by outer space.

He has published short horror, sci-fi and fantasy stories in both print and online venues, as well as dozens of articles for letusnerd.com and doctorwhonews.net. His screenwriting work has produced several short fan films, commercials for Marina Vape, and content commissioned by New Japan Pro-Wrestling. 

 

The Tailor

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by Ezekiel Kincaid

 

I slipped on the suit. The sleeves and pants still felt damp. Next time I’ll have to let it dry for another hour, at least.

I walked into the bathroom to check on Jim. He still lay in the bathtub moaning, with his skin removed and muscles glimmering in the flickering light. He slapped the side of the tub, leaving a bloody hand print.

“Stop your complaining. Looks better on me than it did on you.” I looked in the mirror and adjusted my new suit.

I was never comfortable in my own skin, that’s why I wore other people’s.

 

Ezekiel Kincaid

Ezekiel Kincaid resides in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with his wife, four children, and two dogs. The only other language he is fluent in is sarcasm. For fun, Zeke enjoys watching people get in socially awkward circumstances. He hates cat videos but loves watching wrestling promos from the 80’s. You can keep up to date with him on his website – ezekielkincaid.wordpress.com 

 

Scarecrow

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by Denzell Cooper

 

The wheat grew past our heads, ears of corn brushing our ears. Will ran on ahead. I tried to keep up but lost him in the dense jungle of our imaginations.

When I almost hurtled into him, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“That thing is creepy,” he said, staring up in awe at the scarecrow, nailed to its post like a hobo Jesus.

Its face was made of leather. Its clothes were ripped and torn.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

Will nodded and we backed away, then turned.

“Help me,” begged the scarecrow.

We screamed and fled.

 

Denzell Cooper

Denzell Cooper is a multi-genre writer from Cornwall, England. For as long as he can remember he’s been a fan of horror and the macabre, and loves telling stories where creepy things happen to ordinary people. Find him on Twitter @DenzellCooper.

 

When the Cat’s Away…

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by Thomas Kleaton

 

Norman scratched his head, pondering which resupply ship brought the rats.

He and Nancy had rats on their Wisconsin farm, but their retirement home in space was fully automated.  Pest control, even funeral arrangements. All in the contract.

Except it hadn’t responded when Nancy died the week before.

Hadn’t responded to the rats.


Modern technology. Worthless. Norman held the trap, stout wood with VICTOR stamped on it, grimacing at the irony as he baited it with Nancy’s fingertip.

The finger she’d used to grasp her beloved brick cheese, the only part of her body not gnawed down to gleaming bone.

 

Thomas Kleaton

Thomas Kleaton is a freelance horror writer whose stories have been published in The Horror ‘Zine, Final Masquerade, Pernicious Invaders, Spooky Halloween Drabbles, Alban Lake Drabbles, and What Has Two Heads, Ten Eyes, and Terrifying Table Manners? He lives in the woods near Auburn, AL with his wife, Sheila.

 

Allison’s Ghost

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by W.T. Paterson

 

The house wasn’t haunted when she moved in, but something followed Allison closely behind.  After a few days, the lights started to flicker. The stove started to buck. Blood leaked from the hallway light bulbs.  She thought about calling someone, but after her company lost funding, and her husband left, and her brother forgot her birthday, Allison embraced the attention.

The next month, the entity wrote her little notes on the steamed bathroom window.  “I love your new haircut.” She would respond by holding neighborhood seances every Friday.

When all was said and done, the companionship was more than welcomed.

 

W.T. Paterson

W.T. Paterson is the author of the novels “Dark Satellites” and “WOTNA”.  A Pushcart Prize nominee and graduate of Second City Chicago, his work has appeared in over 40 publications worldwide include Fiction Magazine, The Gateway Review, and a number of Anthologies. He is a current MFA candidate at the University of New Hampshire. Send him a tweet @WTPaterson.