Tag Archives: horror

Low Tide

I’m always happy to use the words eldritch and horror in the same sentence. The stone the tide unearthed showed carvings of creatures: which creatures I wasn’t sure, but they possessed a heaping helping of tentacles, wings, eyes, and talons.

That explained a lot. The mysterious disappearances from the beach, the green lights hovering over the moonless bay, the shrieking of ghastly voices on windless nights.

This was perfect.

There is a demographic who would risk madness and death to glimpse anything described as eldritch horror.

I started the R’yleh Diving Club and waited for the freaks to pour in.

 

 

 

The nightmare corpse-city of R’lyeh…was built in measureless eons behind history by the vast, loathsome shapes that seeped down from the dark stars. There lay great Cthulhu and his hordes, hidden in green slimy vaults.

— H. P. Lovecraft, “The Call of Cthulhu” (1928)

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The Family Legacy

The Family Legacy

The basement stank of burned flesh.

“It’s a gateway to outside our world,” my dad said, pointing to the hole. “They never stop coming, but light attracts them.”

I adjusted my night vision goggles. “Can we block it up?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?”

A stygian tendril snaked out. Dad’s machete came down, severing it cleanly. I heard a shriek.

“They do that sometimes.” He tossed the writhing limb into the incinerator.

“What if they’re intelligent, if they need help?”

“We can’t risk it,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. All blood is black in the dark.”

 

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Orca’s Den

I know I’ve said this before, but this story is a little weird. Let me know what you think.

copyright C.E. Ayr

copyright C.E. Ayr

Orca’s Den

Orca's Den 1

Orca's Den 2

Orca's Den 3

Orca's Den 4

Orca's Den 5

Orca's Den 6

Orca's Den 7

Orca's Den 8

Orca's Den 9


Looking for a Deal-Breaker

copyright Raina Na

copyright Raina Ng

Looking for a Deal-Breaker

“Here’s the kitchen, where Mrs. Hernandez hacked up her husband,” I said.

The oohs and ahhs sounded disturbingly enthusiastic. The family crowded around the spot. I needed to change tactics.

“The toaster is possessed. If it catches you—”

“You’re toast?” the mother said. They all laughed. The father snapped a picture.

I started to panic. If they passed on this house, the boss said I could buy it.

“It’s part of a homeowner association!” I blurted out.

I expected horror but they just smiled creepily. “It’s okay, we like HOAs,” the father said.

I let them have the house.

My apologies to anyone who likes their homeowners association. Here are some reasons why I’ll never be part of one though.


Monster in the Closet

Belfry Rating - Dark

Monster in the Closet

 

 

There is a monster in my closet, waiting to rip my throat out.

I wake up, exhausted. I don’t want to do this again. I just want to get up and leave the room. I look towards the closet and in the deep gloom of the nighttime room, I can barely see that it is open a crack. The monster inside is quiet: you never hear anything until that snort of discharged steamy breath when it charges and it is too late. I close my eyes. I don’t want to die again.

Eight feet from the bed to the door; six to the closet. I should be able to make it but that thing is always too quick for me. I have tried it fast and I have tried it slow but it never matters. Once I even had my hand on the doorknob before I felt pincer-like jaws clamp down on my calves, crushing my tibias and fibulas and pulling me backwards towards its lair underneath my dress shirts. I even remember the hem of that red sweater tickling my face as the creature slashed my stomach and I felt my vital organs tumbling out like sausages from a slit shopping bag. I woke up in bed, thinking of that sweater. It was always too big for me, but I couldn’t give it away since my grandma had given it to me.

I have even tried just waiting. Once, I waited for what seemed like hours, biding my time until the sun rose and burned away the mists of this unending nightmare. But the sun never rose and I waited until my bladder was bursting. I wet the bed and waited some more until I was cold and stinking and frantic. I screamed, “Come get me, you bastard!” and ran for the door.

It came. It got me.

After that, I woke up in bed, in that same eternal half-darkness. I thought I could smell a faint aroma of urine, which scared me almost as much as the monster, but I didn’t know why.

Now, I sit up in bed. No reaction. Slowly, I take one pillow and hold it to my back. I prop the other in front of me and pulling out the thinnest blanket, I tie them to me. I cinch it so tight that I can barely breathe. Slowly, oh so slowly like a sloth on tranquilizers, I lower my foot to the ground.

As soon as I touch carpet, I’m off. There is a roar and a shriek of angry, Stygian breath. My hand is on the handle when I am yanked back. I scream and pull hard. There is a ripping sound and the pillow is torn away. I yank the door open and then I am out, in the dark hallway, running hard for the front door. The monster crashes through the bedroom door behind me and I can hear the wood of the frame splintering. I can’t make it to the door in time. It will be on me in a second. Then, it feels like time slows and just before those ravenous fangs sink into my flesh one more time, I flick on the light switch.

I wake up in bed to my cell phone buzzing angrily. It is my co-worker Larry.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Larry asks. “Are you coming to work today?”

“What time is it? How long have I been gone?” I ask. I must sound like a wild man because Larry suddenly sounds disconcerted.

“Settle down. You’re only fifteen minutes late. Are you sick?”

“No, I’ll be there,” I say. I hang up. Daylight is streaming into the room through the slits in the blinds. I look at the closet.

The door is open, just a crack.

There is no sound, but of course, there never is before it charges. But now it’s day. There has never been a cell phone call before. The nightmare must be over.

But I can’t explain why my heart is pounding so hard or why I can’t make myself step onto the carpet. Because as long as I stay on the bed, there is a chance that everything is fine and my closet is empty.

I find myself straining to hear breathing.

I don’t want to die again.

I don’t want to die again.

I don’t want to die—


Green-Walled Tower News: March Edition

I’m restructuring things a little here at the Green-Walled Tower. Not much, but a little. I’m cleaning out the attic and moving things around so they fit better. For one thing, I’m going to go back to concentrating on original fiction. I have tried various other projects here to mix things up but they never did as well as my fiction and I didn’t enjoy them quite as much. Also, I will be concentrating mostly on light, humorous stories. I do anyway, of course, and I will still be writing a variety of stories, including dark ones on occasion.

However, for those who don’t want to read scary, dark, or horror stories, I will put up a rating at the beginning to let you know, using my little mascot Belfry.

Belfry Rating - Dark

I won’t put up ratings for others just yet, except one, which is satire. I realize that I can write a pretty convincing satire at times, so if you read something of mine that seems a little too weird to be true (I will always say at the beginning of the post if it’s true, as well), check the end for the rating. It will always be at the end: I don’t want to spoil the show.

Belfry Rating - Satire

As well, I will be coming out with a way to buy some pretty cool Green-Walled Tower merchandise. The official announcement will probably be next week, with a contest to win some neat stuff. Stay tuned.

GWT logo - cropped


Lighting the Way Home – Friday Fictioneers

I am intrigued with story tone, how just a few words can make all the difference to a story. So, for this story, I’m going to let you choose the tone. This story has four endings, all written in white font. Click the text with your left mouse button and drag to block the hidden text and reveal the ending of your choice. Then vote for your favorite.

copyright Ted Strutz

copyright Ted Strutz

Lighting the Way Home

There is a switch in the basement unconnected to any circuit. I always leave it on, hoping that somewhere, it is connected to a light that will lead Brad back to me from beyond.

*

I am sitting in bed, the silver moon fluorescing the room through the window, when the door opens.

“You came back.” I can barely breathe from joy.

“I saw your light,” Brad said. He kisses me, but his lips are cold and I taste decay.

_____________________________________________________

1. Scary

“I came back for you,” he whispers. I jerk awake, gasping, and run to the basement, clawing at the accursed switch.

_____________________________________________________

2. Sad

“Are you real?” He doesn’t answer. I reach out and he starts to recede. “Brad!”

I wake, tears soaking my pillow.

_____________________________________________________

3. Quirky

“Are you still dead?” I ask.

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. Can I come to bed?”

“Fine. Brush your teeth first, though.”

_____________________________________________________

4. Silly

“I love you, Beth,” he says.

“My name is Heather,” I say.

“Shit, I got the wrong house again.” He disappears.

_____________________________________________________


Waxy Wolly – Friday Fictioneers

Well, I’m back from the hospital and back into my routine. My apologies for not being able to read many stories last week, but I’ll make up for it this week, I promise. Also, although my Monday post, Drowning Day, was supposed to be humor, it was rather dark, so I’m sorry (to those who prefer my lighter stories) for another dark story today. I have a funny one coming up on Friday this week.

Also, since this is a horror story, I will dedicate it to my friend, K.Z. Morano, whose book 100 Nightmares just came out.

copyright Renee Heath

copyright Renee Heath

Waxy Wolly

Do you know Waxy Wolly, that goblin with the soft, melty face, drooping eyes flickering like malevolent candles? May he never come to your house.

Many a mother has looked into a cradle to see her baby staring up, a living effigy of that happy, laughing soul of only an hour before. And then when she washes it in hot water or puts it near the fire . . .

No one believes me. They all think I killed them. But there are no bodies to convict me. Just a waxy stain in front of the hearth, like someone spilled a large candle.

 


Fog Tweets

Fog Tweets

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100 Nightmares by K.Z. Morano – Cover Reveal!

I don’t know if you’ve heard of K.Z. yet, but she is the queen of the short fiction horror genre (and yes, such a thing exists, because she’s the queen). I’ve known K.Z. for over a year since we are both faithful Friday Fictioneers and I’ve probably read every story she’s posted there in that time. I look forward to reading hers every week, since they’re always amazing.

She has a new book out, coming in April, although the exact date is not announced yet.

100 NIGHTMARES by K.Z. Morano is a collection of horror stories written in exactly 100 words and accompanied by a few illustrations.

It takes a brief encounter with death to cause enduring nightmares.

A single well-placed blow could maim you for life…

One well-placed word could haunt you forever.

 

Microfiction is a blade—sharp, swift…

Sometimes it goes for the jugular, killing you in seconds.

Its silver tongue touches your throat and warm blood hisses before you could scream.

 

Sometimes, the knife makes micro-cuts on the sensitive sheath of your sanity, creating wounds that would fester throughout eternity.

 

Take my 100 words like prescription… a slow-acting poison.

Or read them all and die of overdose.

Your call.

It’s your suicide after all.

 Here’s the cover. Pretty scary, eh? If horror’s not your thing, then it’s probably best not buy this, but if you like it, definitely get K.Z.’s book when it comes out.

copyright KZ Morano

copyright KZ Morano

The Author

K.Z. Morano is an eclectic eccentric… a writer, a beach bum and a chocolate addict who writes anything from romance and erotica to horror, fantasy, sci-fi and bizarro fiction. Over the past few months, her stories have appeared in various anthologies, magazines and online venues. Visit her at http://theeclecticeccentricshopaholic.wordpress.com/ where she posts short fiction and photographs weekly.

For more updates on the story collection like K.Z.’s Facebook page www.facebook.com/100Nightmares


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