Category: Stories/Excerpts

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 5 Part I.

“You are a sheer pain in the ass. If you were not my damn brother, I would have left you to rot in those fields,” Lauren murmured making sure that Tom couldn’t hear.

The downpour was getting heavy, but that was not the reason for Lauren’s worry. She was still trying to calculate the entire process she had to escape this dreaded island; and the hiss she heard was bothering her.

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 1.

It’s not a comfortable silence; a tableau of images coursed through him like a dark wash of blood and glassy eyes gating towards him. He didn’t understand the complexity of what he saw, and shaking, he started to shiver on the floor, feeling mounted towards the absolute of death.

She crouched down with him, surveying his eyes. He felt he was bleeding out, and before he could get a word in, she gently put the cigarette on his lips, told him to puff. He coughed. His legs swayed, his ribs jammed and compacted. Most of all, he felt trapped in a faint chill that squeezed his eyes open and closed.

“Take the cig, Tom, and give it a kiss for me.”

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 4.

Clutching a sharp knife from her satchel, she sliced away and pushed aside the climbers and branches that obtruded in their way; Lauren forged her way through the forest, Tom following right behind her. They had drawn closer to the neck of the woods, occupied by trees laden with luscious and succulent fruits, that stretched for a few miles.

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 3.

Zara paced back and forth between the branches, curling her feet around the bark covered limbs. As quietly as she could, she watched the two below hurriedly dash about, covering their mechanical transport vehicle. How stupid, she thought. To think they went unseen on such an island as this. How easily she could take them out with her claws she pondered, but now was not the time to strike.

“Book-Covers” by The Magpie Fancier.

Marion steadily drummed her fingers on the metal desktop. It was a trick that she had picked up many years ago, something that kept her grounded and relaxed in tense situations. Marion had always found rhythms and patterns to be calming. Of course, some people around her found it a little annoying.

It certainly seemed to be annoying Colonel Blythe. He shot her a stern glance, which she of course ignored. She decided that it served him right, for taking such a deliberately long time to read through the documents she’d brought.

He was clearly unhappy about the whole situation. For a man like him, handing over control of such a delicate military situation to anyone else would be unthinkable. Being forced to hand over to a female civilian, on the wrong side of forty-five, with a name like Marion would be particularly insufferable.

But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, defy the orders written in that beige dossier.

“Man in Cafe” by Rajkumar MN.

Then I went to this historic cafe, a fine edifice jutting into the sidewalks, with prominent pillars of azure blue and pink, and amber coloured glass panes and leaf motifs on primal walls, a few hundred yards away from city enceinte. Two hundred years might have passed since its birth, and once it was the château of the gentry and later converted to a garrison and then a cafe. Old honchos gave way to new ones. The cafe was thronged by silk-stockings and the au courant and mixed populace lending it cosmopolitan aureole… It was still morning and the sun was young and the guests went to and fro, some getting down from limousines and others leaving the quarter. Here in this swank bistro on that December morning, I met the old gentleman, quiet and doddery in demeanour.

He might have been in his late sixties, with hair partly white and partly cinereous. He sat in the bistro for an hour or more languishing and now and then, fiddling the little cigarette lighter he kept in his palm. He carried a Dobermann of rare Isabella fawn hue with him. He grinned at the watchman and attempted to enter decisively because it was where pooches were permitted entry. At that point, the gatekeeper objected and so did the administrator and there was a tussle between the portcullis and the counter. The supervisor argued that a significant number of visitors were kids underneath the age ten and the Dobermann might scare them. And the supervisor’s words prevailed. This was the moment he chose to sit opposite me.

“Nina” by Just Another Writer.

Through years of comments, sneers, good meaning, she developed a sense of people’s true selves. Sticks and stones may break her bones, but words gnawed.
She was sitting on a train one night. A man was sitting opposite, smiling at her – incessantly. He wore purple crocodile cowboy boots and a Stetson – conspicuous.

The alcohol had exceeded its peak and left a sludge of sleepiness, as the train rocked, her head dropped. Every jolt woke her, ahead and unmistakable, the man never ceasing to show those pearly whites, a crocodile smile. The end of the line – ‘howdy ma’am’ a Texas twang as he helped her to her feet.

“All About The Taste” by Baby Funbo.

Tony was seated at a bar with a group of unfamiliar faces and the only reason he was there in the first place was that his roommate, Bradley had dragged him out of the confines of the small, dingy hostel room they shared. Unlike his roommate and the people he was surrounded with, Tony wasn’t a talker and didn’t enjoy divulging information about himself to others.

“Beware Of Wolves” by The Magpie Fancier.

The little girl rattled off an impressive order, mostly bread and pies, things that every household would need. With a guilty flicker of her eyes, the little girl also requested a few cakes. The Baker suppressed a smile and said nothing. She had a feeling those cakes would be gone by the time the girl returned home.

‘I don’t recognize you from the village. Does your family live out in the woods?’ The Baker asked, neatly piling the pastries into the little girl’s basket.

‘Yes. We’re hunters.’

‘Goodness, all of you?’

‘Yes. We only hunt wolves, though. We move around a lot, you see. That’s why you don’t know me.’

The Baker smiled to herself at the little girl’s bravado.

‘I think you must be very brave, to hunt wolves.’

The little girl beamed. ‘My name’s Rosie. Your pies smell lovely.’

‘Thank you. They’re famous around here. Or at least, they were.’ The Baker tucked the cloth over the top of the basket. She eyed the girl thoughtfully. The child couldn’t be more than ten years old, rather young to be wandering around alone. It was common practice for parents to give their children brightly coloured cloaks, to make them easier to spot. Red was a popular colour, but this little girl wore a vivid blue cloak, with a sunflower embroidered on the back. The ribbon threaded through her black curls matched the cloak perfectly.

‘Are you going home by yourself?’

“The Last Vow” by Priya.

He didn’t know why she’d asked to meet at the old cottage. It had been years since his wife had even mentioned this property. She greeted him at the door with a smile, vastly different from the weird behaviour exhibited by her since the last two weeks. “Come in,” she ushered him towards the living room. “Let’s sit and talk for a little while before dinner.”

Horror House Flash Fiction Contest #4 Winner.

Boy, you psychopaths really outdone yourselves. 😉

Each entry was different, some were twisted and saturated with horror, others lighter with romance, dark humor and mystery. It was like a Christmas come early or rather a Christmas in July reading these entries and seeing how the prompt inspired you.

Excellent work everyone. I loved each one dearly, but the winner I chose is called a Work In Progress by obbverse.