Art, bloody art (horror flash fiction, 335 words)

June 14, 2018




A hammer struck a nail as a man in a dirty trench coat worked. The room was dark, save for the chandelier that held six lit candles. The light it gave off moved as it swung on an old chain. He bent down and picked up another piece of his décor, pressing it up against the old wall and staring at it before pulling a nail out of his mouth and hammering it into the wall before stepping back and staring at his handiwork.

Yes, this would do for now. His gaze moved along the long, slick item that ran along the wall, slowly curving down until it reached its origin. The source of his décor twitched slightly, and the artist considered simply cutting the intestine off and hanging it up.

The chandelier swung slowly above him, and he decided on a course of action. It had been far too long since he had placed this kind of art in his lovely old home. With a dark smile, he walked downstairs and out to the tool shed. The night sky was clear, and the old manor was surrounded by woodlands.

Not a soul to bother him while he worked. Opening his tool shed, he walked in and picked up the old spikes and a larger hammer before going inside again. The severed head of a brown haired girl greeted him in the doorway. He liked that piece, the girl had tried so hard to stop him before he finally acquired her for his art. The rest of her body was being prepared for his paints.

He gently pushed the head out of the way and walked back into the room with his latest piece, picking the body up and propping it up against the wall. He worked quickly, driving the spikes through the shoulders and thighs to hold up the body.

He stepped back and smiled at his work, and there were always more brave souls for him to acquire as materials.


Flash Fiction: Storm Shadows (304 words, present POV, suspense/horror/thriller I think)

April 23, 2018

My house is dark when I wake up at two in the morning, woken by the approaching storm. I sigh and get out of bed, grabbing my torch before heading to my basement to check the power box. Storms and power failures go hand in hand in my suburb, and I can’t afford a good generator either.

As I step into the hallway, I think I hear something shuffling in the dark. Probably my old dog, Maxi. I flinch at the flash of lightning and the explosive thunder that comes close enough to shake the windows.

I hate storms, but unfortunately I live in a stormy area, and it’s the height of summer. Storm season. Just a few more weeks before winter chases the storms away…

Shaking my head, I walk down the hallway, beam travelling over the various pieces of art that I’ve collected over the years. My favourite piece is a painting of and old robed man sleeping under the Boer War Monument.

At least, I hope he’s asleep. There are a lot of weird rumours surrounding that piece, but I like it.

Lightning lights up the sky again as I find the door to the basement and open it. Something in the dark makes me shiver, but I push it aside. This is reality, not one of the horrors I like to write in my spare time.

The stairs creek as I walk down into the darkness.

Something knocks an empty paint can over, and I turn to the sound. Sickly yellow eyes stare at me from the darkness, and something leaps at me, ghastly arms extended to grab a hold of me. I stumble backwards, falling over a chair and landing hard on my back as I let out a shrill, terrified scream.

The lights come back on.

I’m alone.

Flash Fiction: Dry Bones

April 20, 2018

Dry Bones

Genre: Mystery/Horror

Words (not including the title, genre, and word count): 248

The two teenage boys weren’t supposed to be there, of course. Not that it stopped them from sneaking into the oldest building in their neighbourhood. Life without risks was boring, right?

“Hey, Jason!” Kyle “Brick” Thompson said as he spotted an opening in the floor. “Come check this out! Think this place has a hidden basement?”

Jason fiddled with his silver jaguar necklace. “Maybe. Let’s check it out, bro.”

Brick moved the debris that was covering the opening aside. He was a strong boy, on the school wrestling team. It was easy for him. Jason was the exact opposite. Built for speed and agility rather than brute strength, he was the fastest runner on the track team.

“Got a flashlight?” Brick said.

“My phone has one.” Jason took out his smartphone and activated the flashlight before heading down. It wasn’t anything impressive, in his opinion. Just walls and concrete.

“Kinda boring,” Brick said. “Oh, hey, look there!”

Jason moved the flashlight over to a wall, stopping cold when he saw the old skeleton hanging out of the hole. “What the hell…”

“Man,” Brick said, “this is sick. Think we can take pictures and show it off at school tomorrow?”

Jason wasn’t listening. He was gripping his necklace. “Hey, Brick? How old do you think that skeleton is?”

“What? No clue, man. Probably as old as the building, so…a hundred years or so? Why?”

“…it’s…wearing my necklace…”