He covered his eyes with trembling paws. “I’m telling you, they don’t exist. They never have.”
His brother leaned closer, holding the torch below his chin. Light scarred his face with sharp shadows and harsh lines. “Well, they say we don’t exist. Who are you to say the gormagon doesn’t if we do?”
“That’s different,” Seth whimpered.
Continue reading “Halloween Flash Fiction: Week 3”
The cellar steps reached below into consuming chthonic darkness. The air cloisters in my lungs, musty and old like stale breath.
My feet tell me I should go back, but I don’t because they are no longer master.
The darkness calls a cypher to my brain that only I can understand. Human fear is weak in me. This body is too frail and this soul too lacklustre to support me any more. A replacement is due.
Continue reading “Halloween Flash Fiction: Week 2”
Right to left. It always started with the chalk screeching from right to left, slicing into the dusty blackness of the board. Annie edged away, watching words spill out in backwards, boustrophedonic waves.
They were angry words, words of tearing, killing. Torrid words of ill will and repressed desires.
Continue reading “Halloween Flash Fiction: Week 1”
