Unravel Page 6

  And always keep a friend to help out. She grinned. Florida had great friends too, the brackish creek behind her house home to both alligators and bull sharks. A little blood in the water, a little push...and good friends came to her rescue.

  J.A. HAMMER lives off of coffee (mostly Dead Eyes) and stress in the wild concrete city of Tokyo, where zombies are living and using the train lines every day. Known as CoffeeQuills online, they’re mostly safe to talk to (bites only happen in the name of science) but be wary if approaching before dawn. The cake is not a lie, but you’ll have to get it yourself. If you’re interested in steampunk/paranormal Japan, check out their Patreon, or if you’d like daily drabbles and pictures from Japan, follow CoffeeQuills on either Instagram or Twitter.

  Website : www.patreon.com/coffeequills

  Too Late

  by E.L. Giles

  The cold morning waves bathed the sandy shore, bringing a eerie chill as the tide rose and enveloped the dead, naked body of a woman.

  At the crack of dawn, a scream pierced the tranquil morning. The shore buzzed with activity. Thumbs rested on the screens of phones as the mutilated body was dragged out of the water, giving momentum to the rising speculation.

  A message lay engraved on her dead body, her skin swelling and turning blue where the blade had slashed the epidermis, filling every witness with the most dreadful kinds of nightmares.

  “You’re too late,” it read.

  E.L. GILES is a dreamer, passionate about art, a restless worker and a bit of a weird human. He started his artistic journey as a music composer until the need to put his thoughts and stories down on paper grew too strong for him to resist it any longer. He lives in the French Province of Quebec, Canada, with his girlfriend and two boys.

  Facebook: elgilesauthor

  Website: www.elgilesauthor.com

  Mabel

  by Sinister Sweetheart

  Grandpa Cyril was on his last days. My brother and I sat at his bedside until the bitter end. With quavering breaths, he unburdened his soul through confession.

  “Kids, there’s something to need to know. Your Aunt Mabel, she’s not right. She disappeared in the woods for two days as a child. She showed back up to the house dirtier than normal, but basically unaffected.

  “Two weeks later, police officers found the dead body of a young girl in the same woods. Fingerprints and dental records reported it to be the body of seven-year-old Mabel, having died sixteen days earlier.”

  SINCE Sinister Sweetheart made her first post to a popular Internet forum, she’s taken the horror community by storm. Her ability to create, terrify, and drive home her stories is insurmountable. Sinister Sweetheart’s published works can be found in multiple anthologies for all to read, but be forewarned, if you do... you may want to call your therapist after, her stories are terrifying, disturbing and devilishly unsettling. She is not only a fright visually, but also has a creepy tentacle in horror podcasting as well. Sinister Sweetheart writes, voice acts and is the media director of the Scarecrow Tales podcast.

  Website: Sinistersweetheart.wixsite.com/sinistersweetheart

  Facebook: NMBrownStories

  Cleared

  by Gabriella Balcom

  Falling down, Ellen dropped her popcorn. “Oh, no!” she wailed. Some people helped her. Others stared.

  During the movie, she changed seats, pulled a wig and dark jacket from her bag, then slipped outside. She jogged to her destination, but quickly returned to the theatre.

  Two days later, a maid let herself into a hotel room. She screamed, seeing the man riddled with bullet holes.

  “The suspect list is never-ending,” Officer Lane told his superior. “He swindled bosses, co-workers, used women, owed ex-wives, and almost everyone hated him. The only person we know is innocent is his current wife, Ellen.”

  GABRIELLA BALCOM lives in Texas with her family, loves reading and writing, and thinks she was born with a book in her hands. She works in a mental health field, and writes fantasy, horror/thriller, romance, children’s stories, and sci-fi. She likes travelling, music, good shows, photography, history, interesting tales, and animals. Gabriella says she’s a sucker for a great story and loves forests, mountains, and back roads which might lead who knows where. She has a weakness for lasagne, garlic bread, tacos, cheese, and chocolate, but not necessarily in that order.

  Facebook: GabriellaBalcom.lonestarauthor

  New York Night

  by Ann Christine Tabaka

  The New York skyline was silhouetted against a starry night. The streets were abuzz with theatre goers leaving for restaurants or for home. All of a sudden, a scream rang out and everyone froze, quiet. The crowd parted, and there he stood with a wild look in his eyes and a bloody knife in his hand. He fell to his knees, then collapsed face down. There were two dead bodies on the street. The police arrived within minutes and started asking questions.

  Meanwhile, no one noticed as a shadowy figure slowly walked away and disappeared into the New York night.

  ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She is the author of 9 poetry books. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Burningword Literary Journal; Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.

  Until It Happens to Your Child

  by Carole de Monclin

  On that fine spring day at 1.46 pm, everything changed.

  With prom days away, Sarah had bought an elegant red gown.

  That dress will never be worn.

  Witnesses’ accounts only give me a glimpse into her nightmare.

  Room 234. A resounding bang interrupts the teacher. Paralysis sinks its claws into every soul. Another deafening crack echoes. Closer. Menacing. Incomprehensible. Kids scramble under their desks.

  The door bursts open. The gunshot roars so loudly, Sarah doesn’t immediately understand she’s hit. Life flows out too fast for goodbyes or regrets.

  Farewell, daughter. My only comfort is knowing your friend held your hand.

  CAROLE DE MONCLIN travels both the real world and imaginary ones. She’s lived in France, Australia, and the USA; visited 25+ countries; and explored Mars, Ceres, and many distant planets. She writes to invite people on a journey. Stories have found her for as long as she can remember, be it in a cave in Victoria, the smile of a baby in Paris, or a museum in Florida.

  Website: CaroledeMonclin.com

  Twitter: @CaroledeMonclin

  No Evidence to Find

  by Radar DeBoard

  Joseph chuckled lightly to himself.

  When he had killed the first one, there was a definite fear he would be caught. A fear the police would find his DNA, or some other traces of him on the bodies.

  Then he came up with the idea to use his good works to help him.

  So far it had worked for seven victims—soon to be eight.

  He poured a ladle of stew into the bowl of another unsuspecting homeless person.

  The police can’t start a murder investigation without a body. No one ever said that community service couldn’t benefit the volunteer.

  RADAR DEBOARD is a horror movie and novel enthusiast who resides in the small town of Goddard, Kansas. He occasionally dabbles in writing and enjoys making dark tales for people to enjoy.

  The Dead Wife

  by J.M. Meyer

  Seamus Quin was convicted of murdering his wife in 1409. The shovel he slammed into her arm caused a deep gash which became infected. Sepsis set in and painful death followed. With his brother and best friend as witnesses, he appealed, on the grounds of his wife’s incompetence and cruelty. She kept an untidy house, berated him in public, a
nd had not had a child during three years of marriage.

  “I meant to teach, not kill. ‘Twas her fault for not tending her wound.”

  The court agreed and Seamus was permitted to wed his dead wife’s sister, as was custom.

  J.M. MEYER is writer, artist and small business owner living in New York., where she received her master’s degree from Teacher’s College, Columbia University. Jacqueline loves the science fiction and horror genres. Reading Ray Bradbury was a mind-blowing experience for her in 8th grade. Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Serling were the horror heroes of her youth. Mercedes M. Yardley is her current horror writing hero. Jacqueline also enjoys the company of her husband Bruce and their three children, Julia, Emma and Lauren. Jacqueline’s mantra: The only time it’s too late to try something new is when you are dead.

  Website: jmoranmeyer.net

  Twitter: @moran_meyer

  Monster Hunter

  by Donald Jacob Uitvlugt

  I see you.

  You know that tingle you feel on the back of your neck while you’re driving? Or shopping for groceries? Or in the shower?

  That’s me.

  I know all of your secrets. Those crimes you hide, even from your lover.

  You disgust me.

  Walking around like you’re not a monster. Like the sun won’t burn you or the ground won’t swallow you up. You just think you’re safe. Keep on thinking that way. You’ll see.

  You’re a thing masquerading in human skin. Soon my knife will reveal the truth to the world. It always does.

  I see you...

  DONALD JACOB UITVLUGT lives on neither coast of the United States, but mostly in a haunted memory palace of his own design. His short fiction has appeared in numerous print and online venues, including Cirsova Magazine and the Flame Tree Press anthology Murder Mayhem. He works primarily in speculative fiction, though he loves blending and stretching genres. He strives to write what he calls “haiku fiction,” stories that are small in scale but big in impact.

  Website: haikufiction.blogspot.com

  Twitter: @haikufictiondju

  Hitchhiker’s Delight

  by Kelly A. Harmon

  Nick fingered the knucklebones on his key chain as he pulled over.

  The bearded man slid into the back, smelling of...something...and body odour.

  “Where to?” Nick asked.

  “West.”

  “Odessa?”

  The hitchhiker nodded, then gestured toward the rearview mirror. “Nice dream catcher. Rabbit skin?”

  “Something like that.” Nick smiled.

  Suddenly, the hitchhiker slid forward, wrapping an arm around Nick’s neck. “Most folks aren’t brave enough to stop—weren’t you afraid you’d pick up a serial killer?”

  Nicolas laughed, finally recognising the tangy odour of blood. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. “What are the odds? One killer picking up another?”

  KELLY A. HARMON is an award-winning journalist and author, and a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America and Horror Writers of America. A Baltimore native, she writes the Charm City Darkness series. The fourth book in the series, In the Eye of the Beholder, is now available. Find her short fiction in many magazines and anthologies, including Occult Detective Quarterly; Terra! Tara! Terror! and Deep Cuts: Mayhem, Menace and Misery.

  Website: kellyaharmon.com

  Twitter: @kellyaharmon

  Who’s Is It?

  by Wendy Roberts

  Detective Whit steps through the abandoned warehouse and stops at the wall splattered with blood before he looks at the report in his hand.

  “No leads.”

  The officer next to him shakes his head. “Nothing yet, but we’re running the bit of hair samples...”

  “It’s from wigs.” Detective Whit shuts the folder. “Their heads are shaved weeks before they’re killed.”

  “And the fingers?” The officer glances at the ground where a pool of blood is left behind.

  “Previous victims.”

  “We’ve got a fingerprint.” The officer holds up the evidence.

  “Yeah, who’s is it?”

  The man fumbles a bit. “Um.”

  “Exactly.”

  WRITING SHORT STORIES and novels started as a past time for Wendy Roberts and has now become a fully fledged passion. She posts short stories on her website and can be found most days on Twitter.

  Website: flippinscribbler.wordpress.com

  Twitter: @_WARoberts

  Love Letter

  by Raven Corinn Carluk

  Detective,

  I’ve enjoyed watching you dance to my tune. You’ve been more entertaining than that slob you replaced. You seemed to care about the young women I disassembled.

  Have you seen yourself in them? I have.

  Regardless of the joy you’ve brought me, I must leave. I would have left long ago, but for the entertainment value your investigation provided.

  Since the futility of finding me surely keeps you up, marinating in frustration, I’ve left you one clue. A single hair, somewhere in this house. I look forward to seeing you again, my sweet Nicole.

  Always one step ahead,

  Whistler

  RAVEN CORINN CARLUK writes dark fantasy, paranormal romance, and anything else that catches her interest. She’s authored five novels, where she explores themes of love and acceptance. Her shorter pieces, usually from her darker side, can be found in Black Hare Press anthologies, at Detritus Online, and through Alban Lake Publishers.

  Twitter: @ravencorinn

  Website: RavenCorinnCarluk.Blogspot.Com

  Duty Calls

  by Amber M. Simpson

  An hour after her lights go out, I break a window and crawl inside.

  I watch her awhile; the rise and fall of her chest, little sounds she makes in her sleep.

  So beautiful.

  Squeezing my hands around her throat, she jerks and her eyes pop open. She tries to scream but I tighten my grip, slowly crushing her wind pipe.

  I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and leave through the front door, whistling.

  In the car, the radio crackles, “Dorchester Street, hit and run.”

  Duty calls.

  Buckling up, I hit my sirens and take off into the night.

  AMBER M. SIMPSON is a chronic nighttime writer with a penchant for dark fiction and fantasy. When she’s not editing for Fantasia Divinity Magazine, she divides her creative time (when she’s not procrastinating) between writing a mystery/horror novel, working on a medieval fantasy series, and coming up with new ideas for short stories. Above all, she enjoys being a mom to her two greatest creations, Max and Liam, who keep her feet on the ground even while her head is in the clouds.

  Website: ambermsimpson.com

  Under the Microscope

  by A.R. Johnston

  Bits of bone, blood, tissue were just all parts of a whole. “Or what used to be a whole,” Colleen mused as she placed her next sample on a slide to put under a microscope.

  “You think you can sort out all of this mess and make matches?” Jones stood in the doorway staring at all the slides.

  Colleen slowly looked up from the microscope, scribbling a note before looking at Jones.

  “Have I ever not been able to figure it out?” She smirked.

  Jones laughed. “You’re amazing, Colleen.”

  She was the one that brought concrete evidence. Evidence in blood.

  A.R. JOHNSTON is a small-town girl from Nova Scotia, Canada. Her style of writing is considered Urban Fantasy. Her first major publication is part of an anthology called First Love and she has several more titles lined up. She is a lover of coffee, good tv shows, horror flicks, and reader of books. She pretends to be a writer when real life doesn’t get in the way. Pesky full-time job and adulting!

  Going Back to Mexico

  by Isabella Fox

  “They’ll know we’re keeping back some of the money,” Hugo said. “We’re already paid well, don�
�t be greedy.”

  “Nah, he won’t miss a couple of grand,” Eduardo replied. “I want to end my days back in Mexico, enjoying the scenery before I’m old.”

  “CARLOS, YOU KNOW THOSE young punks are robbing us blind. Teach them you don’t cross Santos,” the drug lord ordered.

  Eduardo opened his eyes. He and Hugo were buried in the hot sand, only their heads visible. He had his wish, he was going to end his days in Mexico looking at the scenery, while still young.

  ISABELLA FOX teaches primary aged students to love writing by making it challenging. In her spare time she reads, goes for long walks with her husband and works hard on her farm.

  Blind Pursuit

  by Ann Christine Tabaka

  As she worked her way through the forest at night, she touched each tree. The rough bark reminded her of braille, since she could not see. She kept moving, trying to get away from them. She didn’t know who they were, or why, but they were after her.

  As she tripped and fell, she held her breath, trying not to cry out in alarm. She tried to remain quiet and unnoticed, but it was too late. As she looked up, she saw them standing over her. Her name is now listed among the missing, on the back of milk cartons.