It’s strange how a summer’s day can be unsettling. Especially amongst the shadows of the trees. The bird song is sweet but I don’t like it. The breeze is warm but it chills me and even though I am cold, I’m covered in sweat.
Category: Horror
Anklebiters Meet God by Matthew Lyons
The riot starts over a juice box or some other stupid shit and then the nasty little dogfuckers are everywhere with their teeth and shitty little hands, so Mr Procter has to run to the art room to get something to defend himself with. The big blade is missing off the paper cutter, so he has to settle for an old metal T-square that he swings like an ax. From in here, he can hear grownups dying and little voices screaming that God is dead, a maniac anthem chorused with shrill, cruel laughter.
Fulfilling the Promise of Fire by Ashlie Allen
I burned my face off last night. At first, I thought I’d use a gasoline soaked rag, then remembered all the candles in my attic. I lit two of them. Once the flames had grown larger, I lifted them to my face, letting my skin slowly melt as I hummed in delight. Of course it hurt, but the agony was spiritual. It was the type of pain you are proud to endure, like dying a violent death for a lover.
Continue reading “Fulfilling the Promise of Fire by Ashlie Allen”
Reward For My Toes by Nyx Bean
Welcome to WeWalkTogether, the nation’s number one site for connecting our communities, please enter your log-in information.
Username:
>RomeroRocked
Password:
>s1zzl3syn@p53
You have entered the general discussion board for Staten Island, NYC. Do you wish to make a new post?
Subject:
>Craziness on Westwood Ave
Post:
>Hey everyone, hope your day wasn’t as nuts as mine! Stick with me, you gotta hear this one and I need to ask you guys a favour.
I Called my Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan by Ashlie Allen
Maki looks angry when he drinks but I know he’s wearing a mask. The mask sprouts from his heart, across his entire face. Sometimes it spreads to his limbs and makes him destroy things. One night he smacked his son when he asked, “why are you crying so loud daddy?”
Continue reading “I Called my Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan by Ashlie Allen”
The Festival By Ben DeValve
“You’re a little shit, Miguel. He’s going to pick you.”
Juan always had a mouth on him, but to say something like that? It was too much. He hadn’t even managed to brush the dust off his shirt before my fist crunched into his lip, sending him down again.
“Stop,” someone shouted. Hands grabbed me from behind, pulling me away from the other boy. Someone knelt by him to make sure he was alright, but I didn’t get a chance to see who it was.
A Silent Playground by Sean Crouch
The world stops. Lincoln no longer hears the sounds of recess through the open kitchen window facing the grade school playground. In the living room, his wife holds fast, motionless, her words clipped as quickly as shears snip a stem. The silence rushes over him the way water envelops a diver. It’s startling and complete.
Hi, I’m Stacey by Nyx Bean
“Hi, I’m Stacey!”
Oh wow, hiya! It’s been ages since I had somebody cool to talk to in person. You’re cool, right? Yeah, ‘course you are. New to the whole ‘undead’ gig, I take it? Just last month? Yeah, I’ve got a couple of years on you but it’s really not that much. I remember all the changes, it’s super crazy. I guess your master has you covered on the basics and the mouldy old traditions… uh huh, they totally leave out the important stuff! No worries, I’ll fill you in. Oh, and you can call me Stace for short. Anyway, where was I?
Jakantha by Amiel Rossin
Jake drove his convertible Mustang up Highway 1, the Pacific Ocean stretching into oblivion on his left, his girlfriend Samantha sitting far to his right, as if she planned to throw the door open and roll onto the blacktop at any moment. They were on their way to a little B&B that Sam had discovered online (one Yelp reviewer called it ‘kitschy but tolerable’), and although neither of them said so out loud, they both knew that if this weekend was a disaster, their relationship would never recover.
The Veteran by Frederick K Foote
He limps home from the war with a lopsided gait. A cripple with a dark green uniform hanging on his gaunt frame. They stare at the colorful ribbons and shiny dangling medals on his chest as they avoid his vacant, hollow eyes hidden in bony valleys of dark flesh.
literally stories 