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Flashfiction #35: Horror

Discussion in 'Reader's Corner' started by afgpride, Jun 6, 2018.

  1. afgpride Retired Staff

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    1. Your work must be within constraints of the theme.
    2. Of course, all themes can be interpreted in any number of ways.
    3. 500 words maximum per entry, or else the entry will be disqualified.
    4. Only post one entry per theme. The highest rated entry will choose the next theme.
    5. You may not rate/review your own work.
    6. Add a rating out of ten at the end of your "review".
    7. Be constructive/honest when criticizing a piece. No mindless flaming.
    8. You do not have to enter a flashfic to rate.
    9. If you enter and do not rate & review the other entries, your flashfic is disqualified from points.

    Starts 06/06, Wednesday, ends 23/06, Saturday. Reviews from 24/06 to 26/06 Tuesday.
    Last edited: Jun 16, 2018
  2. shit shit is the ne plus ultra

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    Nov 22, 2007
    Spoiler: 499
    Seath stepped forward toward the monster. He dared not chance a glance behind him to see if his partner was watching, because that wasn’t the plan. The plan was short yet meticulous, and every slight movement, even breath, must strictly follow it. He held his head high, his feet were steady, his body was rock solid, and inside his chest his heart thundered like a frenzied animal in a cage, thrashing itself against the bars and screaming in terror.

    The monster was taller and wider than any building he’d seen, a sprawling black mass of lumpy flesh that secreted slime across the ranch it had just destroyed. Writhing tentacles that stretched a dozen meters killed whatever grass it touched, and the slime that coated the soil seemed to suffocate it to barren death. At the center was a cackling torso of a plump woman, her mouth and eyes gaping open in screeching laughs.

    The monster was a Lamia spawn. The woman was Quinlee, Seath’s wife.

    “Quin!” he called out, standing on a pile of rubble so he could be seen over her sprawling mass. “I’ve come for you, dear. Let’s head home now.”

    A mad shrieking laugh was followed by a tentacle whipping at him like lightning, slapping him to the ground and coiling around his neck in fluid motion. Seath clawed at the acidic flesh in a panic, for being strangled instantly was not the culmination of his plan.

    He was dragged slowly across the poison slime and rocks and then up close to Quinlee’s form, her neck still adorned with the tattered rags of her modest blue dress, her favorite for Sundays. Seath was heartbroken to see the part at her waist where she melded into the monster was a skinless wound with bubbling pus.

    She babbled noises and laughs like a baby at him, stupidly drooling.

    “I came to get you,” he managed to say, pulling enough slack in the grip to get the words out.

    She frowned, faint realization seeming to taste sour. Looking irritated, she grabbed a sharp rock in another tentacle and thrust it forward. The blow tore into Seath’s flesh at his stomach, and his insides started to pour out.

    His face turned pale, his eyes gone wide, his limbs jerked, and his voice turned to guttural clicks. Then after a few seconds, his lips curled to a smile.

    The contents of his stomach hit the black flesh of the Lamia spawn, burning it away instantly in a puff of clear steam. It kept burning like a wildfire, and as the mountain of monster writhed and spasmed it kept burning with an unstoppable force.

    Holy water. Seath had drank enough to drown a man, directed by a traveling monster hunter, working on behalf of the kingdom. He reckoned the hunter was watching him now from afar.

    Seath crawled forward to the torso of Quinlee in her death spasms, leaking his guts along the way. He held her close as they both died.
  3. Mider T Busting in and out of guts

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    Jun 17, 2006
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    "I'm late."

    They were simple words. Words that Dante himself had uttered countless times before- but it was different hearing it from someone else this time around. It was different because it could very well be true. But Dante wouldn't admit that to himself or to anyone else for that matter.

    "Bullshit!" Erica flinched ever so slightly. "Unless you've been fucking around on me there's no way you're actually pregnant! And if you have been sleeping around" Dante grabbed the back of Erica's neck and squeezed, she began to tremble "you better hope I don't find that fucker."

    Dante stared into her eyes for the better part of a minute, as if he were looking for any hint of doubt or aversion in her emerald eyes. Erica fixated her gaze right back into his own chocolate irises, whether it was due to fear or shock however, she could not say.

    "There is nobody else." Her voice quivered but for a split second Dante's tight grip on her nape freed up. Without thinking, she took that opportunity to wrap both of her arms around his torso. "There has never been anybody else, you know that." Her voice steadied itself and she spoke a little louder. "This incident came from the birthday...surprise...you gave me weeks ago."

    Dante retightened his grip. "What surprise? Talk bitch." Erica recounted the empty apartment she'd spent her entire special day in. How she declined her friends' requests for a girl's night out in anticipation of her big day with Dante. She could still remember the sweet smells of the candles that had long since burned out by the time Dante came stumbling in. The rough way he'd shoved her up against the sliding glass door and ripped her dress off. The gruff, drunken way he told her he wanted to show the world she was is. But most of all, she could still feel her head pounding from where he had slammed her against the wall when she had asked "And you, mine?" It still caused her dizziness. Neither he nor she had remembered fully until a few days later, she had dare not bring up the details now.

    "I-I surprised you! With a sexy dress, babe, I just wanted to look good for you. One thing led to another and-" Erica spoke so quickly out of nervousness she didn't notice Dante release her from his grasp. He then eased his way out of her arms.

    "So it's really mine then huh?" Dante spoke more to himself than to Erica. "That makes 11 now...11 in 6 years...I think I like 10."
    "Huh? What did you-" Before Erica finished an Eldritch Abomination suddenly stood before her where Dante had been! A large brown creature with round center and 6 stingers, it struck at her and suddenly she was liquified in an instant! Dante then emerged from the creature's center as it shrunk to finally become his irises.

    "Nothing scarier than becoming a new father." He chuckled to himself.
  4. afgpride Retired Staff

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    Allistair’s bald head was scarred all over, but brain damage was too easy an explanation for what he was doing. He was cold and calculating. A Machiavellian mystique wore over him like an assassin’s trench coat.

    “Are you listening?” His voice sighed. Both his victims – the little girl, as well as the tied up father who’d been forced to watch – were equally lifeless. The father silently muttered something in Spanish, probably a prayer. The daughter was a corpse.

    “I said evil is misunderstood”, he continued, pulling out a pocket knife and holding it to the dead girl’s throat. “It’s not a supernatural force. It’s values.”

    The father was beyond shock and anger at that point, so when Allistair decapitated his daughter then and there, he was unreactive. He continued praying quietly, digging his swollen wrists into the jagged chains behind him. He wanted to bleed out.

    Allistair wiped the knife clean with a handkerchief.

    “Abraham.” He declared, pointing to the corpse. “Abraham was ready to do this to his own son. For no reason other than God told him to.”

    The father was making progress with his wrists. The blood was trickling, though the wound wasn’t deep enough to kill.

    Allistair crouched to eye level with him and forced his eyelids open. “This is what I call empathy reprogramming. I can still feel compassion, believe it or not. I can just switch it off at a moment’s notice. Your daughter was practice.”

    The little girl’s headless corpse was sat upright on a chair next to her father. Her severed head laid mockingly on her lap. Allistair taped a paper bulls-eye to her torso and then started throwing darts at it.

    “She’s in heaven now, Pablo, she’ll be fine. The worst part is over.”

    He missed the bulls-eye, hitting her decapitated forehead.