Horror
The Brewery
A sharp chill cuts the air, yet it was not harvest time. It was dawn; so early that the morning light hardly shines beyond the barley and the occasional spot of trees. Gold and coppery strands gently danced before the greens of grass. Far over the hills lay the Jones’ orchard with apples of gold and green, tart and sweet. Further beyond lay the brewery.
RedemptionVAPublished 3 years ago in FictionSpin
Who’s gonna spin, gonna spin, gonna spin. Spin away the pain, all the pain, all the pain. The song echoed in the darkness, and they followed the sound downwards, past the parts they liked to visit, past the parts they pretended they didn’t, into the places they only went when forced. Their footsteps were barely audible over the blaring of the music and the cloying scent of decay grew stronger the further down they traveled. They’d been searching for hours, hours longer than they had to stop the dance.
ThE InFEcTed YoUth Part 2
THE BUNKER DOOR IS CLOSED... Summer is sitting down, with her back against the wall, gazing at intricate water stains opposite to her. Her four year old daughter Rebecca is laying in her lap while her ten year old son Tommy rests his head on a folded military-green blanket placed over her thigh. Summer is so exhausted that her mind fazes out and starts daydreaming different designs from the water stains. The way someone would with clouds.
Angelo M. RochaPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Book of Kalli
Deep in the cavern, two hundred feet below the surface, Kalli checked the time and decided three days of isolation would do for this trip. She scuttled backward to the last turnaround point.
J. S. WadePublished 3 years ago in FictionThe New Ones
Drip. Drip. Drip. Mae huddled in the furthest corner of the closet, surrounded by debris, old mouse droppings, and dead insects. There was a hole in the ceiling, and something was dripping on her. It was hitting the back of her head, a little to the left, then running down her neck. Icy, cold drops, like ancient Chinese water torture.
Kari McLeesePublished 3 years ago in FictionFrom The Journal of General Miles
*Excerpts from a discovered journal in one of humanity’s last ‘stands’ against the Hycon hegemony. After the nuclear bombardments, it was rare for any such documentation to found nearly complete. Particularly of this quality. It is a shame the final outcome of the conflict. With less than five million specimens of the human species surviving, their continued existence remains a curiosity on the intergalactic stage.
Timothy S PurvisPublished 3 years ago in FictionThreaded
No one remembers how the world ended, we just know that it did. In the aftermath, humanity did what humanity does best. We rebuilt.
Josephine WinterPublished 3 years ago in FictionBurning Heart
Burning Heart Hala had told me that they had been there so long that we had forgotten the danger. That was just before they burned away the atmosphere and killed her along with everything else. I am a physicist, so I can assure you that a temperature of one hundred million degrees will ignite the atmosphere in a fusion reaction. These fusion reactions would release more energy leading to more fusion until all the nitrogen atmosphere has burned away. That is what happened, and now you are wondering how I survived and where I am.
Steve BarnettPublished 3 years ago in FictionElsa May Green. Chapters four, five, and six.
Chapter Four. September 21st, 2007
Peter CulbertPublished 3 years ago in FictionElsa May Green. Chapters one, two, and three.
Chapter One. September 20th, 2007 The hand on the dust mottled clock watching over the King’s Head Hostelry struck seven. This evening brought together me, and the usual suspects placed in our seats to begin on our seven-day reunion, as we had for many years. My colleagues in crime and wine, Elsa, Michael, Ruben, and Gabriel, allies since I could recall. Cutting our first tooth, scraping our knees, we matured into the strongest of comrades on Joshua street in the town of Longworth.
Peter CulbertPublished 3 years ago in FictionThe Silence
It was dark that evening, for a summer night anyway. There was no breeze, and no sounds coming from the surrounding forest. A rare but not unheard of phenomenon that the locals call, "The Silence." They always tell the kids to stay quieter than a mouse sneaking around on a carpeted floor. I never understood why the adults hated these nights, but I guess I can't really complain. I get to enjoy the silence and search for what everyone else so fears.
Mercy's Contagion
My true life began with my parents rotting upstairs in their bed while I raided every house on our cul de sac, starving. I don’t remember much before that. I was only nine and it’s been twenty-five years. I do recall searching up and down the block and several blocks over before I could finally bring myself to leave for good. Perhaps I’d lingered at home with my parents’ dead bodies because I was happy there once. But even before the Aiyana virus ravished the world and purged most living creatures I don’t think I was ever as happy as she always was, despite our dire circumstances.
J.E. McMorrisPublished 3 years ago in Fiction