Hate Read online

  CHRIS BANNOR is a science fiction and fantasy writer who lives in Southern California. Chris learned her love of genre stories from her mother at an early age and has never veered far from that path. She also enjoys musical theater and road trips with her family but is a general homebody otherwise.

  Facebook: chrisbannorauthor

  Website: ChrisBannor.com

  Reflected in her Eyes

  by J.W. Garrett

  Slipping through the mirror, Molly transitioned from one world into the next, seeking her stepmother. Reposed in sleep, calm rested across her face, belying her true nature. Night after night Molly endured physical and mental abuse under this woman’s care.

  “I’ve come for you.”

  Her stepmother’s eyes snapped open, disbelief pooling in her gaze. “How?” she muttered. “You’re a nightmare.”

  Waving hands through the air, Molly set items in motion. The bed skidded across the floor; curtains danced; clothing paraded around the room.

  “It’s time. Meet your fate.”

  Fear glazed her eyes.

  Molly plunged inside the woman, stilling her heart.

  J.W. GARRETT has been writing in one form or another since she was a teenager. She currently lives in Florida with her family but loves the mountains of Virginia where she was born. Her writings include YA fantasy as well as short stories. Since completing Remeon’s Quest-Earth Year 1930, the prequel in her YA fantasy series, Realms of Chaos, she has been hard at work on the next in the series, scheduled to release August 2020. When she’s not hanging out with her characters, her favourite activities are reading, running and spending time with family.

  Website: www.jwgarrett.com

  BHC Press: www.bhcpress.com/Author_JW_Garrett.html

  Serial Student

  by Terri A. Arnold

  I step carefully around the crime scene, taking in all the details. The amount of hatred needed to do something like this, it’s unprecedented. I must find the person responsible. I can’t let this happen again.

  At least I can’t let this happen again without the perp guiding me. This life—ending lives, ripping bodies to shreds—this is the life for me. Oh, the people I will end.

  I notice a piece of hair, casually pick it up and place it in my pocket. This is the way; forensics. I will become his student, I will excel at murder.

  TERRI A. ARNOLD is an avid reader turned writer from a small town in Nova Scotia, who has spent her life reading and wishing she was writing. Although she has written a lot in those years, she has only recently begun to submit pieces for publication. With ongoing encouragement from family and writing challenges with friends, Arnold felt the urge to try her hand at publishing.

  Hag

  by Terry Miller

  There were voices in Lisa’s head. One was her own as a little girl, a little mischievous child that refused to grow up. Another was that of her angsty teenage youth. Then there was another voice, old, shaky, and coarse.

  “You stupid whore! Take another drink, why don’t you?” It would scream. So Lisa would drink; another and another.

  Her days passed, intoxicated and lonely. One sober morning, she stood to stare at the reflected eyes of a tired, old woman.

  With rage, her lips quivered. In a young voice, like that in her thirties, she bellowed, “You stupid hag!”

  TERRY MILLER lives in Portsmouth, Ohio. His work has been featured in Sanitarium Magazine, Devolution Z, Jitter, Rhysling Anthology 2017, Poetry Quarterly, Sirens Call Ezine, The Horror Tree’s Trembling With Fear, SpillWords, Organic Ink Vol. I, Curses & Cauldrons Anthology from Blood Song Books, Forest of Fear from Blood Song Books, the Dark Drabble Anthology Series from Black Hare Press, 100 Word Zombie Bites from Reanimated Writers Press, Scary Snippets, Guilty Pleasures & Other Dark Delights, 100 Word Horrors 3, and O Unholy Night In Deathlehem from Grinning Skull Press.

  Facebook: tmiller2015

  Amazon: amazon.com/author/millerterryl

  A Soldier’s Revenge

  by Zoey Xolton

  Xavier crept in the unlocked back door and into his fiancé’s home. He climbed the old wooden staircase to the second story with practised stealth. He found her there, in bed, mid-coitus, with the male model she was cheating on him with.

  He was fighting dissidents in foreign countries and she couldn’t keep her legs together. Allowing his hate to grow, he leapt from the shadows and smashed the back of the sod’s head in with a baseball bat. His skull slammed into Bethany’s face, breaking her nose.

  “Xavier, you psycho!” she screamed.

  “Oh, baby girl. You have no idea.”

  ZOEY XOLTON is an Australian Speculative Fiction writer, primarily of Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Horror. She is also a proud mother of two and is married to her soul mate. Outside of her family, writing is her greatest passion. She is especially fond of short fiction and is working on releasing her own themed collections in future.

  Website: www.zoeyxolton.com

  Ghost

  by Cassandra Angler

  You had warmed my side of the bed before my body had even gone cold.

  You can’t see me, but I’m here. Watching.

  She looks happy to be there with you. Triumphant. I watch you do with her what you so often refused to do with me, my anger building.

  Though my heart stopped beating, it’s shattered.

  I wait for your energy to fade, for sleep to come. I have eternity, after all—nothing left but patience. Her slow and steady breathing turns to panic as my icy hands tighten, clamped around her throat.

  CASSANDRA ANGLER is a married mother of four who lives in the State of Ohio in the USA. When she isn’t busy caring for her family, Cassandra works on her upcoming novel due out in November of 2020 titled Contaminated. Cassandra has three short story publications as well as several flash fiction and drabble publications.

  I Am Sin

  by Terry Miller

  “Hatred is a sin!” the girl with the make-believe halo retorted, her face scrunched up like the devil himself.

  Poppy snickered but kept her composure.

  “I am sin!” Poppy replied.

  The girl looked appalled by the remark.

  Poppy looked her arrogant judge up and down, from the top of her bun to the bottom of her jean skirt.

  “What do you think hell is really like?” she playfully inquired.

  The girl just stared. Poppy approached her, doused her in whiskey from her flask, struck a match and flung it at her feet.

  “Do you suppose it’s a bit like that?”

  TERRY MILLER lives in Portsmouth, Ohio. His work has been featured in Sanitarium Magazine, Devolution Z, Jitter, Rhysling Anthology 2017, Poetry Quarterly, Sirens Call Ezine, The Horror Tree’s Trembling With Fear, SpillWords, Organic Ink Vol. I, Curses & Cauldrons Anthology from Blood Song Books, Forest of Fear from Blood Song Books, the Dark Drabble Anthology Series from Black Hare Press, 100 Word Zombie Bites from Reanimated Writers Press, Scary Snippets, Guilty Pleasures & Other Dark Delights, 100 Word Horrors 3, and O Unholy Night In Deathlehem from Grinning Skull Press.

  Facebook: tmiller2015

  Amazon: amazon.com/author/millerterryl

  Deconstructive Criticism

  by Joanna Marsh

  She was one of those people you couldn’t help but hate. Who knew why?

  Maybe her smile. Lips too thin, like a fish. Disgusting. It was practically a favour to cut those lips off.

  Or that limp hair? Shear it off. Take the scalp, too.

  Nose too big? Slam it into a wall. Watch the blood and bone drip out.

  No. It had to be her eyes. Her cow-like eyes: dull and staring at her. So, she stabbed those eyes out too.

  There. So much better.

  How impressed the police would be when they found her.

  “Worst suicide I’ve seen!”

  JOANNA MARSH is a Canadian fiction writer. Her works include ‘Immortal Longings’ in Aphrodite IX: Ares, ‘Buffer’ for the Prism A
ward-nominated comic anthology Group Chat by POMEgranate Magazine, and ‘Bug Hunt’ for the fiction anthology Nothing Without Us by Renaissance Press.

  Twitter: @thriftbirds

  Website: joannamarsh0.wixsite.com/mysite

  One More Slash

  by Clint Foster

  One more slash.

  “I hate you.”

  One more slash.

  “Do you remember all the times you let me down? All the times you deceived me, hurt me, got in my way?”

  One more slash.

  “I remember how you made me feel, how you treated me when I tried to give you the best. I remember the way you felt all these years.”

  One more slash.

  “I could never forgive you for all that you’ve done, and I would never want to. I hate you. I always hated you, and always will. I hate you.”

  One last slash.

  “I hate me.”

  CLINT FOSTER lives with his herd of four cats, beloved Basset, Zero, and wonderful wife, Nik. He loves to tell stories just as much as he loves to read them, and is excited to share his work. A longtime consumer of media of all kinds, he enjoys giving back what he hopes everyone else thinks are good stories.

  Facebook: ClintFosterAuthor

  Burning Bridges

  by Annie Percik

  Yet again, they didn’t listen. I warned them, but nobody ever pays attention to me. And now the project is in the papers, with my name listed as the one responsible. There’s talk of fines and maybe even prison time, and I’m the one slated to take the fall. Those corrupt bastards will just take their money and disappear off into the shadows. But not this time. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, as the old saying goes. I watch the last few drops of petrol soak into the office carpet and light the match.

  ANNIE PERCIK lives in London with her husband, Dave, where she is revising her first novel whilst working as a University Complaints Officer. She writes a blog about writing and posts short fiction on her website, which is also where all her current publications are listed. She also publishes a photo-story blog, recording the adventures of her teddy—he is much more popular online than she is. She likes to run away from zombies in her spare time.

  Website: www.alobear.co.uk

  Blog: aloysius-bear.dreamwidth.org/

  Current Mood

  by Andrew Anderson

  My twin sister Evelyn and I inherited the family mood rings, which had been in our family for three generations. The rings were colourless, but they would turn orange when in the presence of anyone who had ever endangered its owner.

  My world collapsed when Evelyn was killed in a hit-and-run as she did her Christmas shopping—she was 23.

  I wear her ring, and I’ve clocked up thousands of miles as I’ve hunted down her killer.

  Four years I’ve searched, and today’s the day.

  I clench my fist, now glowing with a furious fire, and knock on the door.

  ANDREW ANDERSON is a spare-time writer of microfiction, flash fiction and short stories, from Bathgate, Scotland. His work has been published on FlashFlood and Re:Written, and published in Black Hare Press anthologies.

  Twitter: soorploom

  Trail

  by Robin Braid

  John kept pace as we raced through the woods. “Thanks for this.”

  “We were good friends, I miss that,” I said.

  “Amy shouldn’t come between us,” said John. “Just wasn’t meant to be for you guys.”

  We ran deeper, side by side. I knew where to go. Climbing a long incline, over my shoulder I saw the town disappear below.

  A cliff edge rose up ahead. I sprinted to it. “Easy there,” said John.

  “Do you think she’ll blame you? I do,” I said.

  My gaze was fixed on John’s face. I stepped backwards and let the world fall away.

  ROBIN BRAID writes stories of the mysterious and macabre. A resident of Fife, Scotland, he graduated from Dundee University with a degree in English Literature. When not working in his regular job he can often be found rambling over hills and glens in search of inspiration for further tales.

  Twitter: @robinbraid

  A Sister’s Love

  by S.N. Graves

  I scrubbed the caked-on blood from my fingers with my sister’s pink toothbrush. The lavender soap helped break up the clots that formed around the matted hair tangled in my engagement ring, but it would likely do little for the deep, ruddy stains in the rug, or to dislodge the fragments of crusting skull and grey matter I’d ground into the fireplace’s stonework in my frenzied crushing of her smug face. I’d slammed the hammer into her surgically perfect features until nothing remained but a pulpy, cherry-hued pudding in the centre... Her bare-toothed, lipless grin didn’t look so smug now.

  S.N. GRAVES was born in the South and can’t see calling anyplace without a Waffle House home. She earned her M.F.A. in Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in 2014 and was a senior editor at Loose Id LLC. She is twenty-three years happily married to the self-proclaimed victim of Stockholm syndrome, Brian David Graves, and enjoys duct taping her two adult sons to a chair and forcing them to read all the ugly first drafts of her books. Graves also freelance edits and creates art, including book covers.

  Website: www.sngraves.com

  Facebook: Shannon.N.Graves

  Boredom and Change

  by Radar DeBoard

  Demetrisious hated boredom and ignorance, above everything else. Nothing else came close to making his blood boil as those two things.

  Demetrisious always wanted to have things changing. Yet, he also didn’t want people to become so use to change that they take it for granted, and then take for granted the person who made change possible.

  For years, the human race had reached Demetrisious quota of ignorance, but it was today that he finally was bored enough to do something about it. As he rained fire upon the earth he laughed to himself, “This is going to be fun!”

  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 to make dark tales for people to enjoy. He has had drabbles and short stories published in various electronic magazines and anthologies.

  Facebook: WriterRadarDeBoard

  Repeat the Question

  by Nikki DeKeuster

  “Why the obsession with me, Detective Weis?”

  “Obsession? You’re a file on my desk.” Handcuffs ate into his wrists.

  “How disappointing. Show some passion for your work.” The knife skirted Weis’s neck. “I do.”

  Weis braced for death. Something worse crackled in his ear. “Daddy?! Hel—” Two small voices trailed into gargling screams.

  Straining against the metal chair, Weis growled. “You’re dead!”

  “You’ve discovered a better answer to my original question.” The psychopath snickered. “Gotta run. If we don’t see you in the next month, I’ll mail the girls home to you in pieces. Dried, of course. Postage is expensive.”

  NIKKI DEKEUSTER devours souls. She spits them onto her glowing screen and toys with their lives for your amusement. Reading this story makes you an accomplice to their suffering. You’re welcome. A storyteller with decades of experience crafting tales with her friends, she’s bound some of them to bring into the wider world. The stories, not her friends. She enjoys throwing stones into Lake Michigan with her daughter and keeping her husband up past his bedtime with her ramblings. The first novel in her horror series will claw its way out of the earth in 2020.

  Website: NJDeKeuster.com

  Time to Put on Those Dancing Shoes

  by Jason Holden

  The notice in the local paper was a sad one. An obituary of a mother taken early from her family. A tragic accident, so they think.

  It didn’t make me sad.

  Nobody knows it was me who hacked the traffic lights, changing it from red to green too early; it took me five years to learn to do it. While she made herself
a little family, forgetting all about me and the hurt she caused.

  Tonight, I’ll go to her grave again. Ten years ago, I told her I’d dance on her grave. Time to put on my dancing shoes.

  JASON HOLDEN is a human. He lives here and there in the UK, always with his wife, daughter and fur baby. His primary goal is to raise his daughter to adulthood without any major damage. When he can, he writes. He thinks he does it well, but you can be the judge of that. He has been published in a few anthologies here and there, has been praised and put down for his writing. You can find and follow him on Facebook, although he asks you only follow him on Facebook and not through the streets. That’s just creepy.

  Facebook: Jason Holden-Author

  Roasting Marshmallows

  by C.L. Williams

  I sit here and roast marshmallows over a fire I created to let out my frustrations. I normally would not eat marshmallows, but today I made an exception. Today, I managed to rid myself of the one who caused the most grief and pain in my life. I got rid of them and now I am sitting here, over an open fire, roasting marshmallows. I know I’m going to regret this decision in the morning, but for now, I don’t care. I’d ask you about your feelings on this, but your body is in the fire that’s roasting my marshmallows.