All Stories, christmas hellweek, Horror

Welcome to Christmas Hellworld: Hellweek Day One

Still feeling a bit too gooey? Still have the urge to hug people? Don’t worry – we’re here for you. Literally Stories – Christmas Hellweek. Stories to counteract all that goodwill: Enjoy

ULTRA-BELFAST

If you’re the black sheep then any family event, gathering or occasion can feel like Ultra-Belfast.  There’s a purgatorial feel to your day when you’re plucked from your home comforts and trappings and shipped back to a time and place when your independence and autonomy was restricted.  I vaguely remember committing the first few sentences to the white page.  I’d like to say it was during the Christmas before it was published here, that would be remarkably apt but it would also be horse piss.  It almost certainly came after one of those events though. One where I looked around a table and saw variations of the same face looking back at me.  A little older, a little worn down.  The light behind their eyes, a little dimmer than it had been the previous year, or the one before that.

For anyone who doesn’t buy into it, the Northern Irish summer and in particular the 12th of July, is the ultimate purgatorial state.  Twenty-first century living grinds to a halt so a minority of over intoxicated and under informed can lay claim to everything within their eyeline in the name of tradition.  Loyal servants of the crown celebrating the victory of a Dutch King over the English Monarch.  Celebrating the victory of a protestant king over a catholic king.  Celebrating the victory of a protestant king, who led a largely catholic army, financed by the vatican.  Trying to explain it could turn you mad.

The truth of the matter is, to be Northern Irish is to live in a permanent state of purgatory.  Irish by geography, British by rule, your individual identity, independence and autonomy permanently in flux and controlled by calendar and tradition.  I’m ten years older than the writer of this story.  If I had to try, I don’t know if I could write it now, but I still relate to it because I’m still sitting at that card table waiting to go all-in.

Welcome to Ultra-Belfast…

Ultra-Belfast by Dave Louden – Adult Content

Image: Scary Christmas Baubles from www.freepik.com n.b. This is an AI generated image.

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

You Don’t Remember Me, Do You? By Alex Kellet

We were in the same class at junior school. You were only eight years old, I was nearly nine when you moved. I sat behind you. You were so clever; you used to be the first one to answer the teacher’s questions. I used to try and get close to you so I could copy your work.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Absence of Good by Thurman Hart

I don’t believe in God; and I’ll tell you why. I don’t believe that good exists. There’s just evil and the absence of evil. It’s like your air conditioner doesn’t actually blow cold on you. It simply absorbs the heat and expels it elsewhere.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Horror

When the Sun Dies by Tathagata Banerjee

 The thing that you need to understand is, living beings die.

It’s not welcome, yeah. It is not something to look forward to, but it does happen. And, at times, it is kinda funny.

When daddy killed the deer, I found it funny how she toppled over the ground and crumpled on its back. There is something intricately funny about tragedy, seeing something regal just fall and shatter. When, at the end, the sun dies, I think God will also sit back and have a merry little chuckle.

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All Stories, Horror

Lions and Zebras by Charlize L. Love

Henry loved school; it was his favorite thing in the whole world. He was only ten years old, but he was ahead of the rest of his class. The teachers had said so themselves, he heard it in their hushed conversations, he read it on the stacks of papers they keep on their desks. It made him feel good, he felt proud.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Dog in Our Dream by Chris Farrington

It came to us in our dreams.

That’s how it passed, jumping from person to person, dream by dream. Some were lucky and woke with just a mild fever, but others weren’t so fortunate. They were never the same again following that dream, and sadly, some never woke at all.

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All Stories, Horror

Miss by Keith LaFountaine

And so she stands under the lamp post with her camera strapped around her neck and a candy cigarette tucked between her lips. That’s just for kids, isn’t it? But this woman certainly isn’t a kid. She has the look of a doting aunt. It’s in the eyes: the eerie combination of leering adoration and simmering jealousy.

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All Stories, Horror

The Levite by R. R. Setari

The first came in at nine thirty. A bag lady. Large plastic shoppers and canvas sacks hung from her shoulders. Even more burst through the metal frame of the grocery cart she left in the lobby. Hair wrapped in a kerchief, body wrapped in at least three coats, she handed a newspaper wrapped package to Officer Hill. He promptly vomited. Those of us who had been making coffee or taking calls now gathered around to absorb the horror. Lt. Mahoney let out a low whistle before snarking,“Somebody pissed somebody off.”

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Short Fiction

The Magician of Sixth Avenue by Sam Mueller

There are two types of nurses: the ones who believe in ghosts, and the ones who are lying.

We don’t talk about it much, especially now that the war is over. You can feel it more than see it when we’re together—a collective haunting, invisible guests at the dinner table. The conversations lulls and our gazes drift and we stare at strangers we’ve seen somewhere before. Was it the operating table? A hospital bed? The morgue?

You do this kind of thing for years and eventually everyone becomes a ghost of someone, somewhere. We don’t talk about it much.

But sometimes we get drunk.

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Short Fiction

The Hive by Rania Hellal

When you read this, I will most likely be dead.

The night is biting and cold against my naked skin. The rope is impossibly tight around my ankles, set on digging its way down to the bone.

I am not sure anymore, what will kill me first;  The cold , the starved predators of the forest or my own people.

Now, before I tell you my story, I want you to know, that I am nothing like the terrible things  you might have heard about me.

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