Hello, sleep demons and night-gaunts!
Tonight, we will not rest easy. Tonight, we gorge ourselves on delectable hideosities until the dark wears thin. Tonight, we dine, because…
This week’s writing group prompt is:
Sweet Nightmares
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
If you’ve ever read anything by Clive Barker, you know there’s a certain beauty in anguish. There is a way to savor, delight, revel in that which harms. Fear becomes tantamount to inspiration, if you let it.
This is the strange relationship we’re playing with this week: terrible, haunting things, made lovely by our appetite for them. Sweet nightmares.
Perhaps you’ll write about the fondness you’ve developed for the creature which lives in the vent beneath your bed. Maybe you write about how, somewhere in the cosmic aether, an entity is drinking in our collective hurt like so much fine merlot. If you’re brave, you might even write about the traumas which simultaneously build and break you, day by day, in the ever-delectable gyre of humanity.
Whatever you choose, make a feast of it. Let us become fat on the rancid milk of your bad dreams.
Be so cruel as to feed us, would you?
—
Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Friday at 7:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit, and get ready to help each other improve their confidence in their writing, as well as their skill with their craft!
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Dream Girl
By Hamish
Have you ever had a dream that you didn’t want to wake up from? A dream so perfect that you wake up feeling depressed for the rest of the day. Reality can’t compare. Even when you forget the dream, you’re still left with an empty feeling of disappointment that you can’t even explain anymore.
Well I wish I could forget.
I have a recurring dream about a girl. I don’t even know her name and yet I feel like I’ve spent a lifetime with her. Little romantic scenes play in my dreams that remind me of how lonely I am during the daytime. Picnics, romantic walks, dramatic scenes professing our love for each other, you know, what a chronically single guy imagines being in a relationship is like.
A friend of mine asked me to go on a double date. I was happy to. I got all dressed up and ready for a night on the town. As I walked to the bus stop by my apartment, I saw something familiar out of the corner of my eye. A girl. I recognised her face, but I didn’t know where from. I tried not to stare at her so I didn’t appear creepy, but that became impossible when she approached me.
“Where are you going all dolled up?”, she asked with a cute grin.
“Uh, a date”, I cautiously replied back.
“Hehe, good one. You’re funny”, she giggled.
“Um, do I know you?”, I asked.
She didn’t like that.
“What?!”
“I’m so sorry”, I cried, “I have a really bad memory. My bus is here and I have to go”.
Her demeanour changed on a dime back to smiley.
“Oh, okay. Bye”.
As I turned around I felt someone grab me and something cover my mouth and nose. As I struggled for breath I smelled and tasted something strange and began to feel faint. As my vision started blurring, I heard the strange girl’s voice.
“Sweet dreams”.
That’s when it clicked. That’s when I remembered where I knew her face from.
My dreams were about to get a lot less sweet.
Kandyland
by Brickosaur
Whack!
“Okay, pink cards bad. Got it,” I hiss as I hide behind a tree in Kandy Kane forest. I’d hoped to find someone who could help me out of this cursed board game. Instead, I met a sickly, dead-eyed man carrying an axe the size of the sled. Dunno what I did to piss him off, but now he’s zombie-stomping after me, swinging at trees.
WHACK!
The kanekutter’s axe slams into my trunk, inches from my head. While he struggles to pull it out, I scramble away and run to the chalked-up sidewalk. I pull a card — yellow square. I sprint to the glowing corresponding section.
There’s a massive, brittle groan behind me, and heavy footsteps. He’s free, and he’s chasing me again.
I just have to get to the end. Find Gingerbread Kastle, and I’m home free.
I pull another card. Red. Sprint to the square, rinse and repeat. Green, yellow, two blues. I’m getting closer, but the kanekutter hasn’t stopped, hasn’t lost me.
I grab another card, and see a flash of pink. Oh no.
As I drop the card with a lollipop on it, a candy-covered cottage materializes before me.
“Hello, traveler! Do you need a place to rest?”
Someone’s waving through the window. The door opens, apparently by itself, and she beckons me inside. “It’s warm.”
“Uh…” I glance at Gingerbread Kastle. No closer, UGH. Lollipop lady looks normal, and really welcoming. “Okay.”
I enter the house. The door shuts, and the hostess sits me at a table. Shouldn’t she have a giant sucker or something?
A splintering sound. I look at the door, to see a striped axe halfway through it.
Shit. He’s found me.
“We have to get out. NOW,” I yell. “Where’s the exit?”
Lollipop lady frowns. “No exit.” Then she smiles. “I’m sorry. Can’t have our guests leaving this place.”
I don’t think she was talking about the cottage.
It’s over. I’m not getting out of here. As the kanekutter crashes through the chopped-up door and swings his axe at me, I have one final realization.
I’M the giant sucker.
Of Lies and Revalations
by Exce
His exhausted mind drifted through the nebulous nothingness of sleep beyond dreams.
The previous day’s battle had been unexpectedly draining, and Nay had looked forward to sleep.
Then something caught his eyes; it dragged his brain from its undreaming state, but not far enough to wake him up.
At first only a faint glowing dot, a bright red quickly spread around him, burning away all the mist, until finally Nay found himself in what seemed like an endless nothingness of red light.
For a few moments he just hung there, only the bright colour and silence surrounding him.
Then the latter was broken by a voice. “I was sure I was the last of my world…but, seeing what you have become, I wish you had perished.”
A red figure appeared before him, and even without too many details in their face Nay could recognize the Dracul he had fought, and had been certain killed, the previous day.
The red figure shook his head. “I have seen your memories, the sweet lies they have told you…but they are nothing more than that. Lies.”
Nay wanted to protest, but found he could not get anything out.
“No! No arguments! I should have slit your throat whilst you sleep. But I wanted to give you a last chance.”
The red around them flickered, then creating life-like three-dimensional images.
“See the truth of your oh so charitable saviours…or die believing in the sweet nightmare that your life has become.”
The Dracul faded away, leaving Nay alone with images of Angels slaughtering obvious civilians in their beds as fires burned around them, leaning over a child that was strapped to a table with pain evident on its face followed by casual acts of cruelty, a disregard to the life of others, and so much more.
Curling into a metaphorical ball, the Fīfrildi let the impressions pelt down onto him, all the while a seed of doubt of his angelic masters was growing within him.
Hopefully, he would awaken soon. Then he could track down and question that damned Dracul…
Ignore this. I’m dumb.
Nothing to Recall
By minergirl778 (AKA frogfireFantasy)
Daisy wasn’t one for regrets, but she was certainly feeling them now.
She regretted not listening to the elder’s warnings.
She regretted not reading the sign that read “Cave of Fears”
She regretted not bringing a stronger weapon.
For now, here she was. Deep within the cave systems, locked in combat with a strange figure. Even worse? They were blocking every blow! No rando could be this powerful!
After another deflect, she landed on the ground with a frustrated growl “Come ON! We’ve been doing this for hours! Get out of my way!”
“What? Are you getting tired, Angel?” The figure mused “Maybe even… mad? Can’t solve a problem if you can’t punch through it?”
Her frustration reached its boiling point. She charged at the figure with everything she could, channeling all the rage and magic might she had left into a single powerful attack…
That they dodged.
The figure ducked out of the way and slammed her to the ground. She tried to push herself up, but she had nothing left.
“Wha… What do you know about me?” She glared up at the figure, her vision swimming. “You… don’t know who I am! You can’t!”
The figure approached her “Oh really? Care to bet?”
They cast off their cloak and revealed their true form…
Herself.
An incomplete version of herself. No blood, no gore, only void where legs and arms should be. Eyes with nothing behind them, and a smile.
She was speechless. She tried to deny what she saw, but only stutters came out
“You have to accept reality eventually, Daisy. All that power? That sparkle and glimmer? The winning smile and the flashy tricks? There’s nothing behind it, is there?”
“N…No… that’s not-”
“What else is there then? Your memories? What memories? You have no experience, no depth. You’re a plot device with a giggle! They’ll see eventually. They’ll all see. And when they do, It’ll all come CRASHING DO-”
SHINK!
The lost knight’s blade went through the figure’s chest. There was a moment of silence. Then they dispersed into smoke, leaving an echoing, rueful laugh.
Sacrilege
~by DukkiFluff~
The scent of pumpkin and nutmeg flooded the kitchen, Kagome smiling and inhaling deeply through her nose as she opened the oven door. She pulled out the first pie, placing it on a trivet on the counter.
Momoka’s mouth watered, “Mmmm those smell so-”
“Don’t touch them.” Kagome stated bluntly, retrieving the second pie and putting it next to the first.
“But I’m hungryyy.” Momoka whined, licking her lips as she eyed the pies.
“I gave you two whole sheets of cookies! You promised that would be it!” Kagome groaned, putting in two other pies that needed baking.
“Those were really good too. I wish there was more.” Momoka sniffed the pies deeply.
Kagome looked at the two empty cookie sheets, all forty cookies gone. She sighed, shaking her head, “There’s ice cream in the freezer. Or make yourself a sandwich or something.”
“Oh, I ate the ice cream already.” Momoka replied sheepishly.
“Seriously?” Kagome groaned, “You couldn’t at least ask?”
“I was hungry!”
“You’re ALWAYS hungry!!”
Momoka pouted, leaning on the counter.
Kagome gathered the empty cookie sheets, wiping them down and placing new layers of parchment paper down, “Look, let me finish up these other pies and cookies for the sale, and then we’ll go get lunch, okay?”
“Mmfay.” Momoka responded.
Kagome froze, and slowly turned to face her friend.
Momoka had a spoon in her hand, with streaks of pie on it. In front of her, the first pie had a giant spoon streak right through the middle, the silver pie plate shimmering through the gap.
“W– You– WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Kagome screamed.
“I was hungry!” Momoka defended.
“I don’t care! Who eats a pie like that?! You- you monster! That pie didn’t deserve that!” Kagome snatched the untouched pie away, determined to save it, “That pie had a family!”
“That pie tastes really good though.” Momoka took another scoop, munching it down.
“You barbarian! Stop it! Cut it properly!”
“Dhif iv ow I-”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” Kagome sighed, whisking the untouched pie to safety at the other side of the counter.
“Sweet Nightmares”
By Derek McEldowney (Deviacon)
“Sweet nightmares,” she said. In all my twisted life I had never realized how much I had longed to hear those words. If all of the complicated juxtaposed emotions and ideas strewn throughout my life that I have fought so hard to express and explore could be simplified more eloquently, then they are words that do not yet exist. I find it equally perturbing and beautiful that it has taken this long for such a conflictingly obvious combination of two words, which I hold most dear individually, to grace not only my ear, but my mind itself.
What else could you call the serene void that sleep brings? What other name would you give the dozing images of endearing simplicity that make the heart race with panic? What other description could you give to the reverie of calm collected grotesqueries?
What better way to describe my dark writhing heart.
I feel my body cast into an abyss of overwhelming sensations bombarding me to the core. An inky cascade of deep melody resonated though me with each pulse of the dark tempo. Each snickering snare peeling into my bones, lighting up the emerald darkness with dancing silhouettes of dreamy terror. Cavernous shadows caressed and comforted my sore body as the melody of eldritch light enveloped my senses in an energetic crescendo. As the music dimmed and the shadows converged, I felt the warm embrace of a cold, sensual presence. Hands as soft as shade clasped around me longingly.
A soft sultry breath cooed gently into my ear “Sweet nightmares, my darling.”
My eyes shot open to greet the dusty daylight, but my body remained stoically still. Did I… hear a voice just now? Is that what woke me? I pulled myself from the wretched covers, why did they feel so… hollow? W-what was I dreaming about again?
Pleasure is Just Pain You Like
By Jesse Fisher
Oleander could not recall this place ever looking like this, it looked far more unwelcoming then some of the other times she had seen structures like this. Her normal attire was not much help as a silk toga was to keep her fight speed high, it did not hurt that it did turn heads during the meetings at Korun’s place. It was not her fault goddragoness of sleep turned out to be ‘dream come to life’, dreams was her brother’s role but that was distracting her from the place she found herself in.
This seemed to be a stairway going down from an extremely tall tower to an eerily lit room at the bottom, the center seemed open and large enough for her to jump down and save her walking. So with that she hopped the rail and landed with a minor fluff of the toga. The bottom floor did not add to any non-creepy hints, the clicking of her claws on stone, the unfindable dripping sound, and the groans and moans with chain sounds mixed into it.
It seemed to grow louder as she kept following the hallway to a door that opened to a dungeon, there she saw a nearly naked dark navy blue wolf that was on a rack as a strange being cranked the wheel on the rack. The wolf seemed to be enjoying the actions as a loud pop-or was it a crack- as the dragon entered the room. That was when the yellow eyes of the wolf opened and saw what was in front of it.
“Oh come on,” He said, disgust clear in his tone. “I get blacked out drunk to have this to cheer me up and a dream walker appears to interrupt it all.”
It was at that moment she realized what happened, she was in the right place but due to someone sleeping she was drawn there.
“Sorry I did not know someone would be asleep at Korun’s bar.” She apologized.
“Take the exit door and let me be.”
The door appeared and the dragon walked out.
Holy crap, this was creepy. Not frightening, but just very unsettling, in the best way possible. You did a very good job establishing an atmospheric mood for the story. I’m not sure how these puppets work, or what they’re thinking of, and that sense of unknown really contributes to the nightmarish feeling of this story. Well done!
Dream Eater
by NocteVesania
A man opens his eyes to a dark room lit only by a few red candles, perched on the edges of the stone table on which he lies. Beside him, there appears to be etchings of cryptic writing he can only dream of understanding. Bound by his hands and feet, he can do nothing but look around and hope for salvation.
Out of the shadows, a lady in white approaches the man, her skin pale and her face devoid of any emotion. He recognizes her as his wife, the love of his life.
“Honey, it’s me,” the man called to her, tears welling up in his eyes, “I’ve been looking for you for years.”
No response.
As she comes to stand beside him, the man starts hearing whispers, faint at first, but growing louder and louder, like a swarm of flies buzzing ever closer. They say only one thing, over and over again.
“Do it.”
The lady raises her hands, clasped together, above the man. Between them is the faint glimmer of polished bone, its sharp tip pointing to his abdomen. The growing whispers are deafening him at this point.
“Honey, it’s me, please remember,” the man pleads, “we can go back. Back to our home, back to our life, please listen to me. Let’s ge-”
The man’s speech is cut off as the ivory knife is plunged into his stomach. He loses control of his body as the knife is pulled back out. In his wavering consciousness, he could only watch the lady stab the knife into herself as well. Her body falls on to the floor and her lifeless gaze pierces into his soul, deeper than any blade could fall into flesh.
Pathetic.
Such is the fate of a soul misfortunate enough to be offered up to me. Forever asleep, dreaming of their final moments, feeling the pain over and over again. Their sorrow, their anguish, feeds me.
And yet, this one seems… different. In his dream, he feels not fear, but… relief, as if he longed for this moment, despite his hellish predicament.
Humans are odd creatures.
This is good. I really get a gothic vibe for some reason, I think it’s more the way reads than the content. It’s got a lot of dread and the narrator has a strong voice. There are some things left unsaid, but I don’t think those lack of details really matter. I think the gaps in knowledge might actually make the tone stronger.
“Angels to Some”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane
Again. Quinn was in the dark forest again. The fog hung heavy in the air. Tall grass stood up straight like needles. Twisted vines encroached the path from the hedges with their foot-long thorns. The violet sky almost seemed to sway as Quinn picked up her pace. It would be here soon.
The girl hurried down the cinnabar path to the towering interobject: tree and castle simultaneously. Her heart beat heavily, twisting and turning in the root-hallways. Her breathing became shallow.
“Brax! Brax, where are you?”
Suddenly, a pipe organ shrieked through the air. Quinn, startled, ran towards the music. Through double doors, Quinn found herself in a chapel. The walls were entirely stained glass and in the pews sat faceless people. Quinn also found her nightgown replaced with a crimson wedding gown with train and veil.
She noticed the figure at the altar. “Brax!”
The figure turned to face her. He was handsome, though Quinn could not explain how. She blushed. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Quinn, my vespertine bride,” he replied, reaching out.
Quinn felt a warm sensation travel down her spine. “Brax.”
She walked down the aisle slowly. When she reached him, Brax took her hands. Quinn sighed in relief and smiled.
“This is the hour of our wedding,” Brax declared, his voice echoing in the empty chapel. “Marital bless shall be ours. All you must do is repeat after me.”
Quinn nodded, tears welling up. “I’m ready.”
Suddenly, the eastern stained-glass wall shattered as a large white lupine form burst into the chapel. Brax hissed, dropping to all fours. Quinn screamed as her groom’s tongue whipped out and wrapped itself around her face. He scuttled to the back of the chapel and up the wall. The white werewolf howled, shattering the rest of the stained glass.
~
Quinn woke up. She looked over to the empty cradle in the corner and got out of bed. Grabbing a knife from the bedside table, she knelt at the side of her bed and looked at the pentagram under her bed.
“One day, we will be married, Abraxas.”
There’s a morbid, poetic feeling to this. I want to know who’s pulling the literal strings behind the show, but I’m also afraid to find out. I like that you weave this semblance of inevitable helplessness throughout the whole story. There’s nothing that can be done to stop the puppeteers, but at the same time, it feels as though the puppets are in control despite the horrendous experiences they endure. And being that the puppets were once living people, I can understand why the puppeteers would be reluctant to speak about that. This gives me Junji Ito vibes, and I absolutely love it. I would love to know more about this world, not necessarily in the sense of who is actually pulling the strings, but more of the details on how the puppet/puppeteer dynamic works. And essentially, the watcher is a captive audience and soon to be a part of the show. I would also like to know who the successor will be and what they will bring to the story.
Beyond a few minor grammatical mistakes and some spacing, this is a fantastic story.
Excellently dark, Clanso. This is great!
“That Night” (Godhood Series) (slightly NSFW) By Connor/Dragoneye
A bright beam of sunlight struck Alexandros’ eyelids. He shuffled awake, and rolled over to see the partner that shared his bed.
Familiar purple tattoos.
In pure shock, the titan pushed himself out of bed, rubbing his aching temples. “Sylmara? What are you doing here? What happened?”
The demigoddess stretched and turned to face Alexandros. “Hey there, big guy. How’s the hangover? I think your house guest went with her sister and some knightly fellow.”
“You still didn’t answer my other questions. What are you doing here, and why did you, uh,” he continued to ask as he gestured to the sheets that the two shared.
“I’m here because you brought me here after you bumped into me on the streets. You were deathly drunk, apparently from drinking a whole keg. you said. And you were adamant that I was quite beautiful, so as a gift for your compliments, I decided to keep you company for the obviously painful hangover you were going to have. Speaking of…”
Sylmara then wrapped around his neck and brought him with a gentle yet firm tug towards her, kissing him on the lips. He felt the wave of pain leave his body, and his mind cleared, with some memories of the events that transpired returning. She then ran her fingers along the runes that covered his body.
“I also hoped this would help getting past how tense our first meeting was, with those political and all. So, willing to give me a second chance?” she giggled playfully.
Alexandros tried to think over what happened that night. He enjoyed it. He really enjoyed it. But, this demigoddess Sylmara, she was shifty and plucked at the strings of an entire nation. But, she was also being sincere.
“I want to apologize for my abrasiveness, that first time. I was only trying to protect my home.”
Sylmara slid over beside him. “That’s understandable, I was being very shifty. But, I’m glad we made up, especially in such an extreme way.”
Don’t go, gently
by Gage Jarman
The kid went back in time, and he stopped something… something. What was that something? He felt like it was just on the tip of his tongue. He walked up to his mom to ask her, but she didn’t respond. He talked louder. He screamed. She didn’t hear him and started to walk away. He grabbed her. His mom didn’t react, and his hand slipped through her leg. He was disappearing.
The boy panicked. He ran all over the house. He looked for his dad. The boy couldn’t find him. He tried to knock something over, but it didn’t move. Eventually, he just sat in a room as his mom went through files next to him and cried on the floor. Darkness crept on the edge of his vision. It was engulfing him. “MOM, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do it. Mom. I’m sorry…” His voice was gone. His vision went black. He was nothing.
The boy opened his eyes. There was some light, but he still couldn’t see. Tears were streaming down his face. He ran towards his parents room and thumped into the door.
“Ugh, Hal what’s…” the mother said rubbing her eyes
The boy jumped onto his mom’s stomach, bawling into the blanket. “I’m sorry! I didn’t, huh huh, I didn’t mean to! I’m sor-huh-reeee!”
“Shhhhhhh shhhh shhh. What’s wrong. Tell me what’s wrong.” The mother wrapped her arms around the boy.
“I’m not here anymore! I’m not here!”
“It’s ok.” She kissed his head. “It’s ok baby. I’m right here. You’re ok.”
The boy sniffled in her arms.
Small Reprieve
by Lunabear
Detective Ryan Norton sat at the smoky, noisy bar, nursing his diluted whiskey. His unused cigarette had burned itself out. He cradled his head with one hand. His other hand held a crumpled photo of missing person Lacy Fairchild and her wife Jacqueline Pierce. Over two long months of searching, and still not a trace.
As much as he would have loved to finger Allan Greer for a previous murder and Lacy’s disappearance, Greer’s alibi had checked out. Besides, none of the evidence pointed to him. On top of that, the DNA of Lacy and their Jane Doe were different. That particular information didn’t eliminate Greer from the suspect list, though.
He threw back the remainder of his drink with a growl. Slamming the glass on the wooden bar top, he signaled the bartender for a refill.
Hess topped him off wordlessly. He shook his head in pity while looking on with a sympathetic expression.
Norton gently rested the picture next to his silent cell. Smoothing out the wrinkles, his mind wandered aimlessly. He HAD to bring Lacy home ALIVE. Moreover, he had to catch this son of bitch who was butchering women in his city.
The whiskey’s burn only angered him. He pushed out a heavy sigh as his phone flashed Officer Janis’s name. He snatched it up, rushing out into the warm night. He answered.
“Norton. Speak.”
“Good news or bad news first?” Janis prompted.
Norton snarled in warning. “Spit it out!”
“Good Samaritan found your missing woman unconscious along a stretch of back road. Phoned it in. She’s beat the hell up, but she’s alive. She gave the perp a good fight. Taking her to the ER, now.”
A weight seemed to lift from Norton’s shoulders. He braced himself for the bad.
“Same M.O., and still no new leads. Sorry, Norton.”
“That’s good enough news for now. Sweep the scene and report back EVERYTHING, no matter how small. The bastard will slip up, eventually.”
“You got it,” Janis promised.
The call ended. Norton rolled his shoulders back and called Jacqueline to give her the news.
A Boogieman’s Love Story
By chronicDreamer
She became special to me the first time our eyes met. When I crept from the closet or crawled from under the bed, other children would look away, but she never did. Her dark eyes bound to mine. Her gaze consumed by the void of my iris imprisoned by the red of my pupil. It wasn’t out of courage she stared, but of fear, like prey accepting death, and she did nothing to fight the terror.
And her fear was intoxicating.
So pure and endless, I didn’t need to feed on anyone else. Each visit left my shadow bloated till midnight ichor spilled across the floor to stop me from bursting. I couldn’t help but gorge myself upon her, abandoning all other prey. Even with all the time I spent feeding off her, I still didn’t notice how her fear slowly changed.
We aren’t supposed to feed on children for this long, but even as she aged the fear never ceased. Never changing in its volume, her fear took on a subtle taste I couldn’t discern till my claws were down her throat from behind, pulling out a full bottle’s worth of sleeping pills.
“IT WOULD BE SUCH A WASTE FOR YOU TO DIE.” The whispered scream of my voice echoed in the dark as I brought her ear close to my fang filled mouth broken in a smile despite the strange weight that hung in my core. “SO I’LL GRANT YOU ONE WISH.” It amused me to no end the prospect of bribing her life for a wish, but what was the harm?
As she began to cry, I pressed her closer, wrapping her limbs in shadowy tendrils and held her with my long arms around her waist. I used my black tongue to wipe away her tears as she turned in my grasp to face me. She let her body fall back onto the bed, her hands gripped my chest, draping her in me. This time when our eyes met, it was my gaze consumed by her.
She whispered through her tears,“I wish I wasn’t so empty.”
“Curses and Blessings.”
By: ClockworkPigeonz
Destruction, this is the curse of a Phoenix.
Flames ripple across the rooftops of both house and barn. The ungodly shrieks of animals cooked alive, surpassed by her family’s wails. Ember screams for them. Stumbles blindly through thick smoke- searching.
And there through the haze she spots them…Willow, Acer, Birdie, Rowan, little Finn- not even a year old.
The roof gives way; a cascade of fire and blackened timbers swallowing the smoke-wreathed visage of her mother.
Strong hands grasp her shoulders.
She can only remember the hands, the rough jerk…and that which followed. Can only remember hands- different than before- long and slender. Comforting and familiar until they’d wrapped around her throat. Held her down beneath the floodwaters.
Could only remember thrashing helplessly in the dark; drowning, dying alone.
“Ember!” the hands try to pull her, warm arms wrapping around her middle. “You’re going to fall off the- oof!”
Her foot connects with something solid and suddenly she’s free.
Gasping, she awakens to afternoon light pooling over a prone figure. Her head’s muddled, the present and past blurring together. But she knows him.
“Alistair!” the scrape of his name past abused vocal cords is cut and cracked.
“I-I’m sorry, I know you said-”
“D-did I?”
” -not to try and hold you when-”
“Al, did I hurt you?” tears have already welled up in her eyes.
“I-I’m fine. Are you alright?” He asks gently, moving to sit down beside her.
“G-give me a minute, Owly.” She leans into his embrace as he offers it. The familiar urge to run, hide- to pull the mask down over her pain presses at her ribs. But slowly it passes.
Alistair must know, as he wraps his wings around them. The feathers tickle against her arms, pulling a soft chuckle from her lips. His worried look seems to ask if he’s stepped too far. She brushes it away with a kiss.
“I’m sorry.” They speak at the same moment- then begin to laugh.
They each have their own scars. But it is in a Phoenix’s nature to rise from the ashes and create something new.
“It Came to Me in a Dream”
By King_Nix
We were treading through the Dream one night. He delighted in bringing terror to the slumbering fantasies of Man, but we had other plans tonight.
We passed a dream overflowing with wealth, and he craved it. To calm him, I sent the other to turn the gold to the bones of the dreamer’s children instead, and the rest of us relished in their suffering. I stifled their mirth, and we continued on.
At last, we came to the place we were to meet.
“We have come,” I called. “Now reveal yourself!”
There appeared before us the radiant, to some of us blinding, form of a woman. She was clad all in white, brighter than the malignant moon, skin enviously fair, and with hair like threads of gold.
“So you have come, poor Nix.” she mocked us!
“We are King!”
“So you are, but not here.” she chided, with her eyes, more blue and dark than the depths of the ocean, boring into us. “Now will you accept what I have to offer you, or are you still angry about the Gryphons?”
Much of us hissed, but I held our tongues. “Show me.”
We fell into darkness, and were made witness to a thing beyond beauty; hide harder than iron, teeth like a hundred spears, it flew onn winds of hate and breathed death! Creatures of pure destruction, born only to bring chaos to my realm, and they were all mine!
We awoke, and I got to work. Twisting flesh, splitting and warping bone and sinew, I spent years in the darkness. Until at last, I had bent life into our own perfect image.
I led our dear friend down to see my artistry. It leapt at him, shrieking in a sweet symphony of torment!
“Wh-where did you find such a nightmarish beast?!” he blubbered as he scuttled out of its reach.
“It came to me in a dream.”
Swan Song
By MasaCur
“Goodnight, Teion-chan,” Yuriko said, settling into her futon.
“You too,” Nabiki replied. She bit her lip as she settled down to sleep. She was having problems at jazz camp. Days were fine. Yuriko was helping her learn to play bass guitar, and having something to do helped take her mind off things. Nights, however, reminded her why she came here.
Yuriko doused the light, and Nabiki lied on her back, staring into the darkness, trying to keep her mind empty, even though she felt a pit in her stomach about what was to come.
In time, however, Nabiki drifted off. In her dreams, she found herself in one of the session rooms at the camp. Yuriko wasn’t there, and Nabiki practiced her bass alone.
The door opened, and Nabiki’s mother, Akane, entered.
“Hey, Mom! What are you doing here?” Nabiki asked, not feeling as surprised as she thought she would be.
“Can’t a mother come visit her girl?”
Nabiki grinned. “Well, yeah, of course.”
Akane sat down next to Nabiki, and placed her violin case on her lap. “Did you want to play together?”
“Sure! Um, what about Classical Gas?”
Akane nodded and started playing. Nabiki quickly joined in. The music flowed out of Nabiki as she played. It felt so easy, easier than she could remember it ever being.
The two finished and Akane set down her violin and bow, then smiled widely as she clapped.
“I missed this, Mom,” Nabiki sighed.
“I do too, sweetheart.” Akane looked at Nabiki for a few seconds. “Why aren’t you playing your violin as well?”
Nabiki froze in place. Why wasn’t she playing the violin?
Everything flooded back to her. She went to jazz camp because she couldn’t play the violin anymore. It brought her nothing but sadness.
Her mind flashed back to the funeral, her breaking down in mid-song, smashing her mother’s practice violin in grief.
“Mom, I’m sorry…” Nabiki cried.
Nabiki woke up as the weight of her grief crushed her. She curled up fetally, and started sobbing.
A Bad Sip
By Giovanna J. Fuller
She sat at the kitchen table. Mother on her right, father on her left, and across the table sat big brother and little brother. On the table was a big turkey with all the side dishes of Thanksgiving. The father stood with his wine glass in hand.
Everyone else raised their own glass.
“This is perfect. It’s a beautiful bird, Helen.” He leaned over and gave his wife a kiss.
“John…” She blushed and returned the kiss happily.
“Ew!”
“Gross!”
She smiled and laughed. Then she picked up her fork and was about to dig into a nice slice of dark meat when the doorbell rang.
Everyone looked confused. Her father stood and went to answer it.
“Good evening, how can I help-.”
Pop!
A group of men in black ski masks.
Pop!
Pop! Pop!
She screamed as the bodies hit the floor.
…
…
…
“1993 – Charlotte Evans,” the pale man muttered and poured himself another glass. “Too over the top for my liking.”
“That’s what you get from buying from the bottom shelf,” his wife said. She licked bright red lips and gasped. “It’s strong, but it hits you all at once. It is terror, but fear should be subtle. It should be building to a grand finale. Not just four shots at once.”
The man sighed, “Sorry, dear. I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything.” He looked over to the trail of rose petals leading to the bed where they now lounged.
“Oh, darling…” His wife gently took hold of his chin and brought his face to hers. “Don’t worry. Tonight has been wonderful. Besides,” she snuggled into the crook of his arm. “It isn’t the drink that makes a Valentine’s, it’s the one you share it with.”
He clicked his glass against hers. “I couldn’t agree more, draga mea.”
“Dragul meu…”
They kissed one another then each took another sip from their goblets.
…
…
…
She sat at the kitchen table. Mother on her right, father on her left, and across the table sat big brother and little brother.
Chased
By: Larissa (Lari. B.Haven)
Zoella was alone in the darkness, it felt like she was at home, alone but at the same time, there was a low growing noise around her.
She felt the familiar pain bursting from the scar on her belly, wet and bright red.
As she walked in the low light setting she saw a familiar figure humming.
“Mom?” She said surprised.
The tall black woman was looking at a child inside a cradle.
“Mom! Help me!”
Zoella’s mother turned to her, her eyes ivory white with no pupils. Holding to her daughter by the shoulders she said:
“Let it go dear! It was not your fault! Let it go or it’s going to take your son too!” She pointed at the hallway.
It was her stuffed jaguar, the same cautious pose of attack.
The animal made of wood and wires roared springing to life. Suddenly she wasn’t at home anymore and she needed to escape the beast.
All the directions she looked she saw the dense tropical forest, the trees blocked the light, the branches hissed and the crackling of the leaves denounce her location.
“You shouldn’t be running away from it!” the motherly voice growled with the roaring of the jaguar.
The sweet child giggles of her son also echoed in the middle of her rush.
“Where is my son?” She screamed disoriented.
“You should be embracing it!” Her mother’s echo said again.
She saw a light in the end of the woods, she just needed to sprint a bit further. In the grassy field her son was playing. If she could ignore the voice, ignore the sharp clawed monster, she could hold Luiz one more.
“Who silenced your roar Zoella? Who killed your fierceness?”
The jaguar jumped at her back, dragging inside the forest once again. While her five-year-old flew to the skies like a bird.
She woke up in her room in the sanatorium, wishing that she could stop dreaming about the family she left behind.
While she cried, the morning rose in her window.
“Graduation”[Aleph null science fiction]
by gregovin
“Lance Bailey, congratulations on graduating!”
A man walked up to the stand and received their diploma.
“Rayna Bogdan”
I’m up? I walk toward the stage. I did it! I didn’t deserve this though.
“Congratulations on graduating, with honors!”
Honors! What did I do to deserve honors? I just got lucky. I’ll be outed as a faker in a few seconds. Why is he taking so long to move on to the next person?!
“And, at this time, I would like to announce that Rayna Bogdan has graduated with a very special award. The Lastroaud Lignam award, for doing a great service to our world. Thank you.”
Applause flooded the area.
A great service! I didn’t even do anything. Sasha could have solved the whole thing. What was I getting credit for? I just poked at the issue until it unwound! I feel flustered. Why are they giving me so much credit for so little?
An odd person came to greet me as I came down from the stand. Their skin was … wrong, it lacked texture, it was a shade too pale to be healthy, it seemed … hard? Oh, it’s Sasha!
I jog over to her. She embraces me in a hug. “Congratulations”, she exclaims.
“For what? I didn’t do anything to deserve this”
“Yes you did. Think about it. Anyone could have done what you did, and yet you were the only one who did it. You bothered to look. And that is valuable. Also, you think sideways in a way I’ve never seen before.”
I feel so warm inside. Did I do something special? Maybe. Yeah. Just maybe.
Maybe I do deserve a little bit of something.
“Now, you are going to get a treat. I am going to take you out to ice cream because you deserve it” she stated, matter of factly.
The Thrill
By Samantha Realynn
Is it disturbing, that I prefer my nightmares to my dreams?
I’m sure that psychologists would have a grand time deciphering and decoding that. I’ve seen plenty of those Wicca dream books that supposedly tell you all about what your dreams mean, and I’m sure there are studies into nightmares and their possible meanings and whatnot. But to actually prefer having nightmares? To wake up screaming every night? To feel your heart thudding so hard in your chest that at any moment it may burst?
I’ve always been something of a thrill-seeker. When I was a child, I would go on every rollercoaster until I could barely walk. Now, I went bungee-jumping, I skydived regularly. Hell, I volunteered at one of those animal sanctuaries just to get close to the beasts. Just the thought of being on the edge like that made me feel alive. The thrill of it all was intoxicating.
Nightmares, now that was something different.
The mind is such a fascinating organ. In dreams, the mind can make things so real that your body reacts as if things are actually happening to you. I’ve read stories where people have had nightmares so bad, that they died of heart attacks. Was it any wonder, that I wanted this new thrill?
In all my other activities there was still danger. The cord could snap, that parachute would fail to release, I could get mauled. But even still, there was always something that kept me from truly feeling danger. With nightmares, everything felt real. There was danger my mind could be fully convinced of it. There was no safety net. Especially if I took steps to remove it.
One quick ritual and, poof. Each night I went to bed, not knowing if I would wake up the next morning. Each night I was pulled into a nightmare that seemed unending. Images that sometimes stopped my heart, but were too alien to be remembered. Every night I sentenced myself to a literal hellscape of untold horrors and things man was simply not meant to experience.
I can’t wait.
Fuck you
By Skye Doust
I love you and I don’t even know who you are. You killed me more than once, I doubt you even realise. I tried to get better, to be more involved in your world. I tried to become someone you could depend upon. I never got good enough to do much more than the basics.
My combat style was sloppy and slow, I blamed my connection and my keyboard. It’s hard to move quickly on a touch screen phone. It was just an excuse, I wasn’t the only one logging in from my phone and the others were more than competent.
Failing dependability, I could only hope to catch you when you weren’t busy elsewhere. That worked. It was enough. For a while. But the hardest thing about this love was the ache for something real, while knowing full well that nothing real would ever compare to what you put in my mind, and on fingers I owned but couldn’t feel, and on a mouth that wasn’t quite mine enough.
I know you’re still out there, wishing I’d come back, though I don’t think you feel for me as strongly as I do for you. That never really mattered much to me. You did love me once. In some way. Enough for a time. I still don’t really understand why.
Maybe it shows just how tight your grip is, but every day that I let myself feel something pure and good, I need to push you away from my thoughts. It physically hurts to think about you. I will never forgive you for this torment.
Even now, after all these years I long to go back. Embrace you with whatever arms I can, not caring as to if they are real or not.
But I never can.
To return is to give up on out here. To disappear from the very real people here that care about me. People that I care so very much about.
Nothing from where you are could ever actually touch me, but somehow still you left your mark.
A creepy, twisted tale of puppets and puppeteers, of forces we’re forbidden to tell of. Parts of this left me confused, but in a way that I hunger for more. Who is this A? Are they a soon-to-be puppet? One of the puppeteers? Who are these puppeteers, what are they doing to the puppets? Are they literal puppets, literal puppeteers? Ugh, this leaves me wanting so much more and I love it.
“The Mark”
by JosieDearly
When I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and noticed a mark on my neck.
It’s a short, black band along the right side, with lines criss-crossing inside it. I brush my fingertips along it, and it doesn’t feel like skin. It’s raised in a way that it feels like it’s not plastered on my skin, nor was it tattooed onto it. It’s more like… It had grown out of me.
I could feel the tiny, almost imperceptible fibers were woven to make each line. It’s itchy, but when I scratch at it, the lines don’t move or roll under my nails. They’re stuck fast…
… Is this hair? Or thread?
It doesn’t matter. This mark wasn’t there when I fell asleep.
A familiar silhouette appears in the mirror, standing behind me. A lady wrapped in earthy, flowing clothes blocked the door, her black hair in a braid over her shoulder, her dark eyes peering into those of my reflection.
She has a baby sitting in her arms, swaddled in white. His eyes are puffy from crying, and he bore the same mark I did. His was white, and under his left eye, right on his cheek.
… She gave me this mark. I saw her, in my dream last night, she sewed it onto me, and onto her own baby!
I resist the urge to snarl as I speak to her reflection.
“You. Who are you? Why did you do this to me, to him?”
She just smiles. It’s a small curve of her lips, one not of mirth but of cunning. Of knowing something that I did not.
“I need you,” she replies. “You will serve me.”
“SERVE you?! Who are you, who am I—”
And she’s gone in a puff of shadow, and suddenly I feel the threads tightening on my neck, as if they were only a portion of the invisible chains that she had wrapped around my neck. I wince from the pain, but I don’t dare scream.
Why? Why did she do this?
Why me?
Date Night with Ginger
By Matthew (Handsome Johanson)
Ginger walked up to the door and pawed at it a bit. Seeing the look of nervousness on his well groomed, orange face, his dutiful human came over to open the door. On the other side, the beautiful Couscous lay waiting with her shiny green eyes.
“Hey Ginger!” She squealed, with a smile. “I’m really excited for our date tonight! I didn’t know that cat’s could go on dates. You are so cool!”
Ginger blushed a bit. “Thanks! I thought we could go to the movies.” he meowed while gesturing to the door outside. “I heard there’s a showing of the Meowtbook at five.”
“Oo, that’ll be fun.” Couscous happily meowed back. Ginger rushed over to his human’s leg and started tugging at her. Confused, she got up and followed him to the door outside.
“Oh you want to go to the movies!” She said. “I’ll take you guys.”
The movie theatre was packed. Cats were pouring in to wait in the long line with their dates. The pair got in line and slowly advanced to the ticket box.
Ever second they sat waiting, Ginger could feel his nerves rising. ‘What if she hates the movie? What if she hates popcorn and snacks?’
When they finally got into the movie theatre, they chose a spot near the back for the best view.
“Here,” Ginger said while placing the bucket of popcorn in between them. “ We can share the popcorn.”
Then the urges hit. The bucket was RIGHT there. He could just tip it over! His paw slowly migrated to the tub and pushed it over, without him even thinking about it.
‘OH NO’ Ginger thought as the bucket cascaded to the floor. ‘She’s going to think I’m a doofus now.’ He looked nervously at Couscous who just laughed and picked up the tub from the ground only to knock it back down again.
They laughed and enjoyed the rest of the film. Upon heading to the car, their human spotted them.
“How did the movie go, guys?” His human asked.
“It was a nightmare.” Ginger laughed. “But it was sweet.”
The Earth Shifts
By Mike Collins (Lakemoron)
The earth seemed to shift back and forth. Davu could smell brackish water, piss, and putrefaction. Off in the distance, he could hear a strange language.
Davu stepped out of the family hut onto a bright sunny day. His mother sat on the ground, weaving what would be a gift for his older sister’s wedding coming in a few days. His father was in the village talking with the elders about the missing people and what could be done.
Off in the distance he could hear that strange language again from his dream.
His younger sister and her friend ran past. Davu started to have feelings for his sister’s friend Eshe, even if he didn’t understand what they meant. He looked over and saw his mother smiling at him. Everything felt warm and right. He turned and went after the girls into the brush. He heard his mother scream, “Stay close to the farm.”
The earth shifted again as a strange feeling came across him like a weight was being lifted.
Davu caught up with Eshe as she stopped, coming face to face with her. Something felt familiar but also wrong. Eshe smiled and kissed him on the cheek, she turned and ran back to the farm. Davu turned to chase when the skies grew dark, and the winds picked up. He made it home to find some strangers there.
His mother was dead on the ground, along with his older sister. His younger sister screamed as one of the strangers carried her away. A faceless stranger came running toward him.
He thought to himself, “This isn’t how it happened.”
Davu woke to the sight of an older man’s back. He was chained in place in a dark ship’s hold filled with people. The dream was a sweet nightmare compared to his reality. The man behind him was gone, but the vomit was still plastered to the deck. Off in the distance he could hear that strange language of his white captors. He didn’t understand any of it or this word they kept saying, “America.”
Under the Skin (Corespace Universe)
By Calliope Rannis
Just over a month ago, Ovee had moved into the house next door. The triad who owned the house were all aging, and he had offered his services as both a live-in carer and farmhand, expressing particular interest in their harvest culture. He was the nicest person Carla had ever met, and she had nightmares about him almost every night.
She could clearly see his ‘tent’ in their garden – a covering of silky wax, attached to the side of one of the garden’s trees, where he wrapped himself up to sleep at night. The shape of his body inside made it look like an enormous, misshapen cocoon.
Carla had met him several times at this point, usually when he was maintaining the front garden. Ovee was always happy to see her, and would ask questions about anything. She’d talk out of politeness, but found it difficult to answer even the easy questions. She kept being distracted by his thick, golden brown skin, her imagination tormenting her with thoughts of what lay below it.
It was extra evident sometimes. When he had to pick up something heavy, his arms would swell and the papery skin stretched tight. When he laughed, his body would ripple like the surface of a pond. And the one time she had seen him stressed, Ovee’s body had shivered with a persistent humming noise for the entire time.
The worst time was when she had seen a small insect with butter-yellow wings fly out of his toothless mouth. He apologised afterwards, said he never knew she had a phobia of insects, that all he did was like sending a letter to a friend. He never did it in front of her again.
But despite all his care, and not a hint of malice in him, Carla could not stop her dreams. Dreams of endless buzzing, of winged bodies pouring through a tear in his skin, of Ovee disintegrating into a swarm of thousands of bright-winged insects.
For Ovee was what humans call a Helping Hive, and Carla hated that she could never see him as anything else.
Leavetaking
By PitL
“Sophie – Sophie! Is that it?” Richard’s voice carried over the turquoise grass, jolting me out of my reverie.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”
This had meant everything to me, once. Maybe it still did. It hadn’t felt real yet. Father had said it would take time, going from dream to reality. He was right.
He had always been right.
We’d waded through the grass for hours. Cliffs stood in the distance, shrouded in a dusty haze. The sun peeked through the fog from up above – our sun.
Richard turned and gently grabbed my hand. “We made it, sis,” he said. “Only one step left.”
One last place to say goodbye.
We ran after that. I won’t deny it. It had been too long. Years. Months. Days.
A voice called out from the rocky outcropping ahead, stopping us in our tracks. “You’re leaving then, kid?”
“We are, da – Dream. We made it.” I plodded over to the rocks, and leaned on an even boulder. “Followed the steps. The trail you left.”
“Getting out while the getting’s good, huh? I taught you better than I thought.” He chuckled. “And you can call me Dad, kid. Might’ve been a few decades – for me, at least – but you still look like you’re under twenty. How long’s it been, anyway?”
Richard spoke up from within the grass. “Five years, dad.”
Dad paused. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I stood, and turned towards Dad. “Don’t be. It was a nightmare – ”
“… but a good one,” Richard finished. “Just how you always described it.”
We all fell silent for a while. I didn’t want it to end, and for my brother – well, it had hardly begun.
“Dad?” I asked. “What’s gonna happen once we leave? Here, I mean?”
Dad stood on his rock. “Ya know, I don’t rightly know,” he replied. “Same thing that happens to other forgotten things, I guess, wherever they go. And you’ll wake up.”
He gave us a hug. “Doesn’t matter, though,” he said. “S’long as you’re together…”
Even the worst nightmares’ll all be sweet.
“The Mineshaft” by Carrie (Glaceon373)
“You sure about this, kid?” George lifted his lantern above Noah’s head, peering into the darkness.
“If it hasn’t been explored in ages, there’s bound to be something!” Noah was already walking down the mineshaft. “C’mon!”
George opened his mouth, then sighed. “Kids.”
This shaft had been carefully avoided by the other miners due to nasty rumors. But Noah was young, and stupid. The stories of old men didn’t bother him.
The first few hundred feet of the shaft were uneventful. Then it sloped downward before opening up into a large cavern. Noah rushed forward and looked around while George set his lantern down and drew his knife.
“George, look!” Noah pointed at the wall. It glimmered.
George gasped. “That’s the largest vein of gold I’ve ever…”
The noise of moving earth filled the cavern. George raised his blade while Noah struggled to draw his.
A nearby wall suddenly burst outward as bug-like beasts charged toward the miners. George stepped forward and slashed at them, aiming for gaps in their natural armor.
Noah screamed, and George turned as a beast knocked the kid over. George stabbed the creature in one of its many eyes, and it screamed, releasing Noah.
George lifted the kid off the ground. “Thanks,” Noah gasped.
“You’re wel—augh!” Two creatures bit into George, pulling him to the ground. His knife clattered on the floor as another beast jumped on him, its maw wide enough to bite his head clean off—
~~~
“And that was the day I learned Noah was stupid enough to save any life, even a doomed one.” George set his beer on the table, savoring the expressions of his listeners.
“But I saved you! Well, most of you.” Noah, now five years older, pointed at the older man’s eyepatch. “Besides, you were the one stupid enough to let me go down there.”
“Eh, true. Boy, what a terrible day that was, huh?” George jabbed Noah in the side. “But we got the gold as our reward! Here here!”
The people of the Lucky Mineshaft raised their drinks and cheered.
Title: A Midnight Waltz
By Twangyflame0
This was possibly Erin’s worst nightmare. Quite possibly everything she could ever dread and then some. It was so horrendous that she almost wished someone would put her in a coffin and just bury her. She had to teach William how to dance. And that meant being close to him. And holding his hand.
“Right forward. Left back.” She directed him, ignoring the knot growing in her chest as she felt his hand around her waist. Thankfully, he wasn’t staring at her. He was too busy making sure he was stepping with the correct feet.
He laughed to himself, the moonlight framing him in shadow, “You know, you are really good at this.”
“F-Focus!” She said as she was losing hers.
His beautiful silver eyes quickly met her, anxiety also filling them, “S-Sorry, I just-”
“Ow!” His foot landed on hers with surprising force. She jerked back in pain and forgot that she was still holding on to him. They fell down, pain rocketed through the back of her head. A weight pressed down on her whole body as she squeezed her eyes in pain. When she opened them, he was there. His messy black mop for hair falling past his concerned face.
She quickly realized her position and got up, pushing him out of the way, “I’m fine!”
He sat in silence for a moment, until she heard a familiar refrain, “I’m sorry, I’m just bad at this.”
“The only way to not be bad is to practice, now get up,” She helped him up.
“I just don’t want to ruin the plan, or…” He went silent.
“Or what?”
“Or embarrass you in front of people.” A bit of red came to his pale face.
She shook her head to stop staring at his adorable face, “We’re probably not even going to dance with how the thing is going to work out. So you don’t have to worry.”
“But…” He met her eyes, a shy smile crossing his face, which was half-illuminated by the moon, “I would really like to dance with you.”
She desperately did also.