Tag Archive for: microfiction

The Blood Purge

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by J.M. Faulkner

 

Pale-skinned girl runs. Pale-skinned girl trips. Pale-skinned girl shields her eyes from the streetlamp that throws a shadow on my shoulders.

“Please, d-don’t hurt me.”

Sigh… If we elders didn’t cull the young, vampires would spill onto the streets like mice. There wouldn’t be an ounce of blood to share.

I tell her, “We purge annually. Your sire should have kept you safe.”

She winces. Tiny fangs protrude over her trembling bottom lip. “Sire didn’t warn me.”

“Then he wants you dead as much as—”

Thump.

A stake in my chest.

She says, “Now the young purges the old.”

J.M. Faulkner

J.M. Faulkner is a British English teacher living in Prague, Czech Republic. It is the perfect place for him to steep himself in the architecture and tumultuous history that fuels his curiosity. Outside of work, you can find him hiking in splendid, Bohemian forests with his beagle.

My work has been published by Black Hare Press, Liquid Imagination, Havok Publishing, Trembling with Fear, and The Drabble.

Website: jmfaulkner.com

 

 

A Deadly Lesson

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by Andrew Kurtz

 

The college professor walked into the classroom carrying two pizza boxes.

“Three hours from now, the Purge will begin. Once a year, our government allows murder to be legal for twelve hours.

“Some of you enjoy shooting people in the head, causing the brain matter to spill out. Others prefer slitting throats and watching the victim choke in their own blood. Cracking skulls with a baseball bat or burning people alive are popular too.

“I brought some pizza to celebrate, dig in,” he told the class, knowing that the deadly poison in the food would take effect in three hours.

Andrew Kurtz

Andrew Kurtz is an up-and-coming horror author who writes very graphic and ultraviolent short stories published in numerous horror anthologies. Since childhood, he has loved horror films and literature. His favourite authors are Stephen King, Clive Barker, H.G. Wells, Richard Matheson, and Edgar Allan Poe. Check his latest works here.

 

 

Safe and Alone

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by Gary Smith Jr.

The size and strength of the house impresses me, for the thousandth time. Reaching the massive door, I stare into the camera.

“What are you doing here, Julie? I can’t let you in.”

Shuffling from foot to foot, I glance back towards the street. “Please,” I beg, “I’ll never make it home.”

I wait.

An electrical buzz and click from the door.

I step inside.

The siren sounds.

The purge has started.

As my best friend pushes the door shut behind me, I pull the knife from the back of my pants.

This year I will be safe and alone.

 

Gary Smith Jr.

Gary Smith Jr. has a passion for writing born from his love of reading, classic literature to cereal boxes. He lives around Atlanta, Georgia, with his wife, children, and animals. His stories have been published at From Whispers to Roars, The Mark Literary Review, CommuterLit, and Every Day Fiction. Website: www.storiesbygary.com

 

Show Time

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by Liam Hogan

 

It’s the same every night: the waiting, otherworldly forms, thronging the hallway, packing the stairs.

Almost the same. Different individuals. He tries not to see their faces, or their strange attire. He’d avoid them altogether, but the waves of disappointment linger, tainting his home.

He hurries through the ordeal, looking neither left nor right as he passes between them. The buzz on his appearance, the fusillade of flashes…and always, as he escapes through the wall that hadn’t been there in his time, the same theatrical announcement:

“And that, folks, is why this is the most haunted house in England!”

 

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award winning short story writer, with stories in Best of British Science Fiction 2016 & 2019, and Best of British Fantasy 2018 (NewCon Press). He’s been published by Analog, Daily Science Fiction, and Flame Tree Press, among others. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

Snow Flower

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by Dorian J. Sinnott

 

It was when the silver moonlight touched the freshly fallen snow that I saw you again. Out amongst the birches and pines. The frigid night. The dead of winter.

How it ate away at your blued lips and flesh. Gnawing down to the cold bone. Clinging to your lashes—painted white. Beneath the shower of snowflakes, I bid you farewell.

For the last time…

***

My garden of ghosts, how much it’s grown. Buried bones beneath the frozen earth. Lost. Forgotten.

Yet every winter, upon the first snowfall, still I find you. Like an airy perennial. Blossoming under the winter moon.

 

Dorian J. Sinnot

Dorian J. Sinnott is a graduate of Emerson College’s Writing, Literature, and Publishing program currently living in Kansas City, MO with his two cats. He is a member of the Horror Writers Association and Horror Authors Guild. Dorian’s work has appeared in many magazines and journals, including Riggwelter, Crabfat Magazine, and HauntedMTL.  Website Link: www.doriansinnott.com

 

Ebenezer’s Corner

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by Raven Isobel Plum

 

When my dog, Ebenezer, stared at ‘nothing,’ I always assumed he heard something outside the house.

Yet, each day, he spent more time guarding the shadowy corner, increasingly transfixed, not allowing us near.

When Miss Jeanie, the psychic, came, she pointed to that exact spot with bangled arms, saying, “You have an extra inhabitant here.”

Unsettled, we followed her advice. We left out a chair and sometimes a cup of tea. Burnt sage and prayed. Peace offerings. It might’ve worked.

Miss Jeanie neglected to tell us ghosts can be dangerous.

Now when my dog stares, it’s me he’s staring at.

 

Raven Isobel Plum

Raven Isobel Plum writes about things that go bump in the night, the shadow side of life. Afraid of the dark but admits “Not-good-enough” is more terrifying than any demon. Stories allow the discovery of who we are beyond all the masks we wear. Follow Raven on Instagram.

 

Something Old

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by Susan Vita

 

Rosia navigated the aisle alone. She came from a line of widows, but it was poppycock that the veil was cursed. Her candlelight satin dress suited the heirloom and hid her growing belly.

The groom took her hand, and tears slid down her cheeks when she saw him. He lifted the veil, but cringed away from the crumbling, putrid flesh where his young wife’s pretty face should have been. He fell to the ground, clutching his chest.

As he inhaled his last breath, Rosie’s face went back to normal.

Her sisters embraced her and walked her out of the chapel.

 

Susan Vita

Susan Vita is a writing tutor who lives near Nashville, TN. She has had a handful of her contemporary and horror pieces published.

 

Witching Hour

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by S. Jade Path

 

The veil is always thinnest on Samhain.

Kylie cast her spell with trembling fingers, before stepping through the fluttering, gossamer threads and into a world of glittering wonder.

Just a quick peek can’t hurt, she thought.

***

Distantly, sonorous chimes announced the passing of midnight. The stars winked out as one, and with a snap, the veil turned to rubber.

Kylie pushed at the barrier with her foot. It gave as it always did, bouncing back as soon as her foot moved. She flopped against the wall, a scream of frustration echoing around the opulent room—now her gilded cage.

 

S. Jade Path

Jade Path is a fledgling author of short fiction, and a prolific creator of dark poetry. She has had a life-long obsession with crawling into the depths of the psyche and forging shadows into words. Her work parallels this penchant for delving into the fantastical and strolling amongst demons. Follow S. Jade Path on Facebook

 

The Messenger

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by Constantine E. Kiousis

 

“This it?” Jennifer asked as she pointed at the suburban house opposite them in the dimly lit street.

The pale girl standing next to her nodded. Huffing, Jennifer crossed the street, walked up to the front porch, slid a sealed envelope under the door, and knocked before trotting away.

Soon, the girl’s mother would be finding out it was their neighbour that killed her daughter, burying her body in his backyard.

“We good?” Jennifer asked the child.

Smiling, the phantom dissipated into the cold night.

“You’re welcome!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Ghosts and their unfinished business,” she muttered.

Being a medium sucked.

 

Constantine E. Kiousis

Constantine E. Kiousis spends most of his time wandering through the worlds he has created, exploring every nook and cranny and constantly discovering new places and stories that need to be told.

He’s currently plotting new ways to unleash the terrifying tales hiding in his mind upon the world, one word at a time.

Follow Constantine on Facebook

 

Double Betrayal

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by Jaycee Durand

 

Clara trailed her fingertips over the mirror’s chilled glass, her heart tripping at the beckoning reflection.

Identical green eyes—but Debra’s derisive smirk.

Impossible!

We are one. Without me, there is no you. Come.

Always belittling. Always controlling.

But how do you live on when your other half is dead?

Clara sagged before her sister’s stare… and clasped the hand Debra slipped through the rippling mirrored surface as if from the depths of dark waters.

Snatched into frigid, swirling inkiness, Clara whimpered in fright.

Debra threw a vile and triumphant grin to the shadowed presence.

She’s yours, Master. Feast well.

 

Jaycee Durand

Jaycee Durand’s usual dance partner is paranormal romance—who says vampires are out of fashion? Nope. But she enjoys flirting with other genres. Previous publications include shorts on Medium, e.g., The Mad River, and drabbles appearing or forthcoming in Spillwords Press and Free Flash fiction. Jaycee lives in London, England. https://medium.com/the-mad-river/twisted-valentine-84b77ca28fb6