Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Squalls of Sorrow
N.M. Brown
Wails of sorrow tormented bayside residents through torrents of rain.
The banshee was mourning, but for whom was yet to be determined. Families held their loved ones tight, staying inside at the slightest hint of gloomy weather.
Finally the long-awaited day came. Townsfolk lingered with bated breath as Mrs. Applebaum shuddered through her last moments. People breathed easy, assuming the banshee's prophecy was fulfilled.
A squall came, catching our town off guard. Some didn't have time to seek shelter, myself included.
From gusts of wind a siren of grief bellows through the clouds, and I think it's meant for me.
Poseidon’s Revenge
Patricia Elliott
Rhode grabbed the ship’s railing, using her other hand to shield her eyes from the heavy rain and wind. Her heart raced within her, tears forming. He found them, as she knew he would.
“Father, stop!”
“Never! Human’s must learn that our species don’t mix.” Poseidon struck the ocean’s surface with his trident, sending a giant wave towards the sailors. Soon his daughter would be his again.
She clung to her lover. “I won’t go with you, I’d rather die with Alexios.”
“Then so be it!”
Raising his hands, he summoned a lightning bolt and split the boat in two.
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The Monster’s Moon
Sheldon Woodbury
The eerie myth of the Monster’s Moon foretells what will happen when the ghoulish world, that’s a shadow of ours, is suddenly unleashed in all its nightmarish glory.
It will be the end of days when macabre creatures and terrifying creations storm out with nothing but a ravenous desire for chaos and carnage. Fire and blood will surge to the sky, the air filled with the clattering of bones.
This brings us to a question you need to consider before the sun sets: How will you feel when you gaze up and see the moon blink with a creepy delight?
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Tartaruchi
Timothy Friesenhahn
Tartaruchi’s voice oozed malevolence, the being taking sadistic pleasure in torturing its victims.
“Scream, you helpless heap of breathing flesh! There is no escape once my hooks penetrate your flesh, so go ahead and beg for mercy.”
Tartaruchi ripped and tore at the flesh of all new inhabitants of Hell, as was his duty.
Once dead they would return to life repeatedly, and endure this punishment for all eternity. A coppery scent lingered in the air, nefarious laughs escaping him as his victim’s innards hit the floor. He watched as the light faded from their eyes, his job finally done.
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May Queen
Hannah Hulbert
Flora watches the procession from the blossoming hawthorn tangle. Girls in white skip past and Morris dancers jingle and clack, a flurry of ribbons. She tenses, seething with indignation. They perform their ritual, but she has not been invited. Thirteen pretty virgins giggle as they weave threads around the pole on the green, treading patterns into the grass.
Dusk settles, bonfires are lit, and one is crowned Queen. They don’t leap through the flames, and they’ve forgotten why they ever did. Flora slides out of the thicket as the people drift homewards, licking her lips. Tonight she will remind them.
Twitter: @hhulbert
The Chinvat Bridge
Charles Reis
As his body quivered Eshaq stepped on a bridge narrower than his feet. Goosebumps covered his skin as two black, four-eyed dogs snarled behind him. Retreat wasn’t possible. Walking foot-over-foot he looked upward at the night sky, ignoring the abyss below.
He stopped and closed his eyes, regret filling his soul over his life of debauchery. Now judgment in the afterlife demanded that he face this difficult walk over the Chinvat Bridge.
When he opened them he gasped. A nude old woman, with blistering skin, floated before him. Laughing, she pushed Eshaq. His screams endured until he entered the void.
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Winging it
Emma K. Leadley
The crow's wings left a shadow of dark velvet crossing the earth as he flew. The world was more complex to navigate than it used to be, full of metal and glass.
Towers raised skywards, endless numbers of flying machines, light everywhere. He missed the good old days, when you could peck out the eyes of a corpse on the battlefield or navigate by the stars. He wasn't even sure when it was, or who he was, anymore.
Thought...? Memory...? But, he knew where he was going. Every day he flew the globe, arriving home for dinner. Old habits for old familiars.
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Raising Hell
Yvonne Glasgow
The darkness of the night hid what was happening in the cemetery, though anyone nearby would hear the sounds of chanting.
“Awaken, awaken, awaken!”
The echoes floated gently on the breeze, rustling the leaves. The large moon hung low. It was a super moon, which brought about the perfect night to call forth one of the Old Ones, slumbering beneath the ground.
Three dark figures, shrouded in shadows from a mausoleum, stood wrapped in robes. The ground shuddered below them, then burst open. Flames shot forth, incinerating the chanting trio.
Hades rose from the dirt, ablaze.
“I'm awake!” he growled.
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Nemesis
Sandy Butchers
The boat rocked heavily in the foaming waves, and Hymir held on for dear life. When the waves started to foam, and from the froth rose a giant serpent, he knew that Thor had found his match.
Thor grabbed his hammer and struck the horrid creature with all his might, a deep crimson coloring the waves. The serpent hissed and slithered, spitting acid from the fume of corpses that was its breath. Coiling around the boat it crushed the master of the mighty hammer, but Thor refused to surrender. He roared and struck again and again, until the beast collapsed.
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Amarok
Chris Bannor
They forgot his name, these lesser creatures who fled instead of fighting. It was unforgivable! These same people used to quiver when the ground shook under his paws.
Their villages had changed, as had their weapons, but none were as mighty as Amarok. He left a stinking, bloody trail behind him, waiting to see if any were brave enough to follow and face him.
He was Amarok, the mightiest of the giant wolves. He was not afraid of their warriors, or their steel. He challenged them with every breath, and he would make them bleed until his name was remembered.
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Naughty or Nice?
Nerisha Kemraj
"What do you mean no naughty children, Nicholas? There's always miscreants! Give me the list!"
"No, Krampus! Not this again. You'll never get your hands on this. Naughty children get no gifts. That's their punishment, not you!"
Santa slammed the door on a sullen Krampus. His horns burned red with fury. No matter, he'll grab those naughty kids on Krampusnacht. List or not, nothing could stop him.
His green eyes blazed as he descended upon a small town. Soon he was dragging his rucksack of screaming children into his waiting lair.
"Time to learn how to be nice," he cackled.
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Hera’s Revenge
Amber M. Simpson
Lamia’s screams echo off the dense cave walls as she lies naked, moaning in pain. When the baby slides out in a gush of blood, she whimpers in relief.
Hera steps from the shadows and Lamia gasps, clutching the baby to her chest.
“Please,” she sobs, cringing away. “This one does not belong to Zeus.”
But the goddess cares not. “Eat.”
Lamia shrieks in protest, but cannot stop from devouring the infant from head to toe, punishment for Zeus’ love.
“Well done,” says Hera. Lamia howls in anguish at the loss of yet another child from the goddess’ vengeful cruelty.
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A Pact Fulfilled
Jen Chichester
“Time to pay up.” He extended a chubby hand. “The deed is done. Fulfill the pact.”
Nyam unsheathed the dagger that had spilled blood under his family name for centuries. He handed it hilt-forward to the bakru, who took it with a thievish glint in his ruby eyes.
“It has caused enough trouble. All I ask is that you leave my people and our woods in peace.”
The bakru tsked, waving a fat little finger in front of his face. “Soon you will see ghost-white faces smeared in your people’s blood. Look for their ships to settle on your shores.”
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Huitzilopochtli's Heart
K.B. Elijah
The sun was at its zenith, that mystical time when no shadows lingered in the world, the glow of the sun god spreading good fortune.
The man lay on top of the temple, as close as he could be to the sky, and a smile danced on his lips.
That smile caved to agony as the Aztec priest carved open his abdomen and held his still-beating heart to the sky.
“Istli,” he whispered. “Take this offering, Great One, this fragment of sun, and continue to bless us with your radiance.”
The god laughed cruelly, and plunged the world into darkness.
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Carnivore of Crete
N.M. Brown
Our area of Greece experiences tragedy every seven years. The vengeful choices of Minos still ripple into our lives. A creature created out of hate and jealousy needs to be satiated.
Every cycle the beast comes, taking children to its maze of death. Killing, then eating. The town rages, mourns, and forgets, until the cycle renews for those lucky enough to still be alive to see it.
Or unlucky, if you’re a parent.
The year of the cycle has come around again, and I’m determined to protect our children. My name is Theseus, and today I will slaughter the Minotaur.
Will-O-Wisps
Paul Benkendorfer
Nights like this are when the bog is most dangerous; when the Ignis Fatuus, the Will-o-wisps, hunt. They disguise themselves as candlelights to lure travelers into the bog, then drown them.
The fog is blinding. Only a lantern illuminates and warms our path along the cold, dark road as two flickering lights appear before us. My companion points, and suggests that we follow them.
I tell him not to go.
He does not listen, vanishing into the mist. There is a scream, followed by a splash. The flickering lights strike like vultures, going dark seconds later.
The bog goes silent.
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Echoed Experience
Kerry E.B. Black
In the glade a golden man savors the splendor of my mountain. His profile belies aristocracy, his designer hiking clothes reeking of privilege.
I can’t speak, and haven’t since the curse. Damn Hera for punishing me for her husband’s indiscretions!
The hiker touches an aspen trunk, broader than his body. His lips part, an enraptured gasp. The narcissist is unaware of anything, or anyone, but himself.
So like Aphrodite’s disciple. I bet this one loves his reflection too.
I charge, a vengeful wind, as I have so many times.
His beauty shatters upon the rocks, I echo his dying breath.
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The Unwanted Visitor
Sandy Butchers
The sweet scent of mead had seeped into every crack and corner of the hall, as they knew that it would lure the beast like a bee towards honey. It was quiet, so deadly quiet, as the men sat waiting with their swords and daggers drawn.
The floorboards of the front porch creaked, and the door groaned when it opened slightly. Quickly the smell of the sweet, honeyed wine gave way to the horrid stench of putrefaction. Blood shimmered in the candlelight when a decapitated head was thrown into the hall.
“It’s him,” one of the men whispered, “It’s Grendel…”
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Water Witch
Grant Hinton
I smell steel’s bite, the hot metallic blood and the dank lichen on the cave walls. A dragon and a monster lay dead, but the mother is still here.
I creep forward. My people will not rest until she is slain. My body is shocked, arm muscles bunch as I raise my sword, a wicked shriek splitting the damp air. A hand moves over by the wall.
Lichen, moss and seaweed cling to the undulating surface. Grendel’s mother peels off the wall. If I fail, she will kill them all. I smell the blood again, and remember that’s it’s mine.
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The Summoning
Joel R. Hunt
The Voice had been given many names throughout the millennia: ‘Ahriman’. ‘Erlik’. ‘Iblis’.
This creature had used ‘Lucifer’.
“Master,” the human was saying, “we are ready to begin the summoning. What do you need of us?”
Three humans for sacrifice, intoned the Voice. The human’s soul flickered with uncertainty.
“Is that all, master? The ancient tomes tell of seventeen sacrifices.”
You dare question me?
The human’s soul flinched.
“Never, Master Lucifer. We shall bring you the sacrifices you require.”
The human was correct, in a way. It did require seventeen souls for the ritual, but fortunately there were fourteen cultists.
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La Cegua
Sarah Matthews
Santiago followed the raven-haired woman into the murky alleyway, intoxicated by the smell of her perfume and by the copious amount of beer he had consumed.
They intertwined, her lips nuzzling against his ear, her warm breath sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. Beneath her perfume Santiago noticed the strong scent of horses, but he ignored it and pressed closer against her.
She bit his ear hard, his head snapping back. An equine skull grinned at him where once had been a beautiful woman’s face.
It leaned in, whispers of madness falling from its bone lips.
Santiago screamed.
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Reunited
Ryan Rosenberry
When I first beheld the beast, for it could be nothing less, my loathing peaked and I could not step away.
The beast held in its claw the object of my quest. Retrieving said object seemed pointless, for his body held no life and hung together in bits and fragments. Yet my queen demanded this of me, fetching her secret while the King protects the land.
I decided to lure the beast back to her, the veil queen. What pleasure it will be to reunite her with her lover, smeared together in the claws of the monstrosity. Two beco
mes one.
Metastatic
Jess Rhodes
Spring. Persephone emerges, gaunt with winter shadows. She coaxes crops to sprout, fingers wriggling beneath the dirt. But the sunless waters of the Acheron seep from beneath her nails. The grain is black with ergot.
The women pray. She eases babies into mothers’ wombs. Her hands slip. Growths blossom, riotous and vicious. They have the frozen teeth of her husband’s domain and the overripe gluttony of her mother’s harvest. They smother from the inside.
Her husband’s hands are scars under her skin, her mother’s embrace a noose around her neck. Persephone is the goddess of new life, and she rots.
Twitter @dead_end_rhodes.
Arrondi's Last Stand
Jim Bates
Arrondi stood frozen as the Basilisk made its way toward him, a giant, snake-like creature slithering through the jungle. It licked its fangs, saliva dripping.
Why couldn't he move? It must be the legendary spell.
Uncontrollable fear caused him to retch as the Basilisk began wrapping its body around him. He pounded the thick, slimy skin with his fists, but the monster was determined. Tighter and tighter it squeezed, until Arrondi began losing consciousness.
Forgotten Ones Page 7
