Unravel

by D Kershaw

  Late at night, I scoped out the last known location of the guys. A truck pulled up, screaming inside. I called a cop I knew. He knew the names of the guys. Underground payrolls can’t be cracked.

  ABI LINHARDT has been a gamer all her life but is a teacher at heart. When she is not writing, you can find her slaying enemies online or teaching in a college classroom. She has published works of fiction, poetry, college essays, and even won two literary awards for her short stories in science fiction and horror. Abi lives and writes in the grey world of northern Ohio.

  Bad Luck

  by Jonathan Inbody

  Tom smashed at the front of the small safe with a claw hammer, knocking off the combination dial and denting the door enough that he could pry it open. Behind him, Jackson reloaded his gun. His hands were shaking, but he had done what needed to be done. With the kind of money they were about to get, they could do anything.

  “It’s empty,” Tom said quietly.

  In the corner of the room, the house’s owner sat dead in a puddle of his own blood and brain matter. He really shouldn’t have lied to his friends about winning the lottery.

  JONATHAN INBODY is a filmmaker, author, and podcaster from Buffalo, New York. He enjoys B-movies, pen and paper RPGs, and New Wave Science Fiction novels. His short story “Dying Feels Like Slowly Sinking” is due to be published in the anthology Deteriorate from Whimsically Dark Publishing. Jon can be heard every other week on his improvisational movie pitch podcast X Meets Y.

  Website: xmeetsy.libsyn.com

  The Walk

  by A.L. King

  Their fortune afforded them retirement on vast acreage. It was through their woodland they took walks, even after Eleanor’s diagnosis. Herman led her.

  “Seeing the grandkids was great,” she said, unaware of just how far they’d walked since bidding their kin goodbye.

  “Great until you mentioned the robbery,” he countered. “I played it like you were confusing TV with memory, but you kept talking about the teller we shot dead in sixty-eight.”

  Suddenly, her eyes sparkled sharply—and sadly.

  “Was it an accident?”

  “It was,” he answered. “But this isn’t.”

  Herman sprinted toward home. Eleanor never found her way back.

  A.L. KING is an author of horror, fantasy, science fiction, and poetry. As an avid fan of dark subjects from an early age, his first influences included R.L. Stine, Edgar Allan Poe, and Stephen King. Later stylistic inspirations came from foreign horror films and media, particularly Japanese. He is a graduate of West Liberty University, has dabbled in journalism, and is actively involved in his community. Although his creativity leans toward darker genres, he has even written a children’s book titled “Leif’s First Fall.” He was raised in the town of Sistersville, West Virginia, which he still proudly calls home.

  Auto-da-Fe

  by Donald Jacob Uitvlugt

  He lies in Bloom Memorial’s ICU, swaddled in bandages. Umbilicals of IVs and wires web around him. Only the monitor beeps show him to be alive.

  He has no nerve endings, but after-memories of the pain play in an endless loop. The smell of burning flesh. Skin melting like wax. Heat pressing in all around. The cloying, bitter taste of smoke.

  Through the pain comes certainty. He had known it would come. Knew it when he bought the gasoline. Knew when he heard the hiss of the match.

  Baptism by fire.

  And on his bed of pain, he smiles.

  DONALD JACOB UITVLUGT lives on neither coast of the United States, but mostly in a haunted memory palace of his own design. His short fiction has appeared in numerous print and online venues, including Cirsova Magazine and the Flame Tree Press anthology Murder Mayhem. He works primarily in speculative fiction, though he loves blending and stretching genres. He strives to write what he calls “haiku fiction,” stories that are small in scale but big in impact.

  Website: haikufiction.blogspot.com

  Twitter: @haikufictiondju

  The Masked Surrender

  by Shawn M. Klimek

  “This question is for Detective Givens,” said the final reporter.

  “Go ahead,” said Givens.

  “You’ve said that the Masked Butcher leaves behind a rubber mask as his calling card not only to taunt police, but because he wants to be caught.”

  “Correct. He primarily wants fame.”

  “If that’s true, why does he use disguises? And follow-up question, if he’s helping, why haven’t you caught him?”

  “Let me reverse the question,” said Givens. “If the Masked Butcher did not want to be caught, why else would he sneak into a phony press conference and identify himself by asking an off-script question?”

  SHAWN M. KLIMEK is the middle child of seven creative siblings, a globetrotting, U.S. military spouse, an internationally best-selling short-story writer, award-winning poet, and butler to a Maltese. More than one hundred of his stories and poems have been published in digital magazines or anthologies, including BHP’s Deep Space, Eerie Christmas and every book so far in the Dark Drabbles series.

  Website: jotinthedark.blogspot.com

  Facebook: shawnmklimekauthor

  Deep in the House of Watobra

  by Stuart Conover

  Pyer’Eal had been practicing holding her breath.

  The air was poison in the House of Watobra.

  Yet, she slipped inside one moonless night.

  Two minutes and the pressure built.

  She swallowed it down.

  Just shy of three minutes, she snuck into The Warlord’s private chambers.

  A beast of a creature lay naked upon the bed.

  Four minutes and trapped air burned to be free.

  She unsheathed the knife.

  Exhaling, she drove the blade into the Orc’s heart.

  Inhaling death, she smiled as the creature took its final breath.

  Her life a small price to pay for revenge against The Warlord.

  STUART CONOVER is a father, husband, rescue dog owner, published author, blogger, journalist, horror enthusiast, comic book geek, science fiction junkie, and IT professional. With all of that to cram in daily, we have no idea if or when he sleeps or how he gets writing done! (We suspect it has to do with having evil clones.) Stuart is a Chicago native and runs the author resource Horror Tree.

  Innocently Guilty

  by Terri A. Arnold

  I am innocent. Why doesn’t anyone believe me? I’ll tell you. I’m not a good person. I’ve done unspeakable things, but I swear I didn’t do this. As I sit here and stare at the cold metal bars that make up two walls of my cell, I wonder how this happened. I sit in silence as I contemplate the crime I will serve time for; arson. I laugh quietly, being convicted of this crime gives me the alibi I need for the crime I did commit. For I am innocent, but also guilty of the worse crime there is, murder.

  TERRI A ARNOLD has recently begun to share stories that she has been writing for years. She is from a small town in Nova Scotia and loves to put words to paper. By day she works as a registered nurse, but any other time she can be found reading or writing, and is loving it more and more every day.

  Rush Job

  by G. Allen Wilbanks

  “When we arrived at this secluded little getaway two days ago, there were ten of us. Over the past forty-eight hours, someone has been picking us off, one by one,” explained Detective Frank Antic. “I brought us all together tonight to put an end to this sick little game.”

  “Perhaps there is more than one killer in this house, Detective,” suggested a mousy, blonde woman.

  “No,” he said. “The killer acted alone. I’m positive of that.” The detective reached under his coat and removed a nickel-plated, Colt semi-automatic pistol. “I’m just tired of killing you assholes one at a time.”

  G. ALLEN WILBANKS is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 50 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

  Homemade

  by Abi Linhardt

  Working the deep south was the detective’s least favourite. All the TV shows made it look fun and hip, but really it was just swamps, mosquitos, cafes, and macabre toothless smiles.

  He stood under the Spanish Moss, eyeing the lady in question. A husband killer. The man’s car had been found burned out on a highway heading north. Standing behind her white fence, hanging laundry, she looked innocent.

  “Ma’am,” he said, stiffly as he could, his necktie suffocating. “I have some questions about your husband’s whereabouts.”

  The lady smiled like sun tea. “Can I offer you my homemade meat pie?”

  ABI LINHARDT has been a gamer all her life but is a teacher at heart. When she is not writing, you can find her slaying enemies online or teaching in a college classroom. She has published works of fiction, poetry, college essays, and even won two literary awards for her short stories in science fiction and horror. Abi lives and writes in the grey world of northern Ohio.

  The Curator

  by Cameron Marcoux

  Pictures. Photographs everywhere. Splayed across the room, all face up. Flesh jaggedly sewn together. Hair in matted clumps. Teeth in a dish. Blood.

  The detective closed his eyes. The images were still there. This was too much. But what choice did he have? Weakness wouldn’t catch this lunatic. He took a breath and opened them again.

  Limbs hacked from bodies. Fingers in small piles. Intestines hanging from a ladder. People had been dissected and put on display in the likeness of a museum. He called himself the Curator. On the bottom of each polaroid was a single word: Sight. Passion. Discord. Revelation.

  CAMERON MARCOUX is a writer of stories, which, considering where you are reading this, makes a lot of sense. He also teaches English to the lovely and terrifying creatures we call teenagers. He lives in the quiet, northern reaches of New England in the U.S. with his girlfriend and scaredy dog.

  Bad Math

  by Glenn R. Wilson

  I thought I had killed them all.

  I guess I calculated wrong.

  Therefore, there’s a chance I might be caught. Unless I pull the trigger.

  Across the pathway, reaching for the keys to her apartment, is the daughter in hiding. The one I didn’t know of until yesterday. He had so many liaisons, but this offspring I almost missed. I’d rather do it subtly. Not my style to be so crude. And ruthless. Out in the open. Seems so wrong.

  But, what the hell.

  A couple quick pops and it’s over. So much blood...

  At least I’ll sleep well tonight.

  GLENN R. WILSON has come full circle. Making a point to mature, like fine wine, before diving head-first into his long list of writing projects, he’s approaching them with a plan. That strategy is to build with one brick at a time. He’s accumulated a few bricks already and is adding more. Over time, with persistence and determination, he’ll have a home. But for now, a solid foundation is the goal. Please, enjoy the process with him.

  Dressed for Carnage

  by Rowanne S. Carberry

  Gun hidden in the dip of her back, she stalks her prey, light as a cat.

  “Go ahead, I need a piss,” the man says.

  A sly smile spreads across her face.

  Sliding out the gun she moves closer, waiting for the girlfriend to walk off.

  Hearing the zipper sliding down, she places her finger on the trigger, pulling without a second thought, slipping away the moment she sees blood splatter up the wall.

  She blends in with crowds leaving the clubs. Hidden from cameras she melts away. Ticking off hit number 100, she smiles knowing she won’t be caught.

  ROWANNE S. CARBERRY was born in England in 1990, where she stills lives now with her cat Wolverine. Rowanne has always loved writing, and her first poem was published at the age of 15, but her ambition has always been to help people. Rowanne studied at the University of Sunderland where she completed combined honours of Psychology with Drama. Rowanne writes to offer others an escape. Although Rowanne writes in varied genres each story or poem she writes will often have a darkness to it, which helped coin her brand, Poisoned Quill Writing – Wicked words from a poisoned quill.

  Facebook: PoisonedQuillWriting

  Instagram: @poisoned_quill_writing

  The Sting of Justice

  by Shawn M. Klimek

  Twin “goth chicks” sat across from Detective Givens in the interrogation room.

  “To whichever of you is Ivy, the true goth,” he said, addressing both, “security footage proves you shot the bartender. End this charade now, and I’ll recommend lenience.”

  “Iris, your plan to frustrate identification by impersonating Ivy is doomed and you risk an obstruction charge.”

  Both women remained defiant.

  “I give up,” said Givens. “Constable, return their nose rings.”

  As the women accessorised, Givens pointed at the twin who didn’t wince. “Arrest that one for murder,” he said.

  Grinning, he revealed, “I ordered them sterilised in lemon juice.”

  SHAWN M. KLIMEK is the middle child of seven creative siblings, a globetrotting, U.S. military spouse, an internationally best-selling short-story writer, award-winning poet, and butler to a Maltese. More than one hundred of his stories and poems have been published in digital magazines or anthologies, including BHP’s Deep Space, Eerie Christmas and every book so far in the Dark Drabbles series.

  Website: jotinthedark.blogspot.com

  Facebook: shawnmklimekauthor

  Dirty Tricks

  by John H. Dromey

  To begin cross-examination, the criminal defence lawyer picked up Exhibit A.

  “Is it just my imagination or does this package weigh less than it did the last time I handled it?”

  “A few of the seeds were removed for testing,” the witness said.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To verify they’re from a cannabis plant and to see if they’d germinate.”

  “Using hydroponics? Or did you place the seeds in potting soil?”

  “The latter.”

  The lawyer turned to the judge. “Your Honour, I ask that all charges against my client be dropped. This witness has just admitted under oath he planted evidence.”

  JOHN H. DROMEY was born in northeast Missouri, USA. He enjoys reading—mysteries in particular—and writing in a variety of genres. He’s had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Martian Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, Thriller Magazine, Unfit Magazine, and elsewhere, as well as in a number of anthologies, including Chilling Horror Short Stories (Flame Tree Publishing, 2015).

  Grave Oversight

  by Diana Grove

  It’s a good spot—lonely bush, far from roads. Only dirt bike riders come out here. I open the Land Rover’s boot and fling aside rope and plastic. Idiot! You left the bloody shovel behind. Can’t go back. Too risky.

  The girl seems smaller wrapped in plastic. I think about her while I dig with an empty first aid kit, and the sky darkens. That last terrified look she gave me will stay with me forever. Smiling, I shove her in the grave with my foot. Only one misstep...

  It was easier than I expected to get away with murder.

  DIANA GROVE writes weird short stories for children and adults that seldom have happy endings. Her chilling children’s story ‘Mr Grimwood’s Curse’ is in the Spring issue of The Caterpillar. Other stories have been published in the zine Trembling With Fear and the print anthologies Freak Pure Slush Vol. 13, Trembling With Fear: Year One and Witches vs Wizards.

  Twitter: @ImaginaryGrove

  The Unmaker

  by Nicola Currie

  They whisper in corners as I scrub the tiles beneath the throne. They do not notice me, these clever men who think they see. Already they co
nspire and politick, wondering which one of them did it.

  The new king had sat alone on his throne; a just prize for one who had survived the schemes and plots of the road to coronation.

  He hadn’t noticed me either, until I cried out, the fire I stoked spitting sparks at my eye. The king laughed at my distress. When he turned, I put the poker to good use and laughed at his.

  NICOLA CURRIE is 34, from Cambridge, UK where she works in educational publishing. She has published poetry in literary magazines, including Mslexia and Sarasvati, and has also completed her first novel, which was longlisted for the Bath Children’s Novel Award.

  Website: writeitandweep.home.blog

  Heist

  by C.L. Williams

  I enter the police station to drop off a package. A signature is required from the sergeant.

  This isn’t any regular package purchased from the internet. It’s evidence from one holding cell to another. I tell the woman I see I require a specific signature. She looks for the man in charge while I’m asked to wait. I see the keys and make my way to evidence. I open the door and take what I need. I then go back to the van and let out the guy meant to do this job. I get in the van and leave.