Tag Archives: -Horror

Menage Monday – Week 7

The Dogs in the Firelight

Five years I’d been ridin’ these rails.  I left my Maritime home hopin’ for somethin’ better, but instead found savagery, both by men… and, by beast.

The snow was blowin’ cross the prairies, an early season blizzard.  The west bound CPR line was full of vagabonds heading to the coast seekin’ out better weather.  Me and my travellin’ buddy, Greystone —a goliath of an Indian but gentle as a Sunday lamb— left a packed freight car just outside of Coleman.  The men were getting restless and we wanted no part of it.  Thought we’d wait for another train before things went south.

Greystone found an overhang out of the wind that was rippin’ through the pass, it always blew here, on a good day it’d blow you toRegina, on a bad, you could find yourself in theAtlantic.  This was a different wind though, from the southeast, cold and bitter.

I didn’t see’em comin’.

Greystone’d gone off to kill dinner, I lit a fire.  I was used to hearin’ the wolf at my door, both real and imagined, but this wasn’t the cry of no wolf, it was meaner, desperate, hungry, and it was close.  Feet padded in the bush around me.  I caught a shadow in the firelight.  At first I thought it was a cougar, but cougars don’t howl.  Another joined, something danglin’ from his mouth.  I knew right away it was Greystone’s head.  He dropped it, then another came, draggin’ the body.  They let out a long howl and a half-dozen more joined the feast.

I couldn’t do nothin’.  I sat behind my firelight and watched as the savage dogs ripped and fed on my friend, right there in front of me, like they was mockin’ me, tellin’ me I were next.

Two dogs played tug-o-war with Greystone’s braids in their mouths, fightin’ over him like two pups over sausage links.  Another leapt in and ripped the head away.  I heard bone smash as it broke the head on the rocks.  It was the final bit of feed.  Eight dogs fought each other over the remainin’ meat, lappin’ at it.  Then they stopped and stared at me.

I threw a stick on the fire, sending up a cloud of sparks.  They didn’t flinch.  The dogs spread out, searching for a way in and letting off low growls, tellin’ me I was their next meal.  Then they all stopped and turned.

A shadow appeared off to my right.  At first I thought maybe it was Greystone, but this was too big, far too big.  He let loose a long deep growl.  The pack dispersed.  He laid chase, barely makin’ a sound as he followed’em through the trees and out of site.

I spent the night stoking the fire, chilled to the bone and terrified.  Daylight brought little relief.  The scraps of blood soaked clothes and gnawed bones reminded me of what happened.

The rails once again beckoned me, but not west, I was long overdue for home.

The Friday Picture Show – Week 1

The Ghost
He was merely a shadow in the clouded moonlight. I went to the window but he was gone. I took my jacket and emerged into the cool autumn night. The TV screamed; a classic Hitchcockian soundtrack.
That was who I saw, but how?
A flutter of wings exploded from treetops as I stepped into the woods, tracking another glimpse of him.
His silhouette filled the space where the trail wandered from the forest, a hefty frame.
He turned to me, “Do enjoy The Birds.” With that, he disappeared, replaced instead by a murder of crows, cawing in the still night.

#HumpdayChallenge Week 20

Desires of the Flesh

Moonlight glistened from the beads of water dripping from her naked body as she lay on the stone.  I could not help but take pause.  A fog engulfed my being; lost in her malevolent beauty.

“You need her.”  It said, “You must have her,” it insisted.

I stepped into the night, enraptured by the possibilities of her flesh.

“You’ve come.”  She said.

“Yes.”  I responded.  Was I not there of my own volition?

She turned to me, eyes blazing with desire.

Too late I found this appetite for my flesh to be, both a deep lust, and a true hunger.

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 12

Love and Blood

She entered my bed, naked, cold; her touches brought a wave of goose-pimples across my body.  My heat made her feel alive, she said.  Her preternatural touch reminded me that I was.

Her lips were one of the few places which held heat.  They met with mine, gently at first, then forcefully as I explored her other warm places.  Our bodies melded, writhing.  Gently, she bit me, seeking nourishment from my climaxing soul, I could no longer hold back.

We melted apart under the covers, satisfied from receiving what we so desperately needed; love… and blood.

Menage Monday – Week 6


Three teens sat on the bricks outside the tunnel entrance passing a joint and eating stolen Halloween candy.

Ricky took a long toke and chased it with a packet of M&Ms.  “Am I high or do you hear voices coming from the tunnel?”  He passedDevonthe joint.

“Yes.”  Susan replied. Devonchocked out a smoky giggle.

“Dude, I’m serious.”  He hopped off his perch and wandered down to the entrance.  “Hello!”  He yelled.

“Ello, ello, ello.”  It answered.  He jumped.

“Dude, it’s just an echo.” Devonsaid.

“I know.  Got any shoelace licorice?”

Susan reached into the bag and pulled out a package.  Rickey opened it up.  With the concentration that only the stoned could muster, he carefully tied the confectionary in a knot around a stick.  “Lighter.”  He ordered.

“What’re you doing?” Devonasked.

“Making a torch.”  He replied, as if it was obvious.

“Okay… Why?”

“I’m going in, coming?”  They both shrugged and joined their friend.  By the sugar-light of their makeshift torch they entered the tunnel.  What they didn’t know was that the pack of kids they had stolen from followed them and were hiding out in the tunnel, lying in wait to seek their revenge.


“Halloweeners retrieve stolen candy, thieves get burned.”

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 9

The Ceremony

I saw my fiancé amongst the dancers, twirling fire and chanting.  Jared and I were Pagans, not the sacrifice a … oh wait… I, am not the sacrifice a virgin to the Sun God type, just following an alternative and natural belief system.

“It is time!”  A voice echoed.  Flabbergasted I strained at the vines holding my naked body.

“Today great gods, we shall sacrifice virginity in your honour!”

Jared emerged, his chest glistening with sweat.  My loins comprehended the situation before my mind, and fluttered in anticipation.  I was not the sacrifice, my innocence was.

Soon, we were wed.


Honourable Mention – Best use of word “Flabbergasted”

Menage Monday – Week 3

Medusa and the Grave Digger
Hristos whistled a tune; it was an old song that his Yia-yia used to sing for him.
He dug and whistled.
“To whom does this plot belong?” Startled, he began to turn. “Please do not.” She warned him.
“Sotirios.” He stuttered, “Kalogeropoulos.”
“Was he a handsome man?” She asked.
“I… I do not know.” He replied. The marble top of the tomb burst open. He heard her move towards it through the crisp leaves.
“He will do.” She said, retrieving the body.

He waited until he was sure she had gone, before removing the sprinkling of coins she’d dropped into the empty coffin. Something moved across his feet. It was a snake. It slithered quickly through the grass in her direction… suddenly, he realized who she was, and froze.

Light was breaking and an owl was making his last call, time to leave, and not too soon.

The family was gracious in their acceptance of the statue. It displayed prominently in their grand entrance as a reminder of the former patriarch of the family, so perfect in detail that it was as if Papou Kalogeroploulos himself had been turned to stone.

#Saturday Shorts, April 23, 2011

Irony Behind Bars

He hadn’t seen the point in eating. For an hour he stared at his final meal, enjoying it for its beauty. A top-cut steak; cooked precisely as he’d ordered, with tender baby asparagus and a baked potato, topped only with cheddar cheese. He had already eaten the apple pie; certain things he just couldn’t resist.

The first time he held human life in his hands had been at the age of twelve, Mrs. Kilgour. He worked for her on weekends doing odd jobs, the oddest being to help her commit suicide. Experts would blame this incident on his sickness but the truth of the matter was that this experience was simply the tipping point to the inevitable.

The problem with being a genius and “Shit-balls Crazy”, as the doorknob of a guard who was last on duty, once called him, was the awareness. It took fifteen years for them to even know there was a serial killer stalking the southern states. He was exceptionally careful. He knew how all of the serial killers got caught, Jeffrey Dahmer, Dr. Harold Shipmen and Ulysses Velveteen. His victims were woman, men, children the elderly, rich, poor, black, white, it didn’t matter. He could make each victim appear to have died in all different manners but each had suffered. He held their lives as long as he could, watching the spark nearly leave their face then returning it. If they were still begging to live they had months, if they were pleading to die, weeks, if they had succumb to insanity, prisoners within their own minds and bodies having survived levels of torture medieval in scope and modern in execution they had days. Once their brains had stopped coping and went dead it was time to move to the next.

One day the police arrived as he was removing the intestines from his latest victim. They had allowed him to replace the guts and sew her back up before he peacefully surrendered. She had survived and here he was, inside Ellis Unit, now three hours past his scheduled execution wondering what the hell was going on. There was no one. The Gargoyle of a guard, Luther had not been around to take his supper. Father Alex hadn’t made one last attempt to save his soul. Even his annoying lawyer, campaigning against state executions wasn’t there to convince him to make one last appeal. It was as if the world had suddenly forgotten him. He picked up the plastic fork and began to eat.


The true irony of the situation for our character is that he is a survivor. All around him the world has collapsed under a cloud of radioactive dust. In his climate-controlled impenetrable cell he was immune. Perhaps the one man who deserved and wished to die the most lived. Let’s hope, for the sake of our world that this man dies alone, for if he is to survive, there is no telling what kind of humanity would remain on earth.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 58

“You sure you want to do that, chief?”
Lazy Horse stood on the edge of the cliff. “Why do you call me chief, Flightless Bird?”
Flightless Bird hesitate before addressing him. “Because we are a tribe and you are our leader.”
“Is a tribe not more than two?” Lazy Horse replied, Flightless Bird shrugged in response. “But you are right and if I do this we shall be more.”
He lifted the flaps of hide behind him and leaned into the wind.
“What if you fail Chief?” Flightless Bird asked.
“Then you shall be Chief, Flightless Bird and you will find someone who will guide you to greatness as you have guided me.” Lazy Horse looked to the valley below, then to the far reaches of the prairie beyond. He closed his eyes and lept, gliding heroically and gracelessly screaming to the unforgiving ground below. A puff of dust arose from where the former Chief learned that he could not fly.
Flightless Bird shrugged and turned away. He knew there was camp within a two nights hike. There was always a lonely brave that he could cull.

#HumpdayChallenge Week 12

An amorphous pool of vomit pooled at his feet, a lumpy mess of half digested oatmeal in a slurry of brown coffee. If his stomach rioted again it would likely suck his scrotum into his gut and spew it from his mouth too.
Bile coated his tongue; he spat but couldn’t get rid of the taste of the burning acid. His stomach thrust again, turning itself inside out, he dropped to the ground.
His eyes didn’t need to be open to see everyone’s fierce glaze upon him. He felt sorry for them; soon, they too would be suffering.