Tag Archive for: mannequins

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.

 

 

 

 

Bridezilla

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by Tracy Davidson

The bridal boutique mannequin missed her white dress. She had finally felt beautiful, full of fancy frills and flounces. It looked better on her than that frumpy human, whose frame tested the seams. Bad enough the humiliation of being publicly stripped. But then to be knocked over by grasping arms, left scratched and broken, unceremoniously dumped in the storeroom…

The mannequin crawled into the private changing room, where the woman still admired herself. Plastic hands cut off the scream. Dressmaker shears cut off other things.

The mannequin got her dress back, no longer white. She loved the added scarlet swirls.     

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, Black Hare Press, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, and In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

 

 

 

Holiday Closeout

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by Jonathan Tolstedt

They’d always liked Imogen’s displays in women’s fashion. They’d especially liked her tasteful Black Friday arrangement of plus-sized women’s clothing. So she was shocked when her boss, Marcy, told her they were eliminating the visual display artist position. She’d been upset, of course, but, being a professional, she’d committed to creating one final display. Imogen stood back now, admiring the family of mannequins gathered around a Christmas tree. She noticed the mother’s arm was at an awkward angle. She stepped into the display, grasped Marcy’s cold, stiff arm, and twisted it until she heard a crack.

“That’s better,” she said.      

Jonathan Tolstedt

Jonathan Tolstedt is a patent agent by day and an evolving writer by nights and weekends. He has previously published a short horror story (2018) and recently had his 100-word story “The Savage Jungle” accepted for publication for Black Hare Press’ Dark Moments: Jungle Terrors call (2024).

 

 

 

 

Kammi

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by Streeper Clyne

Kammi dragged her torso across the marble-tiled floor towards her legs in the pantyhose aisle as a distant clock struck six a.m. Her plastic arms, articulating at the shoulders, clacked out the methodical rhythm of her agonising journey. Tonight, she’d end the relentless pain, the ghosts of missing limbs she’d suffered since those clerks dismembered her, callously distributing parts to various displays throughout Havers Department Store.

With her legs reattached, she stood. “They need to understand.” Twisting her hips in a spasming gait, she lurched past a row of bespectacled, faceless heads towards the housewares department where gleaming cleavers awaited.       

Streeper Clyne

Streeper Clyne lives in North Carolina, USA, and writes poetry, microfiction, and short stories. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in print and online in The Wake Forest Review, Vine Leave Press 50 Give or Take, The 50 Word Stories of 2023 (Anthology), and DarkWinter Literary Magazine.

 

 

 

 

Artistic Freedom

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by Suzanne Link

My wooden limbs twist around articulated joints.

Runner: sprinting

                Archer: aiming

                                Ballerina: pirouetting

The artist explores eloquent athletic poses. Sketch after sketch. I am proud to serve as his muse.

Until his tone shifts.

Juvenile: dabbing

                Pervert: self-pleasuring

                                Nazi: goose-stepping

He cackles as his artistic loftiness yields to disgusting whims. Humiliation surges through me. Yet, I am his prisoner. Unable to resist.

Until he sleeps and I escape my display stand.

Prowler: sneaking

                Stalker: climbing

                                Avenger: mounting

My knobbed hands slide into his nostrils. His eyes fly open.

Arms: thrust

                Bone: crack

                                Brain: punctured

Now, I am my own muse.

Suzanne Link