For days I waited for Calem’s valiant return with the monster’s severed head, but he didn’t emerge.
The monster still lives, and only I am left.
I launched forward, sword held high in my iron grip, the mane of serpents hissing at my approach. Her scarlet gaze burned into my soul, holding fast my feet upon the ground where they fell.
My scream locked within my lungs as the burning stone encased me.
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Fateful Coin
Michael D. Nadeau
If I’d known who owned the coin when I found it I would’ve thrown it back in the stream.
The tarnished gold coin, grime-covered and wet, was warm to the touch. It had ancient markings in a language I didn’t understand, and little did I know the horror touching it would summon.
The creature was tenacious, never giving up, and had wounded me badly. He was very short, and dressed in old clothes with a raggedy hat. His red beard was covered in my blood.
His cry was always the same: The thief must die!
Who knew Leprechauns were real?
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From Clay
Willem V. Much
The Spring of Sorrows loved new arrivals. Freshly disembodied souls always pressed close to her scaly hide, whispering ceaselessly. This one begged for eyesight, that one wanted genitals that would put a stallion to shame.
Some wished to never die again, others wished to live again. The Spring of Sorrows granted every request, and smiled when the fools thanked her. Those unlucky souls that returned to her pit for a second time never praised her when they woke up.
They learned that, of all the demons in the Underworld, the one that gave them their flesh back was the cruelest.
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Curse of the Kodama
Jen Chichester
I tried to warn him.
Baka gaijin.
The ax sliced through the protective layer of dead bark, but instead of sap a dark, crimson substance oozed forth.
Kodama.
He hacked again, and again, and again. Blood splattered his face and torso.
“What’s wrong, Kenichi?” he asked. “It’s just a little sap!” He raised the ax once more.
I opened my mouth, but the “No!” I wanted to shout caught in my throat.
A bright, white orb burst from the tree’s core, flying directly into his solar plexus. His eyes glazed over, and the curse would slowly eat away at his soul.
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Twenty-One Candles
Dickon Springate
And then there was one.
One final, black candle whose wax was almost spent, the only thing left illuminating the protective pentagram that barred the slavering abomination from reaching and feasting upon her flesh.
There was no doubt in her mind that she had enunciated the incantation correctly, but the scribbles in the notebook gave no clue as to why it had failed to banish what it had previously summoned.
Had she known of the details surrounding the bloody demise of the original scribe then she would never have chosen to recreate that particular ritual, especially on a new moon.
The Kraken’s Call
Josh Herz
The sea is angry tonight.
The tide is full, the moon glows pale.
Upon the straits along the coast the light
Gleams and is gone.
Beware! It approaches. Foul is the night air!
Listen to the grating roar
Of the ravenous kraken rising from the depths.
The crushing of wood, the drowning of sailors.
The waves draw back flotsam and fling,
At their return, up the high strand.
Begin, and cease, and then again begin.
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The renewed stench of death in.
Its feasting done, now I only hear
The kraken’s melancholy, long, withdrawing roar.
Cash Grab
Matthew A. Clarke
They said I’d never get this far; they were wrong.
They said I was crazy, but would a crazy person be able pass the trials that have defeated so many men before me? Perhaps.
The rickety suspension bridge is buffeted by wind as I cross the cave. I know I should be wary of footing, but my eyes are fixated on the relic ahead, flanked by tremendous golden statues of the Gods.
Finally, I reach it. It feels warm against my skin.
I fail to lift it, but that’s expected.
Imagine what the public will pay to see Thor’s hammer!
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Guardians of Memory
Kimberly Rei
A child twisted in his bed, legs pumping as he ran through nightmares.
An old woman sighed, pulling her blankets closer. Her heart ached for days and people she could not recall.
A dog whimpered nearby, sniffing his humans' fears but helpless to act.
Inky shapes moved through the house, slipping from dream to dream. They were known to scholars of the arcane as the Guardians of Memory. A kind name, barely accurate. They stole, these Guardians, taking the good and leaving the sad. They gathered joy, bartering with each other for the finest collection.
Endless, greedy, leaving none untouched.
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Broken Lyre
Fred Williamson
The cave mouth yawned wide, and Helios’ light breached the tunnels. For a moment the drab grays and browns of the stone and lichen seemed not so empty, not so forlorn.
The breath of Aeolus’ children upon the traveler’s cheeks, their wails as they passed him by, and the drip-drop of the subterranean waters reminded him of the song he had played.
A song the world would never again know.
He hugged the broken lyre to his chest, listening to the echoes, but the stone’s memory of footsteps recalled only his own. Was he alone? Seeking an answer, Orpheus turned.
Futakuchi-Onna
Drew Starling
Eiichi always wondered why his mommy wasn’t fat. Every night villagers brought a half-koku of rice to their door, and every morning it was gone. When he asked, mommy smiled sweetly.
“To feed my other mouth, Eiichi-san.”
One night Eiichi spied on his mommy’s late feasting. Strands of her long, black hair moved on their own, holding dozens of chopsticks while stuffing a snarling second mouth in the back of mommy’s head. The mouth had long, sharp teeth and a tongue that was taller than Eiichi.
Suddenly, the movement stopped. Rice dripped from the mouth as it hissed.
“Hungry, Eiichi-san?”
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Sons of Bark
Mark Anthony Smith
The moon filters through branches to the unlit forest floor. The leaves seethe, brushing against my ankles as the trees mutter that I’m lost. I try to retrace my steps to find the muddy path. I stumble. There are pains as I face the midnight clouds.
They are part of the bark. Those ancient ones peel away from the old tree trunks with their gnarly forms, leaving imprints in the trees where they hid. Their twig hands descend upon me to make the woods a bit more expansive. I scramble to evade the trees, but they take what was me.
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The Troll Bridge
Russell Smeaton
It wasn’t our fault, Mum, honest! We only dared Jim to go under the bridge, we didn’t force him. You know the bridge, in the middle of the forest? It’s really old, choked with rubbish. He crept in, into the dark, and soon we couldn’t see him anymore. We called for him, but someone else called back. No, something called back. No-one understood what it said. We waited, and then something shuffled out. It sta
nk, all covered in thick, greasy hair. When it threw Jim’s head at us we started screaming. We just ran. It really wasn’t our fault.
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A Distracting Gift
Galina Trefil
“I’ll fill a grave before I marry you,” the kidnapped princess declared to the Norseman. So he travelled to Freyja’s hall, begging her for a love spell to bind his captive with.
The goddess raised a skeptical golden eyebrow, then gave him a skoggkat kitten. “The girl will keep her word,” she warned.
“Then I’ll have her before she dies,” he scoffed.
When the princess saw the skoggkat, she passionately embraced the warrior. Utterly duped, he never saw her knife until his throat was already slit.
Distantly, Freyja smirked. She was the goddess of love and sex, not of weakness.
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The Banshee’s Lament
David A.F. Brown
After a day of hiking the peaks of Lough Corrib Steve and Becky returned to their guesthouse, a small cottage overseeing a scattering of grassy islands.
The moonlight soon lulled them into a deep slumber, until they heard a noise.
It was a piercing wail, like an animal being skinned alive. Steve grasped Becky’s hand, she squeezed back reassuringly. They drifted back to sleep.
Steve awoke to see Becky dangling from the rafters, a bedsheet wrapped around her bowed neck. Her eyes bulged, her mouth gaped. A whisper, through contorted lips, reached him:
We should have heeded the banshee’s warning.
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The Sword in the Stomach
K. B. Elijah
The boy heaved at the handle, but it didn't budge. He finally gave up, breathless, wearing an ugly scowl.
Yet the girl who followed him gave the barest of tugs, and the weapon came free from the stone. She thrust it into the air to great cheering from the crowd.
The boy tore the sword from her hand and plunged it through her stomach, staining the blade with scarlet.
When he raised the sword they didn't cheer for him, at least not until the wizard at his side gave a small, meaningful cough.
“All hail King Arthur!” the crowd roared.
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A Warrior’s Call
Steve Stred
He could feel his blood pouring from his stomach, trickling over his hip before it was washed away with the flowing river water.
Looking above he saw the ravens circling like vultures. They’d come to take him soon.
The attack had been brutal, catching the villagers by surprise. He dared not think what they did with his wife and son.
He could hear their horses gallop away, the smell of the huts burning already filling his nostrils.
Would he stay alive long enough to feel the wolves scavenge his flesh?
He closed his eyes, longing to enter the afterlife’s halls.
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The Yule Cat
Charles Reis
With his feet kicking up snow Halldor dashed through a dark forest, his heart throbbing from the snapping of branches that resonated behind him.
A massive, blunt force slammed into his back, sending him tumbling to the ground. He turned his trembling body around.
Staring with its bright-red eyes, a black cat taller than any building lurked above him. It licked its lips and wiggled its whiskers.
As tears fell down his cheek Halldor wished he had received new clothes for Yule to escape this fate, but before he could scream the cat gouged his teeth into the man’s body.
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Rise of a Beautiful Day
Ximena Escobar
Psamathe’s amber eyes squint upon the restless tide, ever higher, ever closer. Swaying, breaking, distracted from her crime of passion. Embedded in the darkest sand, like a secret on the delicious edge of discovery.
Poseidon licks her, teases her, bubbling on her soles. Neither is aware of the silver eyes opening on the ocean floor as Amphitrite’s skeletal fist removes Psamathe’s dagger from between her ribs.
The sand goddess runs: something is frightening about the incoming wave. But the dagger stuck to the hilt between her shoulder blades crumbles her into a million crystal grains.
Poseidon stills. Sunrise sparkles painfully.
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Fireflies
Russell Smeaton
Dan and June reached a clearing in the woods, fireflies dancing above their heads. Dan ran off laughing, determined to catch some flies for June.
She smiled and sat down to wait. When he didn’t come back she wandered off in the direction he had run. Coming to a beautiful pond, and seeing his clothes by the edge, she understood. Slipping off her clothes and swimming into the middle of the pond was the last thing she did alive.
From murky depths the Nyx pulled June down, excited for two bodies instead of one. The flies and her would feast.
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Lilith
Heinrich von Wolfcastle
Her fingers curled around the child’s neck. His breath paused, but not his heart. So ripe, so succulent and tasty.
His blood was from the youngest of her first betrothed. A whisper of delight escaped her lips, and in her carelessness she caused the boy to wake.
His father tore into the room, terror palpable at the sight of his bloodied kin. In the dark he pursued the perpetrator to the dancing curtains of the open window, where the moonlight revealed his dream-lover’s face.
Before she took flight she kissed his lips, a promise that she would return for him too.
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Echidna
Timothy Friesenhahn
From the shadows I saw her slither towards me. The path I tried was too narrow, and I was too dense to realize it.
I was stuck.
Inside the cavity my head peered through a small hole. A goddess from the waist up, a serpent from the waist down, she was at least twelve feet long and three feet around.
My lungs were too constricted to scream.
I watched her face change as her mouth opened to feed. Her goddess-like appearance stretched and twisted, until her giant, snake-like head displayed its huge fangs.
In one bite she’d swallow my head.
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The Devil’s Footprints
T.J. Lea
They awakened after heavy snowfall to a sea of unusual hoof prints on rooftops, walls. The locals thought it was the Devil looking for God-fearing souls to torment, but others that night claimed they saw something far worse, something far more concerning.
Black wings, a creature known for breathing blue fire and jumping higher than any being. Oilskin paired with a devilish smile. Of course the locals knew him, for he was already entrenched in legend. The man of diabolical appearance who struck fear into every Englishman, carrying a corpse with ease as he stepped through the snow.
Spring-Heeled Jack.
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The Morrigan
Grant Hinton
If you manage to find the crones three,
Don’t heed their call but turn and flee.
For one with great beauty, hard to deflect,
Will lure out your passion as if unchecked.
The middle one withered and the oldest crone,
Throws out wisdom and knowledge as if it’s a bone.
The last one not of thi
s Earthly plain,
Ancient, evil, offers sanctuary from pain.
Be warned, each will take what she deems fair price,
And will leave you lacking when taken thrice.
Your bones will become a part of her cave,
So run now, child, don’t be foolish or brave.
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Bones
Noa Covo
Everything returns to the ocean in the end.
The Leviathan’s bones are still buried in the sand, waiting. It remembers being crushed, it remembers being eaten by men.
No matter. Meat can regrow, eyes can refill sockets, fins can re-emerge.
It’s the bones that matter.
The monstrosity waits for the tide, its bones close to emerging through the sand. Soon it’ll be washed away into the water, then it will be reborn.
This time it won’t be defeated, and all it needs to do is wait.
After all, everything returns to the ocean in the end.
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Of Bones and Corpses
Sandy Butchers
An anguished voice scraped through the silence when the giant doors opened.
Forgotten Ones Page 5
