October Frights Day 3: Drabble Time with Witches

 

Today is drabble day and I'm serving up three stories of dark witches. Enjoy.

Curse

“The cursed are mine, only fodder for the worms.” 

I shivered, trying to bury the sounds in my pillow. I knew it would do no good.

“Tonight you die.”

I leapt out of bed, unable to stand it. I looked out the window, knowing what I would see. She stood at the edge of the forest. Long ragged hair, shrouded in rags and blue light, her black eyes staring into my soul.

“I will come for you under the twice cursed moon.”

I looked up to see the moon. I heard her laugh and felt a hand on my shoulder.

Lady of Ravens

“Does the Lady of Ravens really walk the forest?”

“Indeed, she does, little one. Best stay away from the woods.” My grandmother ruffled my hair, and I smiled, but didn’t listen. I went into the forest.

“Where are you, Lady of Ravens?”

“Right here.” A dark figure materialized from the air and trees, her clawed hand grabbing my arm, her mouth open to devour me. I screamed, “No, please, don’t kill me!”

“Too late. Unless you trade the one you love the most. Will you trade?”

I nodded. Laughing, she let go. 

I ran home to find my grandmother missing.

Caged

“Do you like my little bird?” 

The peculiar woman smiled at Arthur; all taffeta and lace ruffles, holding a small gilt birdcage. The creature tweeted at him; a sad little sound.

“Your pet doesn’t seem happy.”

“No, I don’t think he is. Will you set him free?”

Her voice hypnotized Arthur, and he reached out, fumbling with the latch. The bird flew at him in a flurry of wings and claws. Arthur gasped, pain searing through his body, and he passed out. As he regained consciousness, he looked out through gilt bars at a dead man lying on the cobblestones.

Get your free book.

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Ends October 31st.

 Check the books out here.

The October Frights Giveaway

And be sure to continue on with the rest of our hoppers to see what they’re up to. 

Night to Dawn Magazine & Books LLC

Hawk's Happenings

Heidi Angell

Curiosities

James McDonald

Always Another Chapter

Spreading the Writer's Word

Yours in Storytelling

Carmilla Voiez

Hello Romance

GirlZombieAuthors

Frighten Me

M'habla's!

Angela Yuriko Smith

Brain Matter

NLCARTERWRITES.COM

October Frights Day 4: Dark Drabbles

Today's offering is small but spooky, with three drabbles...

Knock, Knock 

The grandfather clock in the hall ticked in unison with Sally’s fingers as she drummed her digits against the stone fireplace. She barely breathed, her only movement beating against the hearth. 

Tick, tap. Tick tap. Tick, tap. 

She crouched by the iron grate, staring into the cold ashes. She murmured, repeating the same soft words. 

“Can you hear them? Knocking, knocking at the mirror? When it breaks they’ll get out.” 

Suddenly her hand stopped and Sally looked up. Somewhere in the hall, a tapping sound reverberated in unison with the ticking of a clock. 

And somewhere glass began to crack. 

 Underneath the World 

Can you feel it? That sensation of peculiarity? A strange reverberation of the uncanny running beneath your feet. A thought or two, perhaps the earth is alive with… something? Your step quickens as the twilight deepens. You avoid shadows, and the thickening mist. Who knows what eerie perils lurk in the hidden places? Best not indulge any curiosity. You want to make it home alive. 

And there you are, hand on the door, home. Safe at last. All imagings left in the dark. 

Yet… are they truly imaginary? 

What if it is all real? 

What if there is no escape? 

Aftermath 

In the boneyard, the ashes rained down, velvet grey petals coating the bare ground in a soft layer of soot. Above, the sky still flared with hues of red and purple and the few remaining trees were shrivelled and cracked. 

The automatons sorted piles of remains, as they always had, more broken skeletons stacked weekly as the mechanical retrievers brought in the flesh-stripped corpses. It was the way of things now, the clean-up. Years since the end, but the routine went on, a cycle of programming and efficient energy cells. 

One apocalyptic war, billions dead, and only the machines remained.

So that ends today's post. Be sure to hop on over and check out the offerings of the other participants as well. Here's the list.

October Frights Blog Hop

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk's Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog

M'habla's!

CURIOSITIES

Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

Balancing Act

James P. McDonald

greydogtales

Looking for some new books? Check out our October Frights Spooktacular

Book Spotlight: 100 Word Horrors: An Anthology of Horror Drabbles

Today I bring you a book spotlight for one of my favourites types of stories: drabbles. Yes, I have a look at a new horror anthology consisting entirely of those wonderful 100 word delights. So read on and enjoy, as I present...

100 Word Horrors: An Anthology of Horror Drabbles

Drabble: A drabble is a short form of fiction that is exactly 100 words long (not including the title). 

Kevin J. Kennedy has once again brought together the best of the horror world to bring you an anthology that is packed with creepy tales. 

Between these pages you will find over one hundred drabbles, written by a wealth of talented authors. From the best indie horror authors to Bram Stoker award winners and Amazon top sellers. We have monsters, mayhem and madness. Come join us.

Contains drabbles by, Amy Cross, William F. Nolan, Lisa Morton, Gord Rollo, Michael A. Arnzen, Mark Lukens, Richard Chizmar, Rick Gualtieri, Jeff Strand, Kevin J. Kennedy, P. Mattern, Lee Mountford, Ike Hamill, Michael Bray, Andrew Lennon, Craig Saunders, Matt Hickman, Glenn Rolfe and many more. 

Praise for the book:

"A collection of terse, eerie, and delightful little creepers, each one like a swift uppercut to the solar plexus, proving that dynamite truly does come in small packages!"
--Ronald Malfi, author of Bone White

"Wow! With the amazing talent involved in this anthology, it's no wonder 100 Word Horrors is such a powerful gut-punch of horror!" 
--Joe Mynhardt, Crystal Lake Publishing

“A delicious collection of tiny tales of horror."
--Kelley Armstrong, author of Bitten

100 Word Horrors: An Anthology of Horror Drabbles is available on:

Amazon

Kevin J Kennedy is the co-author of You Only Get One Shot, and the man behind the best-selling Collected Horror Shorts anthologies. His stories have featured in many other notable anthologies in the horror genre. Kevin lives in a small town in Scotland with his wife, step daughter and his cats, Carlito and Ariel. 

Keep up to date with new releases or contact Kevin through his website. 

www.kevinjkennedy.co.uk

The Return of Drabble Wednesday: #OctoberFrights Edition

Welcome to Day Two of the October Frights Blog Hop!

And the return of my Drabble Wednesday Feature!

Yes, those 100 word stories are back, creeping into your mind like oozing blood. Enjoy my trio of macabre tales, of strange things lurking in the night...

The Hags

The Hags, that’s what the locals called it. The spot on the river where three gnarled trees grew, all bent and twisted like crones, half-dead and barren. An eyesore in the light of day, but in the moonlight the trees held beauty.

They held something else in the moonlight as well.

My two sisters and I.

We’re tied to the trees, you see, and the moon. Our magic bound to the spot where we died.

Where we were murdered.

They buried our bones under the roots, but our spirits...

Well, soon we’ll be returning to the land of the living.

~*~

The Price of Tranquility

The water of the canal is still, reflecting the pale moonlight and the illuminated clouds. The rows of houses are silent, their inhabitants drifting in dreams and hushed slumber. On the surface all is peaceful.

But only on the surface.

It has been ever so in this city, for a darkness lingers beneath the serene beauty. Under the still calm of the water danger lurks. Creatures old, and hungry, nesting in the depths of the canals, watching the world above.

Waiting.

Until they see what they need. An unwary human, the solitary one, the one who disappears beneath the water. 

~*~

No One Loves A Clown

Are you out there?

Somewhere past the dark?

I can hear you.

It’s so cold here, so cold. I can’t even cry anymore; my tears are frozen.

I’ve been here so long. Trapped in the cold and dark.

I know you can hear me. I know you are out there.

Is it a dream? Maybe. But you can still help me. Come a little closer.

That’s right, let me see you.

No wait, don’t run.

Clowns aren’t scary. Really.

We just want to be loved.

Closer, that’s it.

Aw, don’t scream.

You’ll like it here with me, and the others.

~*~

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved 

And if you'd like to read more of my horror stories I have a free offering for you. Just sign up to my newsletter on Instafreebie and download the two book box set of my Killers and Demons series.

Killers and Demons 

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October Frights Book Giveaway!

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And for more October Frights fun check out the other sites on the hop.

Drabble Wednesday: The Silent Bride

Today on Drabble Wednesday, a story in three parts as we walk down a terrifying aisle into a strange world of repression and anarchy...

Obedience

He signed the contract with a shaking hand. Finally to be wed at five and twenty. Most gentlemen his age had several matrimonial years under their belt, plus heirs. And here he must resort to a disreputable matchmaking service.

Quite the ignominy for his noble house.

“Are you certain she’ll be as I requested? Properly compliant?”

“Yes sir. She’ll never talk back to you.”

“Bring her in then.”

The ringing of a small bell ushered in his bride-to-be.

“Smile for your betrothed, girl.”

She did as bid, her mouth opening wide enough to show where they cut out her tongue.

~*~

Wedding Night

“She won’t say a word. Can’t, milord.” The constable cast his eyes downward in apology. “She’s mute. One of those brides from Conformist Matchmaking.”

“So, he went through with it. Now dead on his wedding night.” He strode to the woman sitting quietly in a corner, avoiding the corpse on the bed.

He knelt down, whispering. “You’ll hang for his murder.”

She smiled, her tongueless mouth in a gaping grin. She held up a bloodied left hand and slipped a dagger from beneath her skirt. In one quick motion she stabbed, and the grand Lord joined his son in death.

~*~

Revolution

The boy at the newsstand held up the latest edition, and screamed out the headlines to attract customers, “Conformist Bride Killer linked to Death Cult! Killing of Lord Everett and his son one of several dozen murders! Conformist Matchmaking under investigation!”

Nearby, two women listened, the older one whispering to her companion. “Our soldiers succeeded admirably. We achieved victory.”

“At a cost. Those women will hang.”

“Some will. Others...” She shrugged. “But many more were never detected. All the key men are dead. No one suspects our revolution. By year’s end the kingdom will be ours, and women will rule.”

 © A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved 

Drabble Wednesday: Ashen

Today on Drabble Wednesday, come explore the world of the pale, the cold, the stark and white...

The Pale Tree

It stood apart from the rest of the grove, growing tall from a small hummock. The rough bark of the tree glinted snow white with streaks of silver, its branches bare save for one month a year when it sprouted greyish buds. The only colour it showed came from a green vine twining around its trunk, and even it bloomed flowers of white in season.

Underneath the tree, entangled in its roots rested another layer of white. Slowly seeping into soil, nurturing it, those rotted corpses and bones of the poor victims buried alive.

Sacrifices.

To the Tree of Death.

~*~

Under the Frozen Earth

The sun sets on silence, and a vast frozen wasteland. No wind blows, no birds fly, not a sound breaks the settling of dusk on the world. Only the cold, the snow, and the deep frozen expanse that ever tightens its grip exist.

The cold and frost run deep. Down, down to the Old World, the world that once existed. A place of faraway dreams and summer. A realm that died in its own hubris, swallowed by the endless winter. A domain that yet whispers, locked in its prison of ice. Where the dead stare upward, frozen in their screams.

~*~

White Petals and Lace

Remains of the past.

One white rose and a scrap of ivory-coloured lace.

Resting next to a small silver box.

The pale kitchen curtains flutter in the breeze, and the sweet smell of summer grasses wafts through the window. If you listen, you can almost hear the laughter drifting across time. When the family gathered for picnics in the yard, when the aroma of potato salad and mayonnaise filled the room.

But those days are long gone.

Only the dead are left, with the last body now crumpled on the kitchen tile.

The poison from the silver box works quickly.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Freaky Fan Fiction

Something different this week for Drabble Wednesday, a little nonsense, a little snark, a little fun with cartoons and sparkly vampires...

Acme Holiday

On an ordinary moonlit night, with the stars shining, night settles over a nondescript laboratory in the middle of an unnamed city.

Inside, tiny voices can be heard...

“What are we going to do tonight, Brain?”

“The same thing we—no.” There is a long pause. “I’m tired of this rat race, Pinky. The same thing night after night. We’re going on vacation!”

“Ooooh, Brain. Narf!”

“Narf indeed. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Pinky?”

“I believe so, Brain. But where would we get the purple frilly tutus to wear on the teacup ride at Disneyworld?”

“To the closet, Pinky!”

~*~

The Truth About Manfredi and Johnson

Amidst sparks and the smell of fish, came the question...

“Are they ready, Kowalski?”

“Aye, aye, Skipper. Project Agent Clones is a go!”

Two years later...

“That’s the last of them, Skipper. The last of the clones are dead.”

“A moment of silence, boys, for the fallen. Manfredi and Johnson. The end of their line. Good soldiers, one and all.”

A hush fell, before Skipper continued, “A true tragedy, but really who could’ve predicted it. Struck down by a rogue herd of buffalo.”

“I believe it was bison, Skipper.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn it was buffalo.”

“No, it was bison.”

 ~*~

End of Twilight

Black scars and broken glass marred a once beautiful house, with its landscape razed to resemble a war zone. Over the trees rose smoke and an acrid smell wafted off the smouldering piles of ashes and corpses.

Across this recent battle ground gathered the victorious army, bloodied and weary. A lone soldier bowed to the commander.

“They are all dead, Count Dracula. Bella, Edward, their ridiculously named daughter, even the werewolves.”

“Good. Then the war is over! Those mutated abominations have been vanquished! True vampire kind has finally prevailed!”

A cheer rose with the smoke of the enemy's funeral pyres.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Dark Feathers

Today on Drabble Wednesday we fly with our dark winged friends, and death...

The Termination Onyx

Across the sky shadows grew.

Mottled streaks of soft gray into coal black patches covered blue and spread through the white clouds. From the tip of the world to the farthest horizon the shadows crept, and when they reached around the planet, the feathers fell as rain.

Stygian dark and sharp as razors, they sliced through air and trees and flesh, and when they struck the ground the earth shook and cracked. Cities became ruin, mountains fractured, and seas boiled.

Apocalypse, the inhabitants called it.

Annihilation Day.

The Universe knew it better by another name.

The Day the Angels Died.

~*~

The Ravens

On darkling wings the ravens flew.

A black spot across the midday sun, the trio of birds soared over the meadows and the forests, past the farms and towns. Every door closed against them, every shutter barred to their presence. The people of Arajyn knew what the ravens heralded.

Every soul waited in fear for its coming.

Children sobbed, parents prayed. And gave thanks when the ravens passed them by.

Until the birds descended, roosting in a tree outside the village of Syarien. Every voice in that village wailed, knowing they had been chosen.

Sacrifices to the God of Death.

~*~

Black Wings and a Story

Tell me a story you said.

So I did.

But you didn’t like the ending, did you?

I can’t say that I blame you. I tricked you, just a bit. You didn’t know what would happen.

Now did you?

If you did, if you knew who I was, then you wouldn’t have listened.

Would you?

No one wants the Raven King to tell them a story.

For, you know, my stories are never free.

Their ending always come with a price.

Poor you. You paid, didn’t you?

You paid when I plucked out your eyes, and sliced out your tongue.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: It’s Lonely in Space

Today Drabble Wednesday travels the spaceways, the great void between worlds where anything can happen...

Lost

Can you remember?

The planetary existence, the warmth of a sun?

There is no warmth out here, the stars are cold, distant. Dangerous. Like most everything. Even the smallest thing can kill you. Yet they send us out, and we go. Sometimes I wonder why. What appeals to us about black void of space? Wouldn’t we be safer huddled beneath the gentle stars, oblivious of the fate that awaits?

I wish I didn’t know. About the alien armada.

I wish I wasn’t surrounded by outlying stars, floating in an escape pod.

And most of all, I wish I didn’t remember.

~*~

Skitters

Can you hear it in the walls?

The scratches and the chittering between the bulkheads. Something’s in there, poking around. My lieutenant thinks I’m imaging it, says it’s just the older electronics on the station acting up. What does he know? He’s a newbie off fresh Earth Station, no real deep space experience.

Just listen. Down there by the open vent shaft. You’ll hear it good there. That’s it, right there.

You can hear them now, can’t you. All up close.

Please stop screaming. Someone will notice.

I’m sorry., but they said if I feed them, they’ll leave me alone.

~*~

Stasis

I wonder what day it is? Or what year?

It’s hard to keep track in this metal prison.

I can hear the hum and whir of the machinery, even feel the ship’s vibrations. I think. That might be my imagination.

Most people dream in these stasis pods, blissfully unconscious and unaware. But one percent stay awake. Unable to move, open their eyes, or scream. Trapped in their own bodies, marking time as they go insane, a perfectly preserved physical specimen until the pods opens.

Guess which category I fall into?

Stuck for fifty years as a living corpse.

Lucky me.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Tears and Gods

Today on Drabble Wednesday, come cry with the Gods...

Consequence

Can one tear destroy the world?

I gaze out at the rising tide. I never noticed before how dark the water is beneath the sea foam and the waves.

Can sorrow bring annihilation?

The wind is growing stronger. The trees along the shore are starting to bend, and the waves are turning to fury.

Can one teardrop defile a sanctuary?

Soon the flood will reach this place and I’ll drown with the rest of my world. The gods took their terrible revenge for my trespass, hunted me for tarnishing their sacred soil.

So can one tear destroy the world?

Yes.

~*~

The Drowned Book

“Shush now. Quiet child. Don’t cry.”

“But, mother. I am afraid.”

“Why, child? You are safe here.”

“Can’t you hear the drumbeat of the rain and the persistent howl of the wind? The storms are coming.”

“Oh, child, there are no storms on the horizon.”

“But I can hear them. And the screams of the Drowned Book.”

“The Drowned Book?” She gasps, and stares at her daughter in grief-stricken horror. “Only the...” A sob whispers into pity, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Only the damned hear that accused voice. The gods are coming for you, my child. Be afraid.”

~*~

Hubris

Mercy.

How many times had they begged, shouted that word as his ax swung?

Too many times to count.

How many tears fell as he crushed their armies, as their fellow gods died?

Enough to fill a sea, enough to drown a city.

But they shed not one tear when they demanded tribute, watched their worshipers starve. They gave no mercy of their own, but wished it from him.

Fools.

He was their creature after all, fashioned from their discarded hearts and set loose to quell rebellion.

Too bad for them his mind was his own.

Now the gods scream.

 © A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved 

Please Note: Drabble Wednesday will not be posted next week due to a spotlight for a new book release. It will return the following week.