13 Days of Horror - The Final Day

The grand finale of 13 Days of Horror is a wickedly good story you will not want to miss. Jodi MacArthur is a writer with a talent for creating and twisting tales with shadows and delightfully dark details. Her story Lovely Creature combines the familiar with the mysterious and is the perfect treat to get you in the Halloween spirit.

I want to thank Erin for putting this project together, for inviting me to take part, and for showcasing these chilling tales. It was great fun and the highlight of my morning for the past 13 days. You rock!

13 Days of Horror - Day 12

Sadly winding down, 13 Days of horror's penultimate writer is the ever witty, always entertaining John Wiswell with his macabre story Familiarity Does. Read well after eating.

Consumed

She worked from dawn ‘til dusk on the farm her daddy left her, trying to coax milk from emaciated cows and crops from the dry, cracked earth. Only destitution thrives here.

She wanted better things, fine things. Instead she suffered a solitary life, chained to a ramshackle farmhouse, unable to keep a farmhand long enough to bring in the pitiful harvest. They seemed to disappear as fast as they arrived, leaving her to take care of things on her own once again.

She said she was meant for great things, remarkable things, and she was right. She said nothing ever happened here, nothing worth staying for, and she was right about that too.

Nothing ever happened here, until that day Jim McNally found those indentations behind the remains of her barn, six of ‘em, and the whole town came out to see the other remains, the ones that lay beneath the soil.

They would have asked her about it, but no one has seen her since that night the farm burned to the ground.

It was a Dark and Stormy Night...

I always wanted to start a story that way but I figured it would be a work of fiction. The idea was to have a dark and spooky evening, and that is what we got, but not quite the way we planned.

Hubby and I planned for a rare romantic evening out - a presentation of ghost stories by a local storyteller and then a trip to Harbour Haunt for a good scare. Creepy to some is romantic to others. My brother and his girlfriend showed up to babysit and we were all ready to go when our youngest lay down on the couch and started to fall asleep.

Now maybe for some parents this would be a sign that the babysitter is in for an easy night, but when our little ball of energy is quiet it is not a good sign. A quick check of her temperature showed that she was running a fever. In the matter of a few minutes we had a sick little person and cancelled plans.

Now this has been a terrible fall for us weather-wise. Lots of rain and lots of wind and very cold temperatures have kept us indoors for most of October. Last night the wind picked up with gusts howling around the house and slamming into the windows and doors. Once the kids were settled in for the night there was time for a scary movie and then it was off to hide under the covers from the wind and rain. What I thought was the end of my night was just the beginning.

I woke up suddenly, and I was immediately aware of the darkness. There was no light at all in the bedroom or hallway. A noise in the kitchen had me grabbing my flashlight and scrambling out of bed to investigate.

I know, I know. This is the part of the horror movie where the girl who is stupid enough to go seeking out the cause of the noise comes face to face with the axe murderer. This is why I keep a flashlight near my bed. And a baseball bat. Over active imaginations are very good for keeping you prepared.

Luckily for me, the source of the noise wasn't a psychopath, but my husband who was standing in the open kitchen door surveying our backyard. Our power was out. Only one other house on the block seemed to be affected by the outage. Now I was a little creeped out, thinking of all those late night B movies where the killer cuts the power before sneaking into the house.

To add to the creep factor, the direction of the wind was bringing in a salty spray that clung to the windows. The window panes looked like frosted glass. It was impossible to see anything through them. There is something very eerie about a sinister salty wind that clings to your house in the dead of night.

Back in bed with my trusty flashlight and baseball bat, I pulled the covers up to my chin and waited. I can't tell you what I was waiting for, but I was sure there would be something. I lay perfectly still, my ears open to any sound that seemed out of place. I held my breath, tensing with each groan of the house as the wind continued to howl.

The cat picked this time to go thumping down the stairs. I thought my heart would jump clear out of my ribcage.

I got out of bed to check on the little sick person far more often than was necessary. The fever meds had done their work and she was feeling much better, but wandering out into the hallway gave me a sense of control. It was better than lying in bed, barely breathing, expecting at any moment that the silhouette of a murderous monster would step into the doorway.

Finally, at 4:38 am the power returned. With a sigh of relief I settled under the covers and allowed myself a few precious hours of sleep.

I guess it's safe to say that at this time of year my imagination runs away with my sanity.

I can't wait until Halloween is over.

13 Days of Horror - Day 11

He's the guy so nice (and spooky) he shows up twice. Michael J. Solender makes an encore appearance at Listen to the Voices for day eleven of 13 Days of Horror. This time around he gifts readers with poetic style and a few shivers. Read Hunter Moon here.

13 Days of Horror - Days 8, 9 and 10

Kate Pilarcik weaves a misty, ghostly tale on day eight of 13 Days of Horror. Kate unique prose creates a eerie aura in her tale of ghostly revenge. Read Apparition here.

Day nine is host to a creepy, dark tale by Paul D. Brazill, no stranger to tales of the dark side. The Friend-Catcher is a must read for any fan of well written horror.

Today is day ten, and gracing the pages of Listen to the Voices today is none other than the Raging Angel himself, Angel Zapata, with his dark poem Styx and Stones. Angel's poetry is beautifully written, brilliantly constructed, and brutally wicked. Do not miss it.

13 Days of Horror - Day 7

Barry J. Northern picks up the torch for day seven of 13 Days of Horror. Barry's writing is diverse and always a treat. Today's offering will have you sleeping with the lights on.

Read A Trick of the Night today on Listen to the Voices.

13 Days of Horror - Day 6

I'm extremely honoured to be the author for day number six of 13 Days of Horror. You can read my story Monsters at Erin Cole's Listen to the Voices. Just a little inside to the story: I thought "what's the worst thing that could happen?" and that question took me to many dark places.

Thank you to Erin for asking me to take part in this wicked project and for finding that ultra-creepy piece of art work.

Hope you enjoy.

Sheep's Clothing

Night had fallen by the time they exited the old theatre. Julian breathed deeply. This evening would be perfect. Meredith smiled at him with bright, flashing eyes and charming dimples. She was a lovely little thing. They always were. Julian removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, careful not to touch her. He didn't want her to be alarmed. Not yet.

“It’s a beautiful night. Would you like to walk through the park?” His tone was casual. If the decision was hers she was less likely to expect the turn of events. He was very careful about these things.

Meredith looked up at the full moon. It was a bright, clear night and this seemed to put her at ease.

“That would be nice.”

Julian smiled, a crooked close-mouthed grin that was his trademark. Women found it mysterious, sexy. They’d told him so.

Julian enjoyed women and searched them out in great number and variety. For years he scoured the personal ads in newspapers, but the online dating services of modern times proved much more effective. It was easy. He had the luxury of picking and choosing to find just his type. With his thick dark hair, and sophisticated good looks, women were delighted to go out with him. He looked many years younger than his age. He was such a gentleman, they all thought.

He was very well practiced.

Meredith had contacted him, and he couldn’t have been more pleased. She said she liked his eyes, that they were dark and full of mysteries. If she only knew.

Large trees filtered the light of the moon and the path fell into darkness. Julian walked close beside Meredith. Her scent was delectable, unique. She had a subtle earthy fragrance and his mouth watered in anticipation. His nearness was to give her a sense of security, knowing that he was close by, keeping her safe. The irony was amusing.

Lost in thought, Julian was caught off guard when Meredith reached out and took his hand. He was usually very careful not to allow skin to skin contact. Meredith looked up at him, her eyes wide. Her hand was very warm, almost hot inside his.

“Cold hands, warm heart,” he joked.

Meredith nodded but did not relax when he slipped his arm around her shoulders. Her breathing was heavier, faster. She was afraid, he thought, and he smiled into the dark.

“Why don’t we sit near the lake? The view is breathtaking there.” He could almost taste her flesh, feel it yield beneath his teeth. Her delicate, white throat quivered with every breath.

“If that’s what you want…” Meredith shuddered. Her voice was different - deep and raspy. Julian was sure now that she was afraid of him, afraid of where this evening would lead.

Julian dusted the seat of the lakeside bench for his date and made sure she was comfortable. Charming to the end, he chuckled. He stood at the edge of the lake, enjoying the view of the full moon on the water. His tongue played over the point of one long, sharp tooth. This was his favourite part of the night. Those precious few moments before he claimed is prey.

Meredith sat hunched on the bench, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook and twitched, but she made no sound. Julian watched with interest. None of his victims had ever behaved this way. None had guessed what was happening, not until the life drained from their eyes.

He moved behind her, enjoying this turn of events. Her fear aroused him. This was something new.

As Julian watched, Meredith’s shoulders began to heave violently, her back curving and rising. It took a few moments for him to realize something was wrong. Horrifyingly wrong.

Meredith moaned softly. The cry grew, longer, louder, inturrupted with guttural, animal sounds. Large hands reached out, covered in coarse dark fur, ending with long sharp claws. She lifted her face to the moon and howled.

Julian stood rooted to the spot. He was unable to move, even as Meredith snarled and lunged toward him.

His last thought was of the online dating service, and how they should upgrade their screening process.

13 Days of Horror - Days 4 and 5

Days four and five over at Listen to the Voices continue with top notch horror.

Day four's Lee Hughs paints a hell of a picture with his story With Brush and Pain. Lee is well known for his killing and thrilling and doesn't disappoint here.

Day five is a short but oh so sinister write from Jeffrey S. Callico entitled Throat. HIs use of language will grab you by yours.

Enjoy but read with the lights on.

13 Days of Horror - Day 3

Paul Phillips takes centre stage with 13 Days of Horror's Day three. His story Branded is fantastically sinister, guaranteed to make you think twice about attending that Halloween party. Stop by Listen to the Voices to enjoy the latest installment.

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I would also like to bring this piece of writing I stumbled upon this morning to your attention. In Memory Alone by Al Bruno III is definitely worth a read.

13 Days of Horror - Day 2

John Donald Carlucci is in the spotlight today on Listen to the Voices with his spooky treat Hunger Pangs. This is my first experience with Mr. Carlucci's work, but I look forward to reading much, much more.

Stop by, check it out, leave a comment.

Erin Cole's 13 Days of Horror

Erin Cole's Listen to the Voices will be hosting 13 Days of Horror from today through Halloween. Each day a new piece of horror fiction will be featured by one of several guest writers. This is just what the Mad Scientist ordered to get you in the mood for Halloween.

Day one features Michael J. Solender's piece Orange Dot, a creepy little piece that sets the bar high. Also check out Michael's blog, affectionately called The Not.

Click here to visit Erin's blog, or click the 13 Days of Horror graphic on the side of my page to view a new horror write each day (graphic created by the multi-talented Jodi MacArthur).

13 Days of Horror

Faerie-led

Gerald knew these woods. They were familiar to him. He knew every tree, every rock, every path. He also knew the stories, but he paid them no heed. There was nothing to fear in these woods. Bears and moose were plentiful, but they were wary of humans. He did not worry about losing his way among the trees and shadows. He certainly wasn’t concerned about the stories.

On a cold October evening he followed the trail through the woods to visit a sick friend and bring some comfort and hot soup. He stayed a little longer than expected and the night was closing in as he said his good-byes. Gerald looked at his watch. Eight-fifteen. He knew his wife would worry. She implored him to stay out of the woods after dark and he always complied with her wishes but he wasn’t concerned with walking home in the dark this night. The moon was full and bright. He knew these woods. They were familiar to him.

As he followed the stony path through the trees he thought of those stories, passed down through the ages by superstitious folk. The tales told of people led astray by lights in the forest, confused and disoriented by the power of the faeries. Faerie-led they called it. Sometimes the poor souls would make it home, left in a permanent state of bewilderment, often unable to speak. Those were the lucky ones. Some didn’t make it home at all.

Silliness he thought. Superstitious nonsense.

The path wound through a grove of spruce and pine, and Gerald could see the twinkling lights of his home through the branches. He followed them, imagining a warm fire and a cup of strong tea. He emerged from the grove and stopped. Moonlight shone down, white and cold. He looked around, turning in a slow circle. Everything looked different in the dark. He could no longer see the lights of his house.

That rock there. That was the way. He turned and headed west through the trees. He knew these woods, and there were the lights of his home, visible once again. He should have taken a flashlight. Everything looked different in the dark.

The path was obscured. The tall trees blocked out the moon. This wasn’t right. Gerald stood still, looking, listening. Water. There was a brook up ahead. This was not the way home. He turned and headed back, searching once again for the lights.

Something swooped down from the trees and he cried out, his heart pounding. An owl screeched in the distance. He had to calm down, had to think. He would follow the path back and get reoriented with his surroundings.

He stepped into the moonlit clearing and took a deep breath. This way. This was definitely the way home. A few steps along the trail and he knew he was right. The lights were there once again.

He walked confidently along the straight and narrow path. He hummed as he trudged over pebbles and roots, past a large rock and a fallen tree. The lights were shining brighter now, twinkling through the shadows. He had been walking a long time, through a clearing and a damp boggy patch. Past an old fence, a fallen tree, a large rock.

Gerald stopped. That rock. He had passed that rock before. How long had he been walking? His heart was pounding once again as he turned in circles, frantic now, trying to figure out just where he was. He looked at his watch. Eight-Sixteen.

Gerald wiped his face with his hands, stifled a sob. He should not have followed the lights.

The moon shone down, white and cold. An owl screeched in the distance. He would follow this path. This was the way home.

He knew these woods. They were familiar to him.

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I had nothing prepared for this week's #fridayflash and wrote this in about an hour during lunch. My apologies for any gramatical or spelling errors. I hated to miss out on the fun. :)

Friday Flash - Waiting at the Window

I know what they say about my house. I can tell by the quickened pace and the faces that look up at the darkened windows. The house was beautiful once, full of life and laughter. The years have been unkind to us both. Rooms once full of friends are now empty. For years I wandered through them, remembering dinner parties and romantic evenings by the fire. Now I spend my days in the upstairs room, looking out upon the world. I light the lamp and sit at the window on cold October evenings. Evenings like this one. Especially this one.

The boys show up every year on the evening before Halloween, just at dusk. They are brothers, of that I am sure. They emerge from the trees across the road with shuffling feet and eyes wide with mischief and fear. A haunted house is such temptation. The older boy prods the younger, tries to goad him into approaching the house first. The small one takes a few brave steps toward the road, stops, runs back. There is a scuffle and then they go together. It’s always the same.

I’ve watched them every year. I watched last year when they made it all the way to the steps of the house, and the year before when they made it only to the gate. I was watching that first year when they stopped halfway across the road. I was watching when the truck came around the turn much too fast to stop.

I light my lamp, pull back the curtains and wait. They will appear again. This year I hope they make it to the front door. I will go downstairs for the first time in so very long and I will welcome them inside.

It’s so lonely here. This house is too large for only one ghost.

Sunday Summary

It's been a busy week for me, and despite having what I think may be the plague, I've managed to keep up with most of the demands. I know I've probably forgotten something. Today I just wanted to do a little PR.

It's October - Time for howling wind, pelting rain, creaking doors...and Flashes in the Dark. My piece Unrepentant will appear there on the wonderfully wicked date of October 13.



Also in October, Erin Cole's Thirteen Days of Horror is sure to thrill and chill any fan of the genre. Thirteen guest writes will appear in the days leading up to Halloween. Don't miss it. I'm busy putting the finishing touches on my story as I type this.

This week I also recommend a visit to the Full of Crow Quarterly. Some fantastic pieces there by top notch authors such as the above mentioned Erin Cole, Michael J. Solender, Leon Jackson Davenport, and feature writer Jodi MacArthur.

Friday Flash - Extinguished

He stood silhouetted in the red glow, the smoke from his cigarette mimicking the dark plumes rising from the house. I stopped beside him and stood near the fence, watched flames flicker and climb with increasing hostility. His expression was blank. He may have been just another passer-by drawn by the acrid smell and morbid curiosity.

Several minutes passed before he spoke, his eyes never straying from the flames that now flicked through holes in the roof.

“Lived here for twenty-three years,” he muttered.

I could tell that the old farm house had been pretty once, before neglect set in. Even through the black soot and blaze the peeling paint and broken railings were noticeable.

“Twenty-three years is a long time,” I said.

He grunted. “Too long.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, too far away to make any difference now.

“My wife picked out this house,” he said, then was silent once more.

“Where is your wife?” I asked.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the sole of his boot, threw it on the ground, and looked back toward the house.

“She’s still inside.”

Beware the Word Thieves

Angel Zapata's writing is always exceptional, always inspired. Unfortunately for this mega-talented writer, his work caught the eye of someone intent on making it his own.

As it turns out, Angel is also a first class detective. On his blog A Rage of Angel you can read about how Angel discovered that his work had been plagiarized, and how he dug deeper to find that one Richard Ridyard had stolen not only his work, but the work of many other authors - Deborah Biancotti, James Wood, Aaron Polson, and even some guys named H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King.

A writer's words are not merely markings on a page. Each word, each line is an extension of who we are. A little piece of one's soul goes into every piece of work created. Stealing these words is, as Erin Cole puts it, like stealing babies.

Thank you, Angel, for bringing this atrocity to the attention of the writing community. Kudos as well to those zines that so promptly removed the work of this thief.