#FICTION on the WEB short stories

[jayyoocomics]

One Eye #1 : How to Kill a Man Eating Cyclops

[michellymy]

Sweet Bird - 1

There it goes!

I was thinking about posting the complete comic, but I noticed the images would be too long to read, so let’s go posting by parts.

And I said it in the previous post: this is a backstory! I won’t tell whose is it, but I think it’s not hard to figure it out (especially if I add colors later, but this is a dream for a far future lmao)

If you can reblog, I’d be grateful, but if you can’t, I’m glad you read this <3

And a last comment:

I loved these parts.

That’s all. Thanks for your attention.

[sparrow-flight]

Story 8: Let's Talk, Father-to-Father

Amaia, Melydice, Tatsu, and Yona belong to and were played by @daruqin, @katastrofish, @mintrhine, and @inkysatell respectively. They also designed their respective characters except for Tatsu, who I designed with Mint's guidance. Fisher belongs to and was aplayed by our game master @theroyalzealot.

Tatsu was written by Mint. This is my adaptation of what was originally written.

First | Prev | Next About the Flight | List of Stories | Official Website and Newsletter

[ilyfer0city]

SHORT HORROR STORY: OUR MOTHER ETERNITY

To anyone who cares, I will be posting my first short story to this acc titled: OUR MOTHER ERERNITY, tomorrow at 2:00 PST. It is a cosmic/divine short horror story about a girl lost in her memories, forever bound by her pact with an unholy being. Achieving immortality against the wishes of God’s bleeding heart. But at what cost?

This story will be part of a series on the same theme so expect more posts >_<

Content will have very dark themes, including but not limited to: murder, verbal abuse, attempted grape, more murder (kinda), ritual animal sacrifice, and of course undead cosmic horrors beyond human recognition.

NOT SMUT ION WRITE THAT SHIT

Hopefully will be fun!! ^_^

[bluejayooo]

Dinner

[mally0]

This is THE TOWER, a comic I made last Christmas. Damn it's old, it's about time I posted it!

[popcultureoverdosed]

The Curse of Saki Sanobashi

I'm writing this journal entry to document my experience with a certain film. I'm probably already dead if anyone is reading this, but please read on. I hate Saki Sanobashi and what it has done to my life. Most importantly, I hate the depraved bastards who made it.

Until recently, I've been an average college girl with only one notable quality: I love searching for lost media. Most people get a thrill from watching a good horror movie and I'm no different with lost media. There's just something about the elusive nature of it that makes the hunt so fascinating. There's a countless amount of entertainment that vanishes from the public eye for whatever reason and many remain completely forgotten. That never sat well with me. Maybe it's the history buff in me, but I believe every form of content should be preserved. It's scary to think that something that brings you joy could one day be forever lost to time.

Saki Sanobashi is a name that's been plaguing me for the last few years now. Every lost media enthusiast worth their salt has at least heard of it if they haven't already joined the hunt. I'm one of the several archivists who plunged headfirst into this monstrosity of a goose chase. I, like many others, got hooked on its tragic premise of a bunch of schoolgirls trapped in a bathroom where death is the only way out. The morbid curiosity in all of us compelled us to search high and low for this elusive anime.

That was years ago.

Now? Saki remains a distant memory in the minds of once optimistic researchers. Dead end after dead end had led to the entire thing being labeled as some elaborate hoax. Even I began losing faith in the search despite all the time I invested in it. It was disheartening knowing that one of the most fascinating lost media searches of all time could be fake. I would've quit entirely had it not been for that one fateful afternoon.

It was a typically brutal winter in Toronto which meant that a snowstorm would be picking up before the day was over. I thought it best to go to my favorite comic and stock up on my favorite books before the storm trapped me at home with my girlfriend. Marque Noir was different from other comic shops in that there exists a secret section of the store only a select few know about. Because I've been a loyal customer for a few years, the owner trusted in showing me the back room. I was hesitant at first to enter a secluded room alone with a man due to being a woman, but I figured he wouldn't try anything with customers still in the store.

What I saw in that room was the stuff of wonder. Several shelves were stocked with underground comics so obscure even the most hardcore archivists probably didn't know about them. The type of comics you can't even find on the internet. It was heaven on earth for a lost media obsessed girl like me. The original post mentioned Saki being an anime, but I was desperate for any type of media out there. What's fascinating is that there were also movies stocked with the comics. The cover art on each DVD case was incredibly low quality, to the point that I assumed the store owner hand-made them himself. There were no ISBNs or distributor info anywhere to be found so my theory seemed fairly likely all things considered.

I filled my bag with as many items as I could afford( which isn't a lot for a broke college student)  and excitedly swiped my card at the counter. The store owner gave me the weirdest of grins as I made my purchase. He seemed amused but almost in a mocking sort of way. He hardly ever emotes in the first place so that smile really caught me off guard.

I left the store and boarded the closest train to drop me off at the dorms. Though Halloween comes in the autumn, I feel like winter is the most ideal season to indulge in horror. The cold weather is like a reflection of the spine chilling fear I get whenever I read a good comic. I stepped inside my dorm room and immediately began browsing through my latest collection. They all looked so good I didn't know where to begin. As I rummaged through the pile of DVDs, I noticed something that threw me for a loop.

One DVD case was completely blank. The cover was pitch black and so was the back. There wasn't even anything on the spine. I couldn't imagine myself buying something like this so how it ended up with me was a mystery. Still, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the least bit intrigued by it. There could've been literally anything on that disc and the only way to find out was to start the movie.

I waited for my girlfriend to return from campus before starting the movie. Emily's a cute brunette, but she has zero tolerance for horror. She always shrieks her head off whenever I play my movies in the living room. All that blood and gore drives her crazy. She greeted me with a kiss on the lips and then paused when she saw the devious smirk on my face. She already knew what I had in store for her. Emily, of course, protested but I pleaded with her to watch the movie with me. Seeing her scream like a child over on screen murder was sometimes more enjoyable than the movie itself. She remained firm in her stance against it but eventually broke down after enough of my begging. It feels good having things my way.

I quickly inserted the DVD into an old game station and stared at the screen with anticipation for what was about to start.  After several seconds of a blank screen, some Japanese text appeared with an English subtitle that read " Requiem of the lost girls." The title naturally left me curious so I watched on with excitement.

The scene then faded back to black and what I saw after that made my blood freeze solid.

Three schoolgirls in a bathroom.

All of them had miserable looks of utter despair.

The scene was unmistakable. It was a scenario I ran over in my head countless times. It was Saki Sanobashi, the anime searched years for! Having the legendary film before me after all this time was almost too good to be true. And to think it came from my favorite comic shop. I've been shopping for years now and never even had a hint something like Saki would be there.

Emily was confused as to why I was so excited so I told her we just discovered the holy grail of lost media. The gravity of the situation was unsurprisingly lost on her but she smiled anyway for my sake. We watched the movie unfold just like the legend went. The girls remained trapped in the bathroom and lamented their misfortune all the while. As the film progressed, the agony in their expressions became increasingly visceral. Their eyes looked so hollow, their skin was so pale. Emily clutched into my hand with a hint of anxiety in her eyes.

The tone of the video was much more somber than I expected. Seeing the girls take turns telling the others about their hopes and dreams, trying desperately to alleviate their situation, felt oddly melancholic. I was growing attached to these characters to the point I hoped they'd find a way despite that going against the lore. We eventually reached the part where the girls realized there truly was no way out of their situation...except for death.

Their deaths were just as horrid as I expected them to be. One girl goaded one of the others into drowning her in the sink and another clawed at her own neck with visceral detail. The most painful part of it all was the bloodcurdling scream the last girl emitted as she bashed her head against the wall. It was far more realistic than it had any right to be.

Despite all the fear, my heart raced with excitement. I had to write a blog post to let everyone know about my discovery! The internet would go wild once I told them the good news. I quickly went to my Tumblr to start writing, but the site wouldn't load. I tried other social media sites but nothing was working.

I tried stepping outside in the hall to get better reception but the door wouldn't budge. The knob didn't move at all no matter how hard I pulled. My girlfriend and I were both freaking out at this point. We tried opening windows, calling 911, and banging on doors, all of which were in vain. We were somehow completely severed from the outside world. I wondered how the hell was any of this possible when the image of the movie flashed into my mind.

We were trapped just like the girls in Saki Sanobashi. Was the film cursed? That seemed to be the only explanation. I should've trusted my gut instincts and never let that guy lead me to the backroom. I knew there was something off about him and now I fell into his trap. So far we've spent two weeks in this hellhole of an apartment. Food has long since run out and any sense of hope is dead. It pains me to see Emily's body as pale as winter, her eyes devoid of life. Neither of us can last much longer. I'm writing this document as a warning to anyone searching for Saki Sanobashi.

Stay the hell away from it. It is a cursed film that dooms its viewers the suffer the same fate as the girls in the bathroom. I imagine the curse will be lifted once we die and our belongings will be collected by our loved ones. Hopefully, they will see this document and spread the news. Or maybe they'll brush this off as the crazed rantings of a lunatic.

I honestly don't know anymore. All I can say is to stay safe and never attempt to watch this damned movie.

[lsdpomegranate]

I am The LSD Pomegranate

(No, that doesn't mean anything yet.)

I'm planning on self-publishing my writing, in part here but mostly on WordPress. I mostly write Sci-Fi, fantasy, and horror. You can find a list of content warnings on my website.

I will start by uploading a couple of short stories that I've worked on.

[flipakrouakfroggyshow]

Indie serie concept (pilot) With all of the characters (2023 design )

The zanny entrepreneurs : "Plot"

Nostalgic of his childhood with his group of friend and family playing in a now closed park,Happy a zanny daredevil and clumsy jokester settle in Lille with his wife Tania and his son Rémi.

He was born next to dadizele in flamish belgium next to the park.His parents were ride owners and travel in belgium and france a lot. They wanting annother life for their son after difficulties so his dad,Danny and his mother Angèle found a new job.

He then married to tania in dadipark,an hairdresser who came from an hippic family.

After he failed at becoming a humorist he get a job as a animator in a nursery. However something is missing with his life and he is stuck in the past refusing to abandonned his kids's soul.

His son a lazy sassy sarcastic punchliner, doesn't know what to do in his life and have no motivation.

He for sure knows he wants to be like his main model,his father. He entered in a circus art school to fullfil his father's previous dream.

One day happy helped a familly of cats entrepreneurs Jacqueline,Eric and their kids Kelly and fred tagachu with their family fields rights.

As a payment, they decided to work together and created a new version of his favourite childhood park récrémélopark. Without anny knowledges in buisness.

With his friend Eric and his funfair ride owners family's past, Happy will have to learn how to be a good owner,and learn to cope with his nervosity.

His overprotecting personality, along with his clumsyness will lead to comic situations.

Rémi will in the other hand have to discover his hidden talents, learn to know an ambitious rabbit girl better Igloo, who will change his life.

They both will learn more about their species secrets........#Oc storyline #oc lore #originalstories

[jayyoocomics]

One Eye Episode #2: I Love You, You Love Me

[michellymy]

Valentine Cards

Kenyan’s turn, with her boyfriend, Hiélo:

With her husband, Sylris:

Who do you think is her favorite? It’s so hard to know!🥰🥰🥰 (And, WHOO, she’s really the best. If she killed me I’d say sorry for dirtying her hands 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽)

I thought about what each character would write in their cards, but I’m wondering if I’ll be able to make a drawing for each of them… it’s so exhausting 😩☠️

[sparrow-flight]

Story 4: Final Call for HV413

12 February 2017 Winnipeg, Canada

The father is driven the long way to his uncertain grave. He was picked up, with little warning, by a black Cadillac Escalade of a hearse. He thought the Cadillac would’ve made a slow, sombre march to the entrance of the military airport’s gate. Instead, it screeches onto the runway and hurtles down asphalt, racing across the stripe of black that leads the father to his fate.

Last year, on the thirty-first of December, Gavrill Vorobyev was an inmate in Edmonton Institution — Canada’s most infamous maximum security federal prison. He remembers lying on a thin mattress that night, facing away from the twenty-four hour fluorescent light in his solitary confinement cell. He remembers falling asleep to the thought of his children entering the new year, until a sharp rap on his cell door snatched them away. Then in came the dazed guards on their heavy feet, fastening his ankles with chains, choking his wrists with handcuffs, and shoving his stiff body down a cold hallway into the phone room.

And there, he saw the midnight-blue jacket of the woman who ruined his life.

It was a man who wore the jacket that night. Gavrill now knows him as Henri Arquette. Next to him in a blue three-piece suit was Ulysses Fisher, the Ingush translator. Both men sat on one side of bulletproof glass. Gavrill, chained to a table, sat on the other side. And when the guards had lumbered back to their posts by the door, Arquette called Gavrill to serve.

Arquette’s call was that of a siren’s. First came the song of names of those Gavrill had failed and abandoned. Then came the photographs, the beloved faces of the dead and those who have not died yet — Hrodwyn, Merethel, Hygd, the children of his dreams, all so grown up now, all so easily captured. Arquette watched Gavrill’s eyes dart across the photographs, from one broken piece of his life to the next. He savoured the confused fear in Gavrill’s eyes, the growing tension in his shoulders. But that was not enough. He let his call continue to taunt Gavrill’s grief, laugh at his guilt, and wrench his heart with rage. He flashed more photographs before Gavrill. This time, they were of twisted, contorted corpses splattered across the baby section of a Walmart. It was the heinous crime that imprisoned Gavrill here, that shamed him in front of his children — the crime, Gavrill iterated, that was not his.

Arquette knew that. He knew that Gavrill was innocent. He not only believed that Gavrill’s face was stolen to frame him — he knew it to be true.

That was when Arquette hooked Gavrill with a photograph of her: the woman in the midnight-blue jacket, the Lamb of Providence, the sadist who stole his face, who stole everything, who can come after his children and steal them again no matter how hard his cuffed heels CRACKED the phone room’s table into splinters, how many times he threw his chair or the broken table legs or himself at the bulletproof glass like a trapped animal, how loudly he screamed questions in fury and fear of who the men were and how they knew her and where his children were what did they do to his children he will fucking kill anyone who touches them.

The guards did not react. Nor did Arquette and Fisher. Once Gavrill was out of breath, Arquette revealed that the woman was an ex-agent he wanted to track. He didn’t know why she framed him, but if he let out what she had put behind bars, she may return to put Gavrill back in. He offered him a chance of justice for the woman, a future for his children, and freedom for himself. In exchange, Gavrill had to answer Arquette’s call to serve: his skills that placed him in maximum security prison will be lent to Arquette’s family business, forever.

Gavrill quietened. He accepted the call. The clock struck midnight.

Though he was freed that night, Gavrill knew that he had traded one form of imprisonment for another. Still, it was a small price for him to pay to be able to hold his children again. Gavrill doesn’t regret it. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been trying to forget about how he signed his life away. He has stuffed his own midnight-blue uniform deep into his wardrobe, and he has reduced the memory of his job orientation in Rio to the keychains and food he got for his children. In the span of just a month and twelve days, Helvetia had shrunk to background noise in Gavrill’s head. The organisation no longer mattered to him. The grandiose dangers they preached felt so distant, so unreal. But Gavrill’s children are here now, smiling and pouting and laughing at him, and he knows that they are real. That is all that matters to him. And for a moment, he lets himself believe that all can be right with the world  — until Helvetia Limited stops at his front door.

In the 8pm winter night, Hygd shakes Gavrill awake from the couch to answer his work phone’s call. Its unfamiliar, piercing ringtone confuses him at first, but Fisher’s voice is a wake-up call. It only takes a few seconds for it to dawn on Gavrill: the dangers were never distant, this new life is very much real, and he has forced it onto his children.

Hrodwyn, Merethel, and Hygd sense the tension in the air. They creep to their father’s room to see him wrapped in midnight-blue once more, but this time with a duffel over his shoulder and a pair of dazed eyes.

His children embrace him. He stays there, taking in their warmth, trying to stretch ten minutes to infinity. But fate arrives on four wheels, and it is impatiently waiting outside.

Gavrill silently goes to the door. His children follow him like ghosts. Hygd looks up at him.

“Don’t die, daa.”

Her father musters up the most reassuring smile he can. 

“I won’t. I love you, my sparrows.”

Gavrill walks out of the house. Agent Hrothgar does not look back.

It is Fisher, dressed in that same blue three-piece suit, who drives the Cadillac. It takes an hour to reach the military airport. Hrothgar’s leg shakes the whole ride through. On the runway, Fisher parks half-hazardly a few metres away from Helvetia’s private jet. He tells Hrothgar to leave his things in the car — staff will load it onto the plane for them.

What staff?

Hrothgar looks out the window. He sees their figures emerge from the dark. He keeps his satchel by his side and his flask in his white-knuckled grip.

Fisher leaves the car with its engine still running. The door shuts. The car’s interior lights turn off. Hrothgar, his shaking leg now ready to sprint, slinks down his seat. He watches Fisher toss the car keys to a staff member before striding across the runway, across that dark stretch of black asphalt illuminated with dots of light and stripes of white; that vast, empty plane surrounded by nothing but low buildings to peer over across; that vacuum that hides nothing from Hrothgar but whose darkness hides everything from him—

—until Fisher climbs into the jet.

Hrothgar blinks. He sucks in a breath. Fuck.

Hrothgar opens the car door. The jet’s engine whines into his ears. He can barely hear the staff walking around him. He looks around him to make sure they’re only there for the Cadillac and not him. Then he looks around a second time, ducks, and runs against cold, biting wind into the jet. Once fully inside its interior, his grip around his flask finally relaxes. He takes a sip of the double-shot espresso Hrodwyn made for him. Its heat bites through his tongue. It’s enough to finally make him notice how incredibly spacious the private jet is. 

He stands stunned at the entrance, overwhelmed by luxury. Fisher could care less. He has made himself comfortable on a plush couch. The coffee table in front of the couch has two bottles of vodka, two shot glasses, and a tray of fruits and cheeses. Fisher swipes one bottle. He lifts it to his lips, titles his head back until the bottle is empty, and languidly sets it back onto the table. In one practised motion, he slips his oxfords off, kicks his legs onto the couch, and tucks his hands beneath his head.

Hrothgar watches the younger agent close his eyes. Lucky.

Hrothgar’s eyes drift to the second bottle of vodka. He occupies his lips with the scalding coffee instead and forces himself to look away to the rest of the jet. The remaining seats are pairs of cushioned, enclosed chairs that face each other. A mahogany desk sits between them. He decides to sit in one of the chairs. For a second, his grief and guilt sits in the other.

A second is enough time for caffeinated agitation to seize Hrothgar. He slides the blind of the jet’s window close to block the view of the runway. He knows he’ll have to open them before takeoff, but a few minutes of safety is better than none. His right hand has resumed its iron grip around his flask, despite his seat’s secure cup holder. Meanwhile, as his eyes fall to the table, his left hand busies itself. It starts by nervously rubbing his wedding band, before reaching into his satchel and clutching something round, soft, and rigid — something secure and comforting.

He looks down into his satchel. The crocheted sparrow Hrodwyn gave him stares back up at him.

The final call for HV413’s departure is made. Hrothgar fastens his seatbelt and opens the window’s blind as instructed. A flight attendant offers him food. He purses his lips tight, swallows a rising lump in his throat, and declines with a shake of his head. He then watches the attendant approach Fisher, to ask him to sit up for take-off. As Fisher rubs sleep from his eyes, a twinge of envy — or fear, or guilt — snags Hrothgar’s chest. Life would be easier if he could close his eyes and sleep his twisting gut away; if he could let empty dreams keep faces buried away. But he doesn't have that privilege. Instinct forces him to stare at the empty seat ahead of him, and it will make him do it for 11 hours straight or until his body gives in.

The engine revs up. The jet begins to move. Before it takes off into the night, Hrothgar looks down at his crocheted sparrow again. He imagines the worst — imagines his children calling out for a father who’ll never respond — and sends one final message.

Gavrill: We're about to take off. Stay safe! I will be back. Love you guys. Hrodwyn: love you too daa, from all of us Hrodwyn: stay safe too Merethel: Marked as Read. Hygd: Marked as Read.

---

Thank you @katastrofish and @mintrhine for beta reading!

First | Prev | Next About the Flight | List of Stories | Official Website and Newsletter

[weepingfoxfury]

"A home without spiders and dust belongs to someone whose hands have yet to find that moment of stillness and understanding " - Frenella Peabody

When I first moved into my home all those years ago, it had been uninhabited for some time. There were flies in abundance. My immediate reaction was to reach for and put up sticky fly trap paper.

I sat day after day drinking my coffee, watching insects fall foul of this enticing, swinging graveyard, and thought no more about it other than how nice it was without being mithered by flies.

Then, one day, the bulb went in the kitchen light. I got a fresh one and stood on the table and started to take the old bulb out. It was at that point that the fly trap got stuck to my hair and face.

I was horrified and mortified. Now I was up close and personal with the dead and the dying, their legs and wings writhing close to my left eye. I reached up with my left hand, released the pin that held this monstrosity up and stepped shakily back onto my chair and then onto the floor.

Once down I stood, scissors in hand, and cut the fly trap out of my hair and managed, with some heat, to ease the paper off my skin.

Never again!

Now I just sit and look at the kitchen windows, drink my coffee and smile as I watch the spiders getting fat on the flies that keep barrelling in to bounce against the glass ... and I think to myself that Mithered By Flies would make a great album title ...

[asterthemegadisaster]

The House on Saint Street -- Chapter 1

So back in like 2017 I wrote an original story called The House on Saint Street on Wattpad. It sucked because I was like 14. ANYWAY I'm rewriting it and submitting it for Tumblrs consideration :) lmk what you think

Content warning: description of gore, involuntary cannibalism, mild adult language, horror

WC: 2.3k words

AI generated image via FreePik AI ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air was cool and pleasant as my twin sister, Stella, and I walked home from school. It was Friday, which meant our mom worked late tonight. There were benefits to it of course, we got to order pizza and stay up late since we didn’t have school the next day, but it also sucked too. Ever since the divorce, Mom had been working late more and more Fridays until suddenly it was every Friday. I enjoyed the excitement of ordering pizza, but if I was being totally honest, I missed my mom too. 

As my sister walked beside me, our steps perfectly synchronized, I was snapped out of my daydream with the realization that Stella had slowly been diverting our path until we were standing directly in front of an old and abandoned house. House was a strong word, it was really more of a shack at this point.Many shutters hung by a single hinge, although with all the holes in the windows they wouldn’t have done anything anyway, had they been fully attached. The front door was covered in red tape, a reminder to curious teens that the home was condemned and unsafe to enter. 

The once beautiful and inviting home had become a stain on their town, a reminder of something the whole town wished could just be forgotten. I really didn’t like to think about it, but I did know the story. Everyone did, how could we not?  I tried not to think about it as I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself and a chill settled into my bones. The air no longer felt pleasant, but harsh as the wind howled in my ears. 

I planted my feet, refusing to walk any further. “Oh come ON!” Stella urged. “Can’t we just go poke around inside? Maybe there’s some money in a safe or something!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense, the police would’ve taken anything left in the house,” I retorted.

“Yeah, anything that’s evidence. Money’s not evidence,” Stella replied, “ugh whatever, maybe I’ll come back without you.” I just rolled my eyes as she retreated to the other side of the road. I followed her, desperate to get away from the haunting atmosphere of the dilapidated building. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but I could’ve sworn I saw someone looking down from the upstairs window. I didn’t care to look twice as I increased my pace to catch up with Stella. 

As Stella and I walked in silence, a gentle drizzle began, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. I walked up our driveway and onto the front porch just as the sky opened up and the drizzle became a downpour. I was grateful we got home in time, I wouldn’t be able to bear Stella’s complaining about the rain causing her mascara to run. I unlocked the door and we rushed inside to prevent our cat, Cheese, from escaping. We latched the door, dropped our belongings, and plopped down onto the couch. Cheese crawled into my lap, purring, as Stella got her phone out, “Where should we order pizza from this week?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” I answer absently as I scroll through the list of streaming services, selecting the one I know has our feature film for the night. 

“Domino’s it is!” Stella declares as she punches our go-to order in the app, “ooh, Twilight tonight? Hell yeah!”

Stella and I both shared a love for The Twilight Saga, and with the weather being so dreary, it’s a natural choice. Working late meant Mom won’t be home until after one; I glanced at the clock, 3:30, it read. Stella and I made great time on our walk home, despite our hold up at the house, which meant we could probably binge the whole saga before she got home. I hit play on the movie as Stella hit “order” for our pizza. 

We sat, silently watching the movie, until the doorbell rang out ding dong. “Pizza’s here!” I exclaimed, placing Cheese beside me as I stood up to answer the door, “can you get the plates out please?” I asked Stella as I moved towards the door. 

“$40.23 please,” the delivery driver said flatly as he held the insulated bag of our dinner.

“Sure thing,” I replied as I turned to face Stella in the kitchen, “Stell, can you get the money off the counter please?” I turned back to the delivery driver, “Sorry, just a sec please.” Stella appeared behind me with the money and I handed it to the driver.

“Keep the change,” Stella said with a gentle smile. The driver passed her the pizza and me the plastic bag of soda, told us to have a good night, and walked away as I shut the door. “Ugh this smells soooo good,” Stella mumbled as she took the boxes to the kitchen. 

I padded along behind her and set the plastic bag on the counter and removed the bottles. I passed the Diet Pepsi to Stella and kept the Mtn. Dew in front of myself. We each plated up our pizza and stuffed breadsticks and settled back down on the couch to finish our movie. 

After what felt like an eternity, I glanced at the clock again, 1:12. Stella was asleep beside me with a blanket up to her neck and Cheese curled up in her lap. I smiled at the sweet scene as I turned off the TV and went upstairs to our tandem bathroom. After sitting in darkness for so long, the bathroom lights were almost blinding. I brushed my hair and teeth, preparing myself for bed. As I washed my face, a groggy Stella appeared behind me, “Move, I need to brush my teeth,” Stella said as she nudged me out of the way. I turned to her and asked, “Will you braid my hair?” and she nodded. I patiently waited for her to finish brushing her teeth, then to brush her long blond hair. She turned to face me and motioned for me to turn around and I complied as she deftly plaited my hair. “Want me to do yours?” I asked.

“Sure,” she replied, as she turned to face the doorway, “what time is it?”

“Probably around 1:30,” I answered as I struggled to manage her long golden locks, “Mom should be home soon,” I added. “There, all done!” I said proudly as Stella turned to face me, “Goodnight,” I said gently.

“Goodnight,” Stella echoed as she moved toward her bedroom. I walked to the opposite end of the bathroom and entered my bedroom, the dark walls and soft lighting welcoming after the harsh bathroom lights. I changed into my pajamas and gingerly crawled into bed. I plugged my phone in, turned off the light, and got comfortable. Cheese pushed open my bedroom door and I felt his small but heavy feet on the bed, and he crawled onto my chest, laid down, and began to purr. The soothing sound of his purring quickly put me into a deep sleep.

I walked through the front door of an unfamiliar house that somehow I knew was mine. My wife greeted me with a glass of wine in her hand as the smell of a freshly done stew wafted by, but something was off; Her smile was too wide, her voice too high. “How was your day, sweetheart?” She inquired, passing me the glass of wine.

“It was long,” I answered as I swirled the wine in the glass, “where are the kids?” They should’ve been at the door by now, excitedly greeting me and telling me about their days. My eyes shut as I blinked, and when they opened again I was somewhere else. When I looked down, my form was female and wearing a dress, no longer the burly male body I had been in previously. I surveyed the room I was in and saw daylight streaming in. I was standing in the kitchen, smoothly chopping vegetables. A pot of boiling broth sat on the stove and my body seemed to move on its own as I tended to the stew. I expertly slid the vegetables into the pot off the cutting board and turned to cut up the meat. A perfectly butchered chunk of meat I couldn’t identify was sitting on the counter and I picked it up and placed it on the cutting board, carefully cubing it. I turned back to the stew, added the meat, and stirred it. I began wiping blood from the meat off the counter and poured two glasses of wine as I heard the lock on the front door. 

I moved to greet my husband, the scene feeling familiar, asked him about his day, and handed him the glass of wine with a smile as a dutiful wife should. He took a sip of the wine and inquired about our children, “They’re napping,” I swiftly answered without thinking, “give me your coat dear.” I said as my husband turned to allow me to remove his jacket. I hung it up and headed back to the kitchen, “Supper is almost ready!” I called as I retreated. I stirred the stew one more time and got to work on the thickening agent. The timer went off and I quickly silenced it and pulled the rolls out of the oven, setting them on the counter. I turned off the stove and moved the pot onto a different burner, then placed the rolls into a basket. Grabbing the rolls and the butter holder, I carefully walked into the dining room and set them on the center of the table. 

Returning to the kitchen, I smoothly served up two bowls of stew and set them on mine and my husband’s place settings. I refilled my glass of wine as my husband sat down at the table and quickly began eating his stew. “Oh this is delicious, dear! But only two place settings, aren’t you going to rouse the children?” My husband asked innocently.

“No,” I replied, saying nothing else as I sipped my glass of wine. I slowly ate my stew as my husband rose from his chair.

“I’m going to wake the children, it’s quite late, they shouldn’t still be napping,” he said as he walked upstairs. I just sat at the table, watching. A loud scream pervaded the air and a wide smile crossed my face. I rose from the table and followed my husband’s footsteps to our oldest child’s bedroom. My husband stood in the doorway, a mixture of shock and horror on his face.

“What’s wrong dear?” I asked, my voice sounding distorted to my own ears.

“What have you done?!” he cried, rushing into the room. Our daughter’s mangled body lay on the bed and my husband rushed to cradle her broken body. “Oh God!” he wailed, “wait a moment,” he said, realization creeping in, “where is her arm?” I waited a moment to let the pieces click. 

“Mary, you didn’t!” He cried out as he began gagging. The smile on my face widened as I slowly stepped back. I turned to my right and saw a mirror, and looking back was Stella. My…her…our mouth moved, “Abby! Abby!” we called.

I awoke from my nightmare, sweaty and gasping for breath as Stella shook my arm. “Abby!” she whispered sharply without relinquishing her hold on my arm. I was still reeling from my dream re-enactment of the crime that took place at the house just a few blocks down from us. The one that had unsettled me so much earlier today. “What?” I snapped back, glancing at the clock reading 3:00

A wide grin spread across her face as she realized I was finally awake, “come on, let’s go!” she whispered excitedly, dragging me out up and out of bed. I stumbled up helplessly, surprised by my twin’s strength. “Get dressed and meet me at the front door in 5 minutes,” Stella whispered. 

Nodding my head I quietly replied, “okay,” and began dressing myself as she exited my room silently. I wrapped myself in my robe and slid on my slippers, shuffling quietly out of my room and down the stairs. “What do you want? It’s 3am!” I half whispered and half yelled at Stella.

“I want to go explore the house!” Stella whispered excitedly. The way she emphasized “the” let me know she was referring to the house that paralyzed me with fear, the house I had just dreamt about. “If you don’t come with me I’m just going to go by myself!” Stella stubbornly stated. I knew she was right too, but who knew what kind of things were hiding in there that could hurt her. I couldn’t let her face it alone.

“Okay,” I said, reaching for my jacket, “just let me get some socks because I am not walking out there in these flimsy-ass slippers.” Stella nodded her head and I quietly went back upstairs to grab some socks. As I came back downstairs, Stella waited by the door with her jacket and shoes already on.

“Mom won’t be up until probably noon, I saw an empty bottle of wine on the counter,” Stella said softly, “that gives us plenty of time to explore and get back before she wakes up.”

I rolled my eyes, “If we get in trouble, I’m snitching,” I said plainly. Stella just shrugged and opened the front door, stepping out into the cold night. I followed her, and we descended the steps of our front porch and walked down the driveway into the cold and endless night. 

[emlinden]

This new artwork for "the Lair of Rubyscale," a fantasy flash fiction I posted on my blog, is probably my favorite one I've done so far 🔥

You can check out the actual fic over on my blog, emlinden.com.

[abruptlymystic]

Participation in the Winter Event is Mandatory is up for my Ream Followers!

Just some goofy holiday fun times I wrote last year, freshly formatted for Ream! Follow for free!