I awoke to a very unpleasant sound this morning. We have been trying to buy the lots next to us where we live to keep folks from building on them but have had little luck in tracing ownership of said lots. Then I saw a sign up last week that I thought was a lot for sale just one over from ours. I immediately called to make an offer only to find out that it had already been sold and that no information could be released on the buyer. This morning, before 8:00, they started clearing the lot and the awful sound I heard was a bulldozer tearing down trees. I don’t begrudge others wanting a bit of nature in their lives. That’s why we moved where we did. But with the constant building—at least 12 houses have gone up in our neighborhood since we moved there in 2006—we’re rapidly losing the very nature that we wanted to get a piece of. It’s very saddening and I’m really not feeling very happy today. I want to get back somewhere in the woods with hundreds of acres around us as a cushion against other people. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
As a quick warning note, if you see a book by Peter Benchley called Creature, be aware that it’s the exact same book as his White Shark. I liked the book when I read it but didn’t need two copies. Now I have two because I didn’t realize it was just a change in title.
Finally, below is a complete—I believe—list of all those flash fiction stories and poetry that were written for Halloween Horror October. I’ve also included links to Halloween art from our blog colleagues, and links to blogs where nonfiction materials were published about Halloween. My own stories can be found in my post backlog under the names Halloween Flash #1 through #7. Thanks again to everyone who participated and who visited. Happy Halloween!
Halloween Flash Fiction Stories and Poetry:
Donnetta Lee, Spirit Moving.
Donnetta Lee, Loop.
Avery Debow, Empress of the Fescue.
Avery Debow, Problem Child.
Avery Debow,The Love of the Job.
L. A. Mitchell (an Award Winning Story), Home.
Sidney Williams, Having His Say.
Sidney Williams, Jack-O-Lanterns.
Miladysa, Twisted.
Bernardl, Jack-o-Lantern.
Bernardl, Last Halloween Fiction.
SQT, Election Day.
Lucas Pederson, The Lesson.
Lucas Pederson, Hell Plate.
Lucas Pederson, The Creeper.
Stewart Sternberg, Fat Man.
Vesper: Fortune.
Vesper, On a Halloween Night.
Will Kinshella, Halloween Flash.
Mark C. Durfee, Trick or Treat.
JR, Inspire.
Writtenwyrd, Chocophobia.
Travis, Investigating a Mysterious Ending.
Ferrel D. Moore, Little Friends .
Barbara Martin, Halloween Flash.
Sarah Hina, Run.
Jason Evans, The Forgotten Ones.
Billy Hammett, It Is a Fearful Thing.
Laughingwolf, freaky flash iii.
Laughingwolf, witch.
Laughingwolf, overlord.
Laughingwolf, Polterguest.
Laughingwolf, Dawn Coyote.
Laughingwolf, freaky flash IX, night.
Laughingwolf, flight.
Laughingwolf, analine..
Laughingwolf, lady jane.
Laughingwolf has another freaky flash up: Chance
Laughingwolf, freaky flash IX, night.
Laughingwolf, lobo.
Laughingwolf, rider
Laughingwolf (Adult Language Warning): taboo
Nonfiction Halloween Horror links:
Rick, “The Writer and the White Cat” ran a very informative series about the “monsters” of horror fiction.
Scott, Blog of the Beast did a series on horror movies, including one of the goriest films ever, “Dead-Alive,” which was directed by none other than Peter Jackson.
Writtenwyrd, Marketing Horror, markets for horror fiction.
Barbara Martin, Dracula, posts about horror films.
Travis, (a great true story of haunting),Ghost. Well worth checking out.
Halloween inspired art:
Steve Malley, here.
Jack Bertram, Frankenstein versus Hercules
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Showing posts with label Halloween Horror October. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Halloween Horror October. Show all posts
Monday, November 03, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Halloween Flash #7: The Final Flash
All right. This will be my last Halloween Horror October story for the season. I hope to do this again next year, or something like it. I’d very much like to thank everyone who took part by posting flash fictions or other Halloween related materials on their blogs. We truly had some awesome stories posted and some great discussion of movies and other horror related topics. Kudos to everyone, even if you just came and read the pieces.
Now, I hope I didn’t miss any links. But I plan to do a post in a few days that pulls together ALL the Halloween Horror links that I’ve posted previously. So, if I’ve missed anything you’d like me to include, let me know and I’ll get it into that post. After tomorrow night, however, I’m not going to be adding any new links for a bit. I need a short break.
The piece below is a variation on something I posted originally in response to a prompt on another person’s blog, in this case Bernita, who is soundly missed, by the way. I don’t believe most of you have seen it so it should be completely new to you. It’s been revised anyway. It’s called:
HUNGER
Sunlight fogs the clearing where the dying trees watch; nothing stirs. But the quiet will soon break. Riders are coming from north and south, and before them fly the ravens. They come in flocks, light spilling dark from flashing wings. Their cries rasp the sky. A wind moves with them.
The ancient oaks shiver as the black birds settle raucously in their branches. The ravens’ agate eyes spark with red as they turn their heads in the sun. The grass stirs now, whispering with gossip as the wind arrives. And there is a rumble in the distance that might be thunder but which the ravens know as the beat of iron-shod hooves.
Up the last hills toward the clearing the riders come, their thunder shaking the earth now, shaking the trees and stirring the birds into a frenzy. Light ripples off armor, off the heads of lances and the bright pennons that snap with eagerness.
The sky roars with sound, then falls nearly silent as the armies draw to a halt facing each other. In the trees, the ravens preside. And the charge comes, as the birds expect. Battle is joined. Carnage riots in the clearing.
First blood soaks the earth, moistens the dry soil. More crimson follows. Buckets of it. It’s what the dying oaks have waited for. It’s why they’ve been sending hate over the years into weak human minds, urging them toward war, urging them toward this moment and this place.
Quietly, the oaks begin to bloom. And in the trees’ awakening hunger, the ravens are the first to be devoured.
The first. But not the last.
--- the end ---
-----------------
New Halloween Horror Links:
More Halloween Horror October Flash Stories, or Poetry
Barbara Martin, with her first: Halloween Flash
Lucas Pederson: The Creeper.
Sarah Hina: Run.
Laughingwolf (Adult Language Warning): taboo
Jason Evans: The Forgotten Ones
Vesper: On a Halloween Night
Billy Hammett: It Is a Fearful Thing
Halloween inspired art:
Check out Steve Malley’s killer Halloween art here.
Jack Bertram: Frankenstein versus Hercules
From Scott’s blog: David Hartman
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Now, I hope I didn’t miss any links. But I plan to do a post in a few days that pulls together ALL the Halloween Horror links that I’ve posted previously. So, if I’ve missed anything you’d like me to include, let me know and I’ll get it into that post. After tomorrow night, however, I’m not going to be adding any new links for a bit. I need a short break.
The piece below is a variation on something I posted originally in response to a prompt on another person’s blog, in this case Bernita, who is soundly missed, by the way. I don’t believe most of you have seen it so it should be completely new to you. It’s been revised anyway. It’s called:
HUNGER
Sunlight fogs the clearing where the dying trees watch; nothing stirs. But the quiet will soon break. Riders are coming from north and south, and before them fly the ravens. They come in flocks, light spilling dark from flashing wings. Their cries rasp the sky. A wind moves with them.
The ancient oaks shiver as the black birds settle raucously in their branches. The ravens’ agate eyes spark with red as they turn their heads in the sun. The grass stirs now, whispering with gossip as the wind arrives. And there is a rumble in the distance that might be thunder but which the ravens know as the beat of iron-shod hooves.
Up the last hills toward the clearing the riders come, their thunder shaking the earth now, shaking the trees and stirring the birds into a frenzy. Light ripples off armor, off the heads of lances and the bright pennons that snap with eagerness.
The sky roars with sound, then falls nearly silent as the armies draw to a halt facing each other. In the trees, the ravens preside. And the charge comes, as the birds expect. Battle is joined. Carnage riots in the clearing.
First blood soaks the earth, moistens the dry soil. More crimson follows. Buckets of it. It’s what the dying oaks have waited for. It’s why they’ve been sending hate over the years into weak human minds, urging them toward war, urging them toward this moment and this place.
Quietly, the oaks begin to bloom. And in the trees’ awakening hunger, the ravens are the first to be devoured.
The first. But not the last.
--- the end ---
-----------------
New Halloween Horror Links:
More Halloween Horror October Flash Stories, or Poetry
Barbara Martin, with her first: Halloween Flash
Lucas Pederson: The Creeper.
Sarah Hina: Run.
Laughingwolf (Adult Language Warning): taboo
Jason Evans: The Forgotten Ones
Vesper: On a Halloween Night
Billy Hammett: It Is a Fearful Thing
Halloween inspired art:
Check out Steve Malley’s killer Halloween art here.
Jack Bertram: Frankenstein versus Hercules
From Scott’s blog: David Hartman
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Sunday, October 26, 2008
Halloween Flash #6
One thing I’ve realized about twist-ending stories is that there are usually several possible endings that can be produced by making only minor alterations in the text. And sometimes with no alterations. In fact, I’ve submitted stories with anywhere up to four different endings. My Halloween Flash this time is an example. Some of you read the story “Precious Cargo” when I entered it in the “Clarity of Night” contest. For that contest it had a bittersweet ending. As you can see, I’ve made a few minor changes at the end, and have changed the title to reflect the story’s new direction. WARNING: This ending is pretty damn nasty. Read at own risk.
Note: There are some more Halloween Horrors listed in the links below the story. Since I’m way behind in checking blogs, I may find more today and will add them here. If I miss anyone, please let me know. As always, older stories are linked in my recent posts.
ROADKILL
No moon.
A sky flecked like mica with stars.
I had my Harley redlined, the V-Twin burning between my legs. It’s always dangerous riding fast at night. But since the change I had nothing to lose, no one to care if I lost it.
Then I saw her, lying across the blacktop.
Dead, I thought.
But she moved when I swerved to avoid her.
I got the bike stopped, u-turned, winced as I saw… Her back was broken.
I hung the bike on it’s kickstand, the headlight painting her, refracting jewels from her liquid eyes. I rushed to her, knelt.
She opened her mouth but made no sound. How could she be alive? How could she breathe with a chest half crushed? What was she doing so far from town? What sick fate had sent a vehicle to rendezvous with her at this lonely spot? There were signs of burnt rubber. Whoever had hit her hadn’t even slowed down.
I tried to force, “It’s OK,” through my lips. The meaningless words wouldn’t come.
Then she looked past me toward highway’s edge. I turned, saw some shadowy movement. When I turned back she looked like she was sleeping but her chest no longer rose and fell.
My feet followed where her gaze had led, and I saw why she’d been crossing the road. Saw what she was returning to. Or running from.
Her puppies had been born dead. But in this new world they hadn’t stayed that way. They smelled me, and squirmed toward me through their mother’s afterbirth, their baby teeth stark and white and gnashing.
I backed away, then screamed as a sudden flashing agony lanced through my legs. I fell, rolled instinctively away from the pain. The mother hound’s mouth was flecked with foam and blood. My blood. Her eyes had been reborn as scarlet hells.
I tried to get up, found she’d torn out my Achilles tendons. Still screaming, I scrabbled away along the highway. The hound growled and hitched herself toward me, her paws slapping at the asphalt. Intestines unraveled behind her.
I almost laughed hysterically as I realized the mother’s broken spine would keep her from catching me.
Then I saw the puppies. On the road. They couldn’t walk either. But they were crawling faster than I was.
--- the end ---
----------------
Halloween Horror Links:
Flash Fictions
Hell Plate by Lucas Pederson.
freaky flash IX, night, by Laughingwolf.
lobo, also by Laughingwolf.
Non-fiction
Barbara Martin has been running some posts on her blog about horror films. Today she has a piece on Dracula.
Travis has a great true story on his blog called Ghost. Well worth checking out.
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Note: There are some more Halloween Horrors listed in the links below the story. Since I’m way behind in checking blogs, I may find more today and will add them here. If I miss anyone, please let me know. As always, older stories are linked in my recent posts.
ROADKILL
No moon.
A sky flecked like mica with stars.
I had my Harley redlined, the V-Twin burning between my legs. It’s always dangerous riding fast at night. But since the change I had nothing to lose, no one to care if I lost it.
Then I saw her, lying across the blacktop.
Dead, I thought.
But she moved when I swerved to avoid her.
I got the bike stopped, u-turned, winced as I saw… Her back was broken.
I hung the bike on it’s kickstand, the headlight painting her, refracting jewels from her liquid eyes. I rushed to her, knelt.
She opened her mouth but made no sound. How could she be alive? How could she breathe with a chest half crushed? What was she doing so far from town? What sick fate had sent a vehicle to rendezvous with her at this lonely spot? There were signs of burnt rubber. Whoever had hit her hadn’t even slowed down.
I tried to force, “It’s OK,” through my lips. The meaningless words wouldn’t come.
Then she looked past me toward highway’s edge. I turned, saw some shadowy movement. When I turned back she looked like she was sleeping but her chest no longer rose and fell.
My feet followed where her gaze had led, and I saw why she’d been crossing the road. Saw what she was returning to. Or running from.
Her puppies had been born dead. But in this new world they hadn’t stayed that way. They smelled me, and squirmed toward me through their mother’s afterbirth, their baby teeth stark and white and gnashing.
I backed away, then screamed as a sudden flashing agony lanced through my legs. I fell, rolled instinctively away from the pain. The mother hound’s mouth was flecked with foam and blood. My blood. Her eyes had been reborn as scarlet hells.
I tried to get up, found she’d torn out my Achilles tendons. Still screaming, I scrabbled away along the highway. The hound growled and hitched herself toward me, her paws slapping at the asphalt. Intestines unraveled behind her.
I almost laughed hysterically as I realized the mother’s broken spine would keep her from catching me.
Then I saw the puppies. On the road. They couldn’t walk either. But they were crawling faster than I was.
--- the end ---
----------------
Halloween Horror Links:
Flash Fictions
Hell Plate by Lucas Pederson.
freaky flash IX, night, by Laughingwolf.
lobo, also by Laughingwolf.
Non-fiction
Barbara Martin has been running some posts on her blog about horror films. Today she has a piece on Dracula.
Travis has a great true story on his blog called Ghost. Well worth checking out.
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Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Halloween Flash #5
In thinking more about the primary topic of my last post, an idea for a flash piece occurred to me. And so, I give you “Isolation.”
Stay tuned after the story for another new Halloween Horror link. I'm expecting some more tomorrow and will add them to this post then.
In last minute news, before this post, I just got an email accepting a short story of mine called "Dragon Lost." I'll write more about that at a future time.
ISOLATION
The snow falls straight down. Like cold feathers at first. Then in heavy clumps like frozen rags. You stumble to your knees. But you’re up again swiftly. To stop moving is deadly. Not that you’ll freeze. That death would be almost welcome compared to the horror you fear. You can’t even name the horror. Not clearly. But it follows you. It follows.
You stagger forward, through the first swirling winds of what threatens to become a blizzard. Wind will cover your tracks, you think. It would be such a gift. But you doubt it’ll happen fast enough to save you.
The snow thickens. You start to sweat. You remember reading how dangerous that is in the cold. The sweat will freeze on you, chill you to death. But you dare not slow. The followers are coming. You hear them, you think. Though you hope it’s only the wind’s shrill shriek.
Then the world knocks you down. You don’t see well anyway without your glasses and in the snow you run head on into a cliff. Suddenly you’re flat on your back with wet white piling on you. Your face throbs. You taste salt at your lips, know that it must be blood.
Somehow you climb to your feet. Your hands find the cliff’s face. You realize it isn’t a cliff at all. It’s a wall. It towers too high to climb over so you begin to feel your way along it, knowing there’s no time to retrace your steps.
A sound stops you, freezes your blood more than the cold surroundings. You turn. Your followers are there, mere silhouettes through the blitz of snow. You back away—until your shoulders press against the wall and there is nowhere left to go.
The followers close in, bulking around you, cutting you off from any escape. You want to cry out for mercy. You would beg in an instant if you thought it would save you. But their soul-less eyes tell you it won’t.
One follower offers something to you in a bulky paw. Though terrified, you scoot slowly forward. The paw resolves itself. It’s wearing a mitten. Your glasses dangle from the digits. You reach for them, knowing what will happen. The glasses are released just as you touch them, drop and disappear in the snow. You feel the sting of tears and fight them back.
From somewhere a bell rings. It’s too late. Nothing can end the game just yet.
The other children laugh as they push you hard against the wall, and you hear the crunch as someone stomps your glasses. You do begin to cry now, even though you know it’ll make things worse. They love the tears, and they don’t care that recess is over. They only care that you’re different, and alone with them. Alone. Isolated.
--- the end ---
-----------------
Halloween Horror Links:
Three more from Laughingwolf:
1. Polterguest by Laughingwolf.
2. Dawn Coyote
freaky flash IX, night, a recent one. I'll add this one to links in my next post as well.
One from SQT
Election Day by SQT. OK, now this one is almost too horrific to contemplate.
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Stay tuned after the story for another new Halloween Horror link. I'm expecting some more tomorrow and will add them to this post then.
In last minute news, before this post, I just got an email accepting a short story of mine called "Dragon Lost." I'll write more about that at a future time.
ISOLATION
The snow falls straight down. Like cold feathers at first. Then in heavy clumps like frozen rags. You stumble to your knees. But you’re up again swiftly. To stop moving is deadly. Not that you’ll freeze. That death would be almost welcome compared to the horror you fear. You can’t even name the horror. Not clearly. But it follows you. It follows.
You stagger forward, through the first swirling winds of what threatens to become a blizzard. Wind will cover your tracks, you think. It would be such a gift. But you doubt it’ll happen fast enough to save you.
The snow thickens. You start to sweat. You remember reading how dangerous that is in the cold. The sweat will freeze on you, chill you to death. But you dare not slow. The followers are coming. You hear them, you think. Though you hope it’s only the wind’s shrill shriek.
Then the world knocks you down. You don’t see well anyway without your glasses and in the snow you run head on into a cliff. Suddenly you’re flat on your back with wet white piling on you. Your face throbs. You taste salt at your lips, know that it must be blood.
Somehow you climb to your feet. Your hands find the cliff’s face. You realize it isn’t a cliff at all. It’s a wall. It towers too high to climb over so you begin to feel your way along it, knowing there’s no time to retrace your steps.
A sound stops you, freezes your blood more than the cold surroundings. You turn. Your followers are there, mere silhouettes through the blitz of snow. You back away—until your shoulders press against the wall and there is nowhere left to go.
The followers close in, bulking around you, cutting you off from any escape. You want to cry out for mercy. You would beg in an instant if you thought it would save you. But their soul-less eyes tell you it won’t.
One follower offers something to you in a bulky paw. Though terrified, you scoot slowly forward. The paw resolves itself. It’s wearing a mitten. Your glasses dangle from the digits. You reach for them, knowing what will happen. The glasses are released just as you touch them, drop and disappear in the snow. You feel the sting of tears and fight them back.
From somewhere a bell rings. It’s too late. Nothing can end the game just yet.
The other children laugh as they push you hard against the wall, and you hear the crunch as someone stomps your glasses. You do begin to cry now, even though you know it’ll make things worse. They love the tears, and they don’t care that recess is over. They only care that you’re different, and alone with them. Alone. Isolated.
--- the end ---
-----------------
Halloween Horror Links:
Three more from Laughingwolf:
1. Polterguest by Laughingwolf.
2. Dawn Coyote
freaky flash IX, night, a recent one. I'll add this one to links in my next post as well.
One from SQT
Election Day by SQT. OK, now this one is almost too horrific to contemplate.
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Friday, October 17, 2008
Halloween Flash #4
Does horror always have to be horrific? Or can it have a lighter touch? Humor and horror seldom go together in my mind, and I don’t think the following piece is a very good example of the proper mix. The mere presence of a ghost, or a vampire as we’ve seen in a lot of recent published works, does not make something horror. But I figure we should have examples of the range of horror for our Halloween Horror October. Maybe someone else can do much better with horror humor. After the story I'll give you some new links to more Halloween Horror tales that have just gone up
INSPIRATION
The ghost fluttered like a butterfly in the wind, wailing like a banshee over the members of the Goth Rock band Scarlet Sphinx while they sat chopsticking some sushi.
"You hear something?" Ricki Naill asked his mates.
"Yeah, you eatin’ like a cow," Harley Storm said. "Didn't your mother teach you to chew with your mouth closed?"
"That’s not what I'm talking about," Ricki said. "It was high pitched, like a Memorex scream, with a...fluttering."
The others laughed.
"You are one psycho mother," Harley said. And thus was born the title and much of the content of their biggest selling album.
The ghost traveled with the band after that and got to live (relatively speaking) the rock-n-roll lifestyle. But even though he was the inspiration for the band’s greatest success, he didn’t get any royalties. And that pissed him off. Royally you might say.
So one night the ghost possessed Ricki Naill, the only one sensitive enough to experience him, and used Ricki’s hands to stab the drummer with his own drum sticks, garrote both the bassist and guitarist with strings from their instruments, and electrocute the keyboardist. Ricki then tried to swallow his own microphone and choked to death.
The ghost was quite happy. Until, in the wake of all the gruesome deaths, the Scarlet Sphinx album went multi- multi-platinum. And he still didn’t get paid.
--- the end ---
----------------
New Halloween Horrors, Just Up
The Lesson by Lucas Pederson. Lucas is a horror writer and has leaped into the fray with a nicely imagine piece.
overlord by Laughingwolf. This is Laughingwolf's fith piece. Can you say prolific?
Rather than list all the links to the older stories here again, I'll just refer you to my Wednesday, October 15 post, if you haven't already seen 'em. We've got a pretty incredible line-up, I'd say.
INSPIRATION
The ghost fluttered like a butterfly in the wind, wailing like a banshee over the members of the Goth Rock band Scarlet Sphinx while they sat chopsticking some sushi.
"You hear something?" Ricki Naill asked his mates.
"Yeah, you eatin’ like a cow," Harley Storm said. "Didn't your mother teach you to chew with your mouth closed?"
"That’s not what I'm talking about," Ricki said. "It was high pitched, like a Memorex scream, with a...fluttering."
The others laughed.
"You are one psycho mother," Harley said. And thus was born the title and much of the content of their biggest selling album.
The ghost traveled with the band after that and got to live (relatively speaking) the rock-n-roll lifestyle. But even though he was the inspiration for the band’s greatest success, he didn’t get any royalties. And that pissed him off. Royally you might say.
So one night the ghost possessed Ricki Naill, the only one sensitive enough to experience him, and used Ricki’s hands to stab the drummer with his own drum sticks, garrote both the bassist and guitarist with strings from their instruments, and electrocute the keyboardist. Ricki then tried to swallow his own microphone and choked to death.
The ghost was quite happy. Until, in the wake of all the gruesome deaths, the Scarlet Sphinx album went multi- multi-platinum. And he still didn’t get paid.
--- the end ---
----------------
New Halloween Horrors, Just Up
The Lesson by Lucas Pederson. Lucas is a horror writer and has leaped into the fray with a nicely imagine piece.
overlord by Laughingwolf. This is Laughingwolf's fith piece. Can you say prolific?
Rather than list all the links to the older stories here again, I'll just refer you to my Wednesday, October 15 post, if you haven't already seen 'em. We've got a pretty incredible line-up, I'd say.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
More Halloween Horror October Links
My next flash fiction story, #4, will be up Friday but in the meantime there is plenty of new stuff to read regarding Halloween Horror October. New stories are rolling in from around the blogosphere, and there are some non-fiction things happening as well.
Although not officially described as a Halloween Horror, Bernardl certainly has a Halloween themed short horror piece at his blog. It’s entitled Jack-o-Lantern.
Sidney Williams has thrown a second Horror flash into the mix. It’s a very nasty one, and similarly entitled Jack-O-Lanterns. I suppose evil minds think alike.
Laughingwolf has two, count ‘em two, flash horror pieces up at his blog. These are: freaky flash iii, and witch. “witch" is particularly interesting, I think.
L. A. Mitchell treats us to a haunting and lyrical piece of mood horror called Home.
And for non-fiction, Rick at “The Writer and the White Cat” is running a very informative series about the “monsters” of horror fiction. His latest report is on “The Sex Lives of Werewolves.”
And over at “Blog of the Beast,” Scott is doing a series on horror movies, including one of the goriest films ever, “Dead-Alive,” which was directed by none other than Peter Jackson.
If that isn’t enough, you can find my first three horror flash fictions at my blog under the names “Halloween Flash #1, #2, and #3.
And, in case you missed any of them, below we have the links to more short horrors by our colleagues in the blogosphere. I never guessed when I said for folks to “join in” that we’d have so much creative effort put toward the writing of flash fiction horror tales. A pleasant surprise! Or an “unpleasant” one depending on whether you like horror fiction or not.
Fat Man by Stewart Sternberg.
Twisted by Miladysa.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
The Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
Problem Child by Avery Debow.
flight by Laughingwolf
lady jane, another by Laughingwolf.
Finally, the new Illuminata is out. That’s the October 2008 issue. It has pieces in it by myself and the blog world’s own Rachel.
Although not officially described as a Halloween Horror, Bernardl certainly has a Halloween themed short horror piece at his blog. It’s entitled Jack-o-Lantern.
Sidney Williams has thrown a second Horror flash into the mix. It’s a very nasty one, and similarly entitled Jack-O-Lanterns. I suppose evil minds think alike.
Laughingwolf has two, count ‘em two, flash horror pieces up at his blog. These are: freaky flash iii, and witch. “witch" is particularly interesting, I think.
L. A. Mitchell treats us to a haunting and lyrical piece of mood horror called Home.
And for non-fiction, Rick at “The Writer and the White Cat” is running a very informative series about the “monsters” of horror fiction. His latest report is on “The Sex Lives of Werewolves.”
And over at “Blog of the Beast,” Scott is doing a series on horror movies, including one of the goriest films ever, “Dead-Alive,” which was directed by none other than Peter Jackson.
If that isn’t enough, you can find my first three horror flash fictions at my blog under the names “Halloween Flash #1, #2, and #3.
And, in case you missed any of them, below we have the links to more short horrors by our colleagues in the blogosphere. I never guessed when I said for folks to “join in” that we’d have so much creative effort put toward the writing of flash fiction horror tales. A pleasant surprise! Or an “unpleasant” one depending on whether you like horror fiction or not.
Fat Man by Stewart Sternberg.
Twisted by Miladysa.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
The Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
Problem Child by Avery Debow.
flight by Laughingwolf
lady jane, another by Laughingwolf.
Finally, the new Illuminata is out. That’s the October 2008 issue. It has pieces in it by myself and the blog world’s own Rachel.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Halloween Flash #3
OK, here is my third Halloween flash story. It's a revision of something I once posted on another blog in response to a prompt. I hope I was able to turn it into something appropriately Halloweeny. I've also reposted the links to all the other Halloween flash pieces just below my piece. We have new, additional pieces from Avery and Laughingwolf.
HEAVEN
The spaceship jarred as it landed. The computer had done its job, had brought me down safely from orbit. But I was weak, gasping for breath, mind drifting from lack of oxygen. The recycler had broken down. Even my space suit was nearly exhausted of air. But I managed to make it to the airlock.
I didn’t know this planet. Was the atmosphere breathable? I had no choice but to find out. The outer hatch opened under my hand. I staggered through, fell to hands and knees, slapped my helmet release.
A breath shuddered into my lungs. Warm. Languid. It fed me. My lungs filled with it; my body drank it like nectar. I coughed, then forced myself to my feet. The view froze me.
A low mist coiled thickly around my feet, as if I stood on a cloud. But up through the fog thrust metal trees, of copper, black iron, gleaming platinum. Their leaves chimed in a zephyr breeze. Above me, the sky was clear and golden, like melted butter.
And in the sky drifted a city of silver. I heard the belling of trumpets, and rising over the city’s needle spires came a flock of beings who swept toward me. They were white, blindingly white, with feathered wings.
For an instant I wondered if I had died aboard my ship, or if I lay dreaming with brain damaged from oxygen loss. But I’d always understood the difference between fantasy and reality, and the reality was that the creatures who dove toward me were angels.
They began to sing. My heart swelled with the beauty. I lifted my own voice to join theirs.
The angels swirled before me. Their luminous eyes were sharp, piercing. Their voices rose higher and higher.
My own voice faltered. I couldn’t match them. And I realized that their song was no song at all. No song at all.
At the sound of the angels’ laughter, my ears began to bleed.
--- the end ---
----------------
LINKS TO OTHER STORIES
TWO NEW ONES:
Problem Child, by Avery Debow.
lady jane, by Laughingwolf.
EARLIER ONES IN CASE YOU MISSED ‘EM:
Fat Man by Stewart Sternberg.
Twisted by Miladysa.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
The Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
flight by Laughingwolf.
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HEAVEN
The spaceship jarred as it landed. The computer had done its job, had brought me down safely from orbit. But I was weak, gasping for breath, mind drifting from lack of oxygen. The recycler had broken down. Even my space suit was nearly exhausted of air. But I managed to make it to the airlock.
I didn’t know this planet. Was the atmosphere breathable? I had no choice but to find out. The outer hatch opened under my hand. I staggered through, fell to hands and knees, slapped my helmet release.
A breath shuddered into my lungs. Warm. Languid. It fed me. My lungs filled with it; my body drank it like nectar. I coughed, then forced myself to my feet. The view froze me.
A low mist coiled thickly around my feet, as if I stood on a cloud. But up through the fog thrust metal trees, of copper, black iron, gleaming platinum. Their leaves chimed in a zephyr breeze. Above me, the sky was clear and golden, like melted butter.
And in the sky drifted a city of silver. I heard the belling of trumpets, and rising over the city’s needle spires came a flock of beings who swept toward me. They were white, blindingly white, with feathered wings.
For an instant I wondered if I had died aboard my ship, or if I lay dreaming with brain damaged from oxygen loss. But I’d always understood the difference between fantasy and reality, and the reality was that the creatures who dove toward me were angels.
They began to sing. My heart swelled with the beauty. I lifted my own voice to join theirs.
The angels swirled before me. Their luminous eyes were sharp, piercing. Their voices rose higher and higher.
My own voice faltered. I couldn’t match them. And I realized that their song was no song at all. No song at all.
At the sound of the angels’ laughter, my ears began to bleed.
--- the end ---
----------------
LINKS TO OTHER STORIES
TWO NEW ONES:
Problem Child, by Avery Debow.
lady jane, by Laughingwolf.
EARLIER ONES IN CASE YOU MISSED ‘EM:
Fat Man by Stewart Sternberg.
Twisted by Miladysa.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
The Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
flight by Laughingwolf.
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Saturday, October 11, 2008
Halloween Flash #2
Well, here is the second installment of Halloween Horror October. It's called "Spot." But don't rush away after you finish the story. Two other folks have joined in the fun, Avery DeBow, with the very eerie "The Empress of the Fescue," and Laughingwolf, with a tightrope walking piece of prose called "flight." The links to these stories will be posted after the end of "Spot." And if you missed my "Halloween Flash #1," called "Goodnight," just see my Thursday post. Hope you enjoy!
Note: Sidney Williams has posted a Halloween Flash Horror over on his blog so I'm going to add his link to this post, at the bottom. It's an evil little piece deserving of your attention, called "Having His Say."
SPOT
Spot is my pet and I love him. My daddy brought him home last week, but already we’re inseparable. He sleeps on the floor by my bed and I feed him scraps from the table when no one is looking.
I love my daddy, too. And not just because he brought Spot home after my dog, Rover, died. Daddy knows everything. He teaches at a major university and is a doctor, though I’m always sposed to remember he’s not a “med doctor” but a doctor of Sperimental Psychology. He says med doctors are just plumbers.
I’m eight years old and one thing that worried me at first about Spot was that he was older than me. So was Rover. But when I asked Daddy if he thought Spot might die soon from old age, he said not to worry, that Rover had died from barking too much and Spot doesn’t bark.
Spot plays all the games I like, as long as I give him clear orders. I especially like to play fetch with him, and he never gets the ball all slobbery like Rover did. The only thing I don’t like is that he’s not as much fun to pet as Rover. Part of it is that he doesn’t have Rover’s soft fur, but I think a lot of it is the ugly black box attached to his head. It gets in the way a lot.
Daddy says the box is really important, though. He says that it has lectrodes that control Spot, and that without it Spot would run away. I don’t want that to happen so I’ll just have to live with the box, I guess. I sure wouldn’t want to see Spot’s picture on a milk carton like those other lost kids.
--- the end ---
----------------
Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
flight, by Laughingwolf.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
--------
Note: Sidney Williams has posted a Halloween Flash Horror over on his blog so I'm going to add his link to this post, at the bottom. It's an evil little piece deserving of your attention, called "Having His Say."
SPOT
Spot is my pet and I love him. My daddy brought him home last week, but already we’re inseparable. He sleeps on the floor by my bed and I feed him scraps from the table when no one is looking.
I love my daddy, too. And not just because he brought Spot home after my dog, Rover, died. Daddy knows everything. He teaches at a major university and is a doctor, though I’m always sposed to remember he’s not a “med doctor” but a doctor of Sperimental Psychology. He says med doctors are just plumbers.
I’m eight years old and one thing that worried me at first about Spot was that he was older than me. So was Rover. But when I asked Daddy if he thought Spot might die soon from old age, he said not to worry, that Rover had died from barking too much and Spot doesn’t bark.
Spot plays all the games I like, as long as I give him clear orders. I especially like to play fetch with him, and he never gets the ball all slobbery like Rover did. The only thing I don’t like is that he’s not as much fun to pet as Rover. Part of it is that he doesn’t have Rover’s soft fur, but I think a lot of it is the ugly black box attached to his head. It gets in the way a lot.
Daddy says the box is really important, though. He says that it has lectrodes that control Spot, and that without it Spot would run away. I don’t want that to happen so I’ll just have to live with the box, I guess. I sure wouldn’t want to see Spot’s picture on a milk carton like those other lost kids.
--- the end ---
----------------
Empress of the Fescue, by Avery DeBow.
flight, by Laughingwolf.
Having His Say by Sidney Williams.
--------
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Halloween Flash #1
I love Halloween. Always have. I love spooky stuff. I love a haunted mood and a good gore fest both. So, in the spirit of the month, I plan to post a few horror flash pieces over the next few weeks as we approach the big night. Feel free to join in if you’re a mind too, and if you want to send me a notice that you’ve done so at Kainja at hotmail dot com (Put Halloween Horror in the subject line), or drop me a note in my comments section, then I’ll post the links to your stories here on my blog. Let’s call it Halloween Horror October. Below is my first burnt offering.
GOODNIGHT
You are lying awake and still in the darkness when you hear the noise, a soft shuffle, like rotted feet dragging on carpet.
Your heartbeat speeds. Your mouth dries. Who’s coming? Who’s coming!
The door to your bedroom opens, scritching back on hinges that need oiling. A shadow bulks in the faint glow from the hallway lamp. A scream rises in your throat, bulges your lips like vomit trying to escape.
But then you hear Momma say: “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Yes, Momma,” you reply. And: “I love you, Momma.”
You think you see her smile. Certainly there is a flash of white in the dimness that could be her teeth.
The door closes and you lie awake and still. But no matter how still you lie, there is movement under the sheets.
You bite your lip. Your nose itches but you dare not lift a hand to scratch. You must: “sleep tight.”
Or else the mandible-clicking little monsters that Momma tucked in with you earlier will rip you to shreds.
--- the end ---
---------------
GOODNIGHT
You are lying awake and still in the darkness when you hear the noise, a soft shuffle, like rotted feet dragging on carpet.
Your heartbeat speeds. Your mouth dries. Who’s coming? Who’s coming!
The door to your bedroom opens, scritching back on hinges that need oiling. A shadow bulks in the faint glow from the hallway lamp. A scream rises in your throat, bulges your lips like vomit trying to escape.
But then you hear Momma say: “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Yes, Momma,” you reply. And: “I love you, Momma.”
You think you see her smile. Certainly there is a flash of white in the dimness that could be her teeth.
The door closes and you lie awake and still. But no matter how still you lie, there is movement under the sheets.
You bite your lip. Your nose itches but you dare not lift a hand to scratch. You must: “sleep tight.”
Or else the mandible-clicking little monsters that Momma tucked in with you earlier will rip you to shreds.
--- the end ---
---------------
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