Jodie Angell Archives - Black Hare Press

Joe’s Bar

October 5, 2022/by S. Jade Path

by Jodie Angell

Joe’s Bar had changed considerably since the zombie apocalypse first broke out. He’d learned rather quickly that there was a shift in the market—instead of Sex on the Beach, mojitos, and piña coladas, his menu offered a variety of Molotov cocktails.

He grabbed his firebombs from behind the bar and positioned them side by side.

“Going to need them today, bud.” Max exchanged cash for cocktails.

“Aye.” Joe grinned.

Together, they strode outside, facing the encroaching crowd of screeching zombies.

They lit the rags, then launched the fiery weapons. Bloodied limbs, severed heads, and guts erupted from the flames.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is published with Champagne Book Group.

Jodie explores all genres, including dark fiction, fantasy, and romance.

Instagram: @jodieangell_author

For You

February 19, 2022/by S. Jade Path

by Jodie Angell

Eyeing the blue pills in front of her, Faye grinned. She knew what it would do to her—unleash a feral ferocity buried deep within her. That was exactly what her lover, Klaus, desperately desired.

“For you, my love.” She popped the tablet into her mouth, then swallowed.

Her round eyes glowed afire, and a maniacal laughter escaped Klaus’ mouth.

With shotgun barrels resting on one shoulder and their free hands clasped, they skipped down the quaint street of Petunia Walk.

Their idea of a date was warped. Fires razed the houses. Civilians murdered. Children’s screams. Blood staining neat lawns.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is published with Champagne Book Group. Jodie explores all genres. She has expanded her repertoire and has signed several dark short stories with Black Hare Press.

Twitter: @JodieA_Author

Mercy’s Harp

June 18, 2021/by Black Hare Press

by Jodie Angell

Mercy’s fingers plucked the harp strings, sensing the nearby souls in their final moments before death.

She overlooked the man, unconscious in his armchair.

The room filled with graceful harmony, and the music rose to a crescendo.

A tear rolled from her eyes as a final breath escaped his mouth. A silvery whisp floated from between his lips—his soul now free from the shackles of life.

The music halted, and Mercy reached out her hands to cradle the drifting soul. It disappeared as another spirit called for her.

The room snapped shut, and another materialised. Her songs began again.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is signed with Champagne Book Group.

Jodie explores all genres. She has recently expanded her repertoire and has signed several dark short stories with Black Hare Press. Follow Jodie on Twitter.

St. Mary’s Hospital for Insane

May 15, 2021/by Black Hare Press

by Jodie Angell

Souls never leave St Mary’s Hospital for Insane. They wander the hallways, linger in the mirrors for too long, and hide in the walls.

Their screams still echo against the high stone pillars. Two-hundred dead still roam the grounds, eternally searching for peace that won’t come.

A broken doll lies on the wooden floorboards beside an old hair comb—belongings of a girl long since passed. Moonlight cascades in through her old bedroom window, illuminating the leather restraints and the sheets still stained with blood.

Her face appears in the shattered mirror. Blood spills from her eyes as she grins.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, United Kingdom. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. She wrote her first novel when she was fourteen and went onto write five more by the age of twenty-four. Her first book, an adult High Fantasy, is due out in March with Champagne Book Group. Twitter: @JodieA_Author

Bartender Lobotomist

April 26, 2021/by Black Hare Press

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

Tag Archive for: Jodie Angell

by Jodie Angell

Joe’s Bar had changed considerably since the zombie apocalypse first broke out. He’d learned rather quickly that there was a shift in the market—instead of Sex on the Beach, mojitos, and piña coladas, his menu offered a variety of Molotov cocktails.

He grabbed his firebombs from behind the bar and positioned them side by side.

“Going to need them today, bud.” Max exchanged cash for cocktails.

“Aye.” Joe grinned.

Together, they strode outside, facing the encroaching crowd of screeching zombies.

They lit the rags, then launched the fiery weapons. Bloodied limbs, severed heads, and guts erupted from the flames.

Jodie Angell

by Jodie Angell

Eyeing the blue pills in front of her, Faye grinned. She knew what it would do to her—unleash a feral ferocity buried deep within her. That was exactly what her lover, Klaus, desperately desired.

“For you, my love.” She popped the tablet into her mouth, then swallowed.

Her round eyes glowed afire, and a maniacal laughter escaped Klaus’ mouth.

With shotgun barrels resting on one shoulder and their free hands clasped, they skipped down the quaint street of Petunia Walk.

Their idea of a date was warped. Fires razed the houses. Civilians murdered. Children’s screams. Blood staining neat lawns.

by Jodie Angell

Mercy’s fingers plucked the harp strings, sensing the nearby souls in their final moments before death.

She overlooked the man, unconscious in his armchair.

The room filled with graceful harmony, and the music rose to a crescendo.

A tear rolled from her eyes as a final breath escaped his mouth. A silvery whisp floated from between his lips—his soul now free from the shackles of life.

The music halted, and Mercy reached out her hands to cradle the drifting soul. It disappeared as another spirit called for her.

The room snapped shut, and another materialised. Her songs began again.

by Jodie Angell

Souls never leave St Mary’s Hospital for Insane. They wander the hallways, linger in the mirrors for too long, and hide in the walls.

Their screams still echo against the high stone pillars. Two-hundred dead still roam the grounds, eternally searching for peace that won’t come.

A broken doll lies on the wooden floorboards beside an old hair comb—belongings of a girl long since passed. Moonlight cascades in through her old bedroom window, illuminating the leather restraints and the sheets still stained with blood.

Her face appears in the shattered mirror. Blood spills from her eyes as she grins.

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.”