Warning: this Halloween blog post contains themes of adult horror which may not be suitable for all audiences.
Happy Halloween dear readers! This year I’m doing something a little different… I recently entered a Halloween flash fiction challenge, with the rules being the story must contain fifty words and be scary. You could enter as many times as you liked, so I’ve selected thirteen of my most gruesome tales which I’m reproducing here for TVTA’s annual Halloween party post!
For those who don’t know, flash fiction – or micro fiction – is a short story with a very small word count – usually between 20 and 500. As a writer, flash fiction is an excellent challenge in which to tell a compelling story in as few words as possible.
I’ve also illustrated my thirteen tales. These are hand drawn and coloured by me with some added digital colourisation. I’m not brilliant at drawing and my efforts always end up as cartoon-style… but here I think this type of illustration works well with the short-sharp-shock dynamics of the stories. I hope you do too.
So, onward my friends, mutter your prayers and reach for your charms, for there can be no lookin’ back now, as I present my thirteen flash fiction horror tales, all told in fifty words!
Those foolish creatures of the night: werewolves, vampires, witches… they limit themselves by killing only when it is dark, unlike me who never squanders a single moment of night or day to snuff out lives. You cannot set any clock to my arrival. I come and go as I please.
THE LAST EXORCIST
The old priest pulled from his robes a glass bottle. Uncorked, devils flew out and circled his head. Howling, they navigated the stare of his hoary eyes, viscid tongues licking his eyeballs and the reflections of innocents perplexed and insane; finally, in death, the possessed set free from his gaze.
THE LARDER DILEMMA
You peek through the larder keyhole as he limps into the kitchen – all raincoat, Caterpillar boots, crazy eyes. You smell the kerosene he pours everywhere. Witness the sparking of his match. Sounds go ‘whoomph’ and ‘pop’, and no windows, no escape, just one door, leading only to fire and him.
LATE NIGHT DRIVE
Back seat, sedated, Pooh Bear trinket dangling from rear-view mirror. Her driver stays under the speed limit as glittering goods in store windows stream past the window. Neon signs, 24-hour clubs, sex, girls become ghosts, blink, flash. Burns bright these urban constellations. And she, her lights about to go out.
404 BAD GATEWAY
Unhinged. Something pinged in the wiring of his brain. Hard drive went haywire, black screened, blue screened, hacked, hacked, hacked, the hacking out of eyes and tongues and nipples… such pretty jewellery for his neck. Virus. Corrupted files. The smart app he used to record them undressing. Everything went black.
THE APOLLO EXHIBITION
The creature is close.
Must hide… Spacesuit… Good…. Won’t find me in there.
No… the science museum – me, its newest exhibit.
Perfect disguise… the creature passes by… until I drop a glove…
The creature stops. Turns.
Human organs for plushies. Skin booties. Baby’s so cute in her crib, asleep on bones and quilts of flesh. She has her father’s face – it hangs from her mobile, along with his fingers which she’ll use for teething on when she’s older. Hungry? Don’t cry. One, two, Mama loves you…
That no-good, lying, cheating clown, stealing the future from our children, locking us indoors as he sings the same mad song over and over. Generation Revenge: our children’s children will defeat that sick clown, hurl his corpse into the ditch he deserves, where weeds will grow splendidly from his crown.
ZOMBIE KID-SISTER BLUES
She shunted closer, zombie-grunting; same noise as when she’d tell us she was thirsty. Was the neighbour who killed her. “Don’t. She’s my sister. She’s got Cerebral Palsy.” Bang! Her zombie-face, not much uglier than before, looked Heavenwards up. The wheels of her chair spinning in my eyeballs forever to come.
SNOW GLOBES OF THE NORTH
Outpost destroyed, frostbitten, snowblind, you stagger to the weather station. His voice rasps in the storm: “Shaker Man’s here!” – yet, he comes from inside you… slits open your belly and steps out of your body, stuffs your organs into little plastic globes. Shakes. Shaker Man shakes until you bleed snow.
THE RISEN SEA
Spells. Wading through the abandoned library, the creature gliding after her. Spells. Decaying fish smells. In the occult section climbing shelves, the creature snapping at her heels. Spells. Blood dissolving in swirling pools. Spell book – the charm she needs as it gorges on her legs. Missing pages. Torn out. Screams.
He muffles screams with gardening gloves. Her white uniform is mottled with blood. Nurse. Doctor. Dentist. A tattooed script rings her neckline, says – he must stoop lower to read: Born To Be Alive. He removes her head with a spade and his heel, unable to resist such a brazen challenge.
THE HORSEMAN’S BRIDE
Moonlight, crossroads, destiny with a devil, October wind gnawing her bones… turns soul-achingly colder when she hears the advance of galloping hooves. The rider, so dandy, handsome – despite no head! SWISH goes his cutlass through her scarf and neck, as he summons her decollated body to ride with him.
Thank you for reading along!
Happy Halloween / All Hallows’ Eve / Samhain to my readers! 🎃💀😈👹💀👻👽👾
Words and illustrations by the editor.
© Ford Waight.