by D Kershaw
by Kevin Berg
It started out pleasant enough.
Young couple with a dog and their ghost—some kid they lost at the last place they lived. Too violent, they’d said. So, they came here looking for a new start.
I hated that fucking dog.
A steak marinated in antifreeze shushed everything for a bit—until they got another puppy. Couple of friendly iced teas with some strychnine made sure they learned the lesson and only left me a couple of holes to dig.
To be honest, now I’m kind of fond of the puppy, though he keeps digging at the graves.
Stupid mutt.
KEVIN BERG is the author of Indifference, Daddy Monster, and Ants in My Blood. His dark fiction can be found at Pulp Metal Magazine, Near to the Knuckle, The Blood Red Experiment, Horror Sleaze Trash, Trembling With Fear, Underbelly Magazine, Stupefying Stories, and Alien Buddha Press, among others. He currently resides in the Land of Smiles.
This Little Piggy
by A.R. Dean
Feet. I gag at the word. Worthless, disgusting appendages. I sit in my booth as the ignorant people flood by, unaware that they are walking on evil.
Summer is here; there’s sandals and flip-flops everywhere. The epidemic of feet must come to an end. Each flash of the skinned hooves makes me rage.
I must wait for the dark to set them free. They have no idea how I will enrich their lives by hacking away those grotesque extremities. I did it to my own and can now admire my legs without vomiting at the sight of them.
Here piggies.
A.R. DEAN is a dark and twisted soul. Dean has spent their whole life spreading fear with the tales from their head. Best known for stories that terrify and show the evilest side of human nature. So, look for Dean haunting your local cemetery or under your bed, because they’re here to spread the fear. Turn off your lights and enjoy a scare. Dean is being published in Black Hare Press’s Beyond and Unravel Anthologies. Keep a lookout for more stories.
Facebook: A.R. Dean Author & Ghoul
Leaving Gift
by Dale Parnell
“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said, “but I just don’t love you anymore.”
I cried. She would have been suspicious if I didn’t. I knew this was coming. There are always signs, if you look close enough.
A friend of a friend taught me the summoning spell. I’d drawn the runes last weekend, and I hid the blood when I was supposedly packing my things to leave.
Now all it needs is a full moon, there’s one due in three days. And then they will come for her.
If I wait outside the house, maybe I can even hear the screams.
DALE PARNELL lives in Staffordshire, England, with his wife and their imaginary dog, Moriarty. He has self-published two collections of short stories, “The Green Cathedral” and “Bramble and other stories”. Dale also writes poetry, and is lucky enough to have pieces featured in several poetry and fiction anthologies.
Facebook: shortfictionauthor
Hate Runs in the Family
by T.A. Ulven
People would ask me if I hated my father for killing my mother. Yes, I’d say without flinching. But it was a lie. I didn’t hate him for that. I hated him for the years of abuse, torture and humiliation. I hated him for existing.
Given the chance, would I kill him?
No. That would be too easy. I wanted him to suffer the rest of his life. Abused, tortured, humiliated. Locked up like the animal he is.
He didn’t deserve to die. My mother did. That’s why I killed her. That’s why I framed him.
And now I’m free.
T.A. ULVEN is a father, husband, and horror fiction writer hailing from the cold mountains of Norway. He became known through his horror persona hyperobscure, primarily posting short stories on the vast writing subreddit of NoSleep. He has since had work published in several anthologies, and will continue to expand his dark universe for as long as people will visit it.
Facebook: hyperobscure
Reddit: hyperobscura
Just a Friend
by G. Allen Wilbanks
“I heard you went out with some other girl last night. Are you breaking up with me?” asked Darlene.
“It’s not like that. She’s just a friend,” Carlton tried to assure his angry girlfriend.
“Really? Because I have friends, too. In fact, I called one of them this morning.”
“Are you going out with him?”
“He’s not that kind of friend,” Darlene said, coldly.
“Well, what kind of friend is he?”
“He’s the kind of friend you pay a large amount of money, then you don’t hear from him again until he calls you to say the job is done.”
G. ALLEN WILBANKS is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 100 short stories in various magazines and on-line venues. He is the author of two short story collections, and the novel, When Darkness Comes.
Website: www.gallenwilbanks.com
Blog: DeepDarkThoughts.com
Meet at 0600 Hours,
Top of the World Hotel
by Jacob Bowers
I woke up still tired from the flight. Slept well, though. The hotel had starchy bedding, like mine and Michelle’s old sheets.
They told him to meet on top of the hotel. Wear civvies. There, he’d get his next mission. Someone would be there to rendezvous.
He took it: hook, line, and sinker.
I wore the dark suit. The handgun was in the shoulder holster.
“A sniper would be easier,” they said, “Put you near the top—”
“No.” I wanted to hear the little gasp.
No mercy now. This one’s for Michelle.
I clicked the “up” button on the elevator.
JACOB BOWERS is a student at Franciscan University of Steubenville, majoring in English. He enjoys reading, writing fiction, watching any kind of movie, and debating obscure theological topics.
Prayer
by Dale Parnell
They called it a hate crime. Damn right it was. Thirty-one years of devout faith, going to church twice a week. And for what? For You to randomly decide You’re going to take my husband and child from me.
A freak accident, they said. Couldn’t have been prevented, they said. God’s mysterious plan, they said. What possible plan requires a six-week-old baby?
So yes, I burned down eight of your churches before they finally caught me. Burned them right down to the ground.
They tell me there’s a chapel in the prison.
Good.
Because I’m not nearly finished hating You.
DALE PARNELL lives in Staffordshire, England, with his wife and their imaginary dog, Moriarty. He has self-published two collections of short stories, “The Green Cathedral” and “Bramble and other stories”. Dale also writes poetry, and is lucky enough to have pieces featured in several poetry and fiction anthologies.
Facebook: shortfictionauthor
Fury
by Gabriella Balcom
Obsessing about his ex-wife Viola’s upcoming marriage, Lemuel remembered her infidelity and fumed. He merged with the wind and sent gales swirling in all directions.
Rage and hatred intensifying as he swept across town, he blasted open Viola’s door, finding her in her beau’s arms. Lemuel raked them with jagged talons of air, ripped them to pieces, and didn’t stop till they lay shredded on the floor.
Unsatisfied, he gusted one direction, then another, pulverized everything in his path, and ignored the blood flying through the air. He didn't stop until he'd levelled the city and body parts lay everywhere.
GABRIELLA BALCOM lives in Texas with her family, loves reading and writing, and thinks she was born with a book in her hands. She works in a mental health field, and writes fantasy, horror/thriller, romance, children’s stories, and sci-fi. She likes travelling, music, good shows, photography, history, interesting tales, and animals. Gabriella says she’s a sucker for a great story and loves forests, mountains, and back roads w
hich might lead who knows where. She has a weakness for lasagne, garlic bread, tacos, cheese, and chocolate, but not necessarily in that order.
Facebook: GabriellaBalcom.lonestarauthor
The Best Revenge
by Mikko Rauhala
Rob woke up to a splitting headache. As he struggled up, he noticed a tablet screen saying, “Play me”, the letters shining bright against the pitch black. He fumbled at the device and was greeted by a contemptuous frown.
“Hi, Rob. Rohypnol’s a bitch, right?”
“No, Lisa, you are,” Rob snarled. Had his lay gotten him back somehow?
“Should’ve pleaded guilty,” Lisa said. “But now, you know what they say about the best revenge?”
Rob glanced around in the light of the tablet. A circular stone wall surrounded him.
The screen went dark as Lisa’s voice uttered: “Live in well.”
MIKKO RAUHALA is a Finnish author of speculative fiction with a national Atorox award nomination under his belt. Informed by his master’s degree in intelligent systems, Rauhala is most at home in hard science fiction settings, though he’s not exclusive and likes to cross genres. Rauhala has dabbled in editing flash fiction for The Self-Inflicted Relative anthology, and some of his English science fiction can be found in the Infinite Metropolis short story and audio drama collection, co-authored with Edmund Schluessel.
Blog: rauhala.org
Podcast: infinitemetropolis.com
The Illustrated Boy
by Nicola Currie
In Bradbury’s stories, the man’s tattoos tell the future. Mine tell the past. I’m no artist and they’re taking a lot of time, pain, scratched in with a shard of glass, a crafting blade, a razor.
Stroking whatever part of me she’s bruised, Mum always slurs that she is proud to have such a beautiful son. So I scar my skin with words like ‘beaten,’ ‘broken,’ ‘unloved,’ drawings of teardrops, stitches, fists.
But ‘bitch’ was the first word, on the cheek she last stroked, so she’ll know it’s because of her, when they find my body. I hope it stings.
NICOLA CURRIE is from Cambridge, UK where she works in educational publishing. She has published poetry in literary magazines, including Mslexia and Sarasvati, and short stories in various anthologies. She has also completed her first novel, which was longlisted for the Bath Children’s Novel Award.
Website: writeitandweep.home.blog
Tea for Two
by Jason Holden
Passed over by the boys’ club again! They gave the job to Simon Stone because his father holds some title or some such.
I could have lived with that. Got my head down, worked harder than the boys to earn my place at the top, if I hadn’t overheard the C.E.O saying, “She should stick to making tea. It’s what women are good at.”
I made the tea alright, with a little water hemlock in it to teach those bastards a lesson. I smiled when I gave it to them. Sweet as sugar, while they died on their glass ceiling.
JASON HOLDEN is a human. He lives here and there in the UK, always with his wife, daughter and fur baby. His primary goal is to raise his daughter to adulthood without any major damage. When he can, he writes. He thinks he does it well, but you can be the judge of that. He has been published in a few anthologies here and there, has been praised and put down for his writing. You can find and follow him on Facebook, although he asks you only follow him on Facebook and not through the streets. That’s just creepy.
Facebook: Jason Holden-Author
The Press Are Vultures
by Ximena Escobar
Curved like burnt steel on the hot earth, the slight movement of her ribs is the only indication that she’s still alive; that and the vulture behind her; still waiting.
Uncaptured are the armed boys behind Kevin; and every other picture he ever took instead of running to aid the dying; tyres burning around their necks, dented bin-lids rattling on the ground.
Sometimes, they wake.
Kevin digs with scavenger talons; he is a vulture too. But there is no salvation, and no grave to rest in. Only the oozing pool that feeds him. Only his repulsive reflection in the blood.
XIMENA ESCOBAR is writing stories and poetry. Originally from Chile, she is the author of a translation into Spanish of the Broadway Musical “The Wizard of Oz”, and of an original adaptation of the same, “Navidad en Oz”, both produced in her home country. Since 2018 she has published several short stories in various anthologies and online platforms, and is now slowly working on her own collection. Ximena has a degree in Arts & Communication Science and lives in Nottingham with her family.
Facebook: Ximenautora
Twitter: @laximenin
Last Laugh
by Shelly Jarvis
You didn’t mean to kill them. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. So why are you smiling?
Was it because the blood seemed to ooze out, gentle and flowing and warm, like lava down the peaks and valleys of her body? Was it the sweet song of your blade as it sang through the air, through his skin? Or was it just the satisfaction of revenge?
For that is what you’re happiest about, isn’t it? You finally got revenge for the way your heart was crushed beneath their feet.
They laughed at you. But they’re not laughing now.
SHELLY JARVIS is a speculative fiction author from West Virginia, US. She found a life-long love of sci-fi and fantasy in the 3rd grade when she found Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time.” Shelly is an avid reader, a Whovian, the ideal viewer of dog rescue videos, and undoubtedly Ravenclaw. She currently has three YA sci-fi books available for purchase on Amazon.
Website: www.ShellyJarvis.com
Secret Ingredient
by K.B. Elijah
The woman’s nostrils flared as she glowered across the table at her greatest enemy, a lump of bitter hatred lodging in her dry throat. Her fingers twitched, uncomfortable with their proximity.
She’d never felt resentment for any person as much as she did for that...loathsome thing, an abomination of the foulest degree. Yet despite its apparent obliviousness to the woman’s unceasing contempt, it seemed to haunt her. Barely a day went past without her encountering its putrid presence.
The man seated across from her frowned. “Do you have a problem with my soup?”
“Yes,” she snarled. “There’s coriander in it!”
K.B. ELIJAH is a fantasy author living in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three cockatiels. A lawyer by day, and a writer by...also day, because she needs her solid nine hours of sleep per night (not that the cockatiels let her sleep past 6am). K.B. writes for various international anthologies, and her work features in dozens of collections about the mysterious, the magical and the macabre. Her own books of short fantasy novellas with twists, The Empty Sky and Out of the Nowhere, are available on paperback and Kindle now.
Website: www.kbelijah.com
Instagram: k.b.elijah
Us and Them
by Dawn Knox
We shuffle towards the entrance; shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding contact with our captors.
Women clutch men.
Children cling to women.
Slowly, we stumble towards the communal showers.
That’s what everyone believes.
But I know different. I’ve studied history and I know the showerheads won’t deliver water.
They won’t dispense liquid at all.
I make eye contact with the guard. How can another being not be touched by the starved, broken line of humanity it’s propelling towards destruction?
Then I know.
Like the men these monsters seek to emulate, they share a hatred of anyone who’s not the same as them.
DAWN KNOX enjoys writing in different genres and has had romances, speculative fiction, sci-fi, humorous and women’s fiction published in magazines, anthologies and books. She’s also had two plays about World War One performed internationally. Her current work in progress is a stor
y set in Bletchley Park during World War Two.
Website: dawnknox.com
Twitter: SunriseCalls
Curse
by A.R. Johnston
Was I really going to do this? Was I ready to take the karma, the smut on my soul to do this? Was he really worth it? Tears spilled down her face, staining the wedding photo in her hands. She sniffed, wiped her face with her sleeve, looking up to the person standing in front of her.
“Once you do this, there is no going back. It will stain your soul, but you will have your revenge,” the dark voice spoke.
She blinked. “Yes, this is what I want.”
“Then place the photo in the fire and let us begin.”
A.R. JOHNSTON is a small-town girl from Nova Scotia, Canada. She is known to write mostly urban fantasy, though she goes where the muses lead her and you never know where that may be. She is a lover of coffee, good tv shows, horror flicks, and a reader of good books. She pretends to be a writer when real life doesn’t get in the way. Pesky full-time job and adulting!