Hello, monsters and matrons.
Children can be such a handful, can’t they? With all that energy, lack of volume control, and needing to be told over and over to keep their squirmy limbs to themselves. But such is the life of motherhood. Let’s see how well you can handle these little rascals, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Mother of Monsters
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!
Who would have thought a prompt could sound both scary and wholesome? Leave it to this wonderful group to, as usual, subvert expectations. The key terms here, “mother” and “monster”, are both so flexible for interpretation.
In the spirit of the season, we here at the Foundry would like to issue you talented writers a little challenge for this week; try to keep things in the realm of spook.
With a prompt like this, we could have Eldritch mothers just going through the day with their Eldritch children, or a werewolf mother trying to tame and control her very energetic pups. It could be a vampire mother teaching her child how to feed, and possibly even having to coddle them when they almost lose control. It could even be a human mother who has adopted a child, only to find out her child can transform, or fly, or eats raw meat, or anything that a non-human baby would do. Or perhaps the child is also human, and just very rowdy and rambunctious. Maybe the mother of monsters is literally just the crazy cat lady next door.
It may not even be a real “mother” at all, but something that people look to for guidance. A revered woman leading her cult of darkness. Maybe the mother is a powerful sorceress that controls many beasts, possibly even creating said beasts herself from the elements around her. Perhaps, much simpler, the caretaker of a zoo of magical creatures. Or the warden of a prison where monsters, whether literal or metaphorical, are locked up for the world’s safety. Perhaps it’s even a daycare for monsters and humans alike, and the carer has her hands full trying to have them all get along.
Whichever mothers of whichever monsters you decide to introduce us to, we look forward to the wonderfully spooky tales that will rise up from this prompt.
Just watch the tentacles, will you?
—Shawna
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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.
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“I See Monsters” by Dahlia
I see monsters. I’ve seen them every day since the hospital visit. I’m not sure what they are, or why they’re here, but no one else seems to recognize them. There’s always two of them.
One had a wild mane of brown hair, and eyes that were flat and wide. The pupils were a solid shade of off-yellow. A sickly swath of jaundice that pooled in his misshapen sclera.
The other was just as unsettling. Her smile stretched nearly across her entire head. I say ‘smile’, but in truth it was a black gash across her lower face, slightly skewed as if done by a God’s unsteady hand as he gazed at his abhorrent creation.
These two figures followed me for years. Everywhere I went, I saw these two… atrocities following me close behind. Always staring, never speaking. As I slept, I could feel these two diminutive hellspawns peering directly into my very soul.
No one else seemed to pay them much mind. Soon, I learned to shut up about the figures, lest my colleagues think me insane. I spent years hiding from them. Moving across the country, only to find them sitting in my backseat. You understand, don’t you? You’ve seen their faces, they are not human. You know why I had to do this, right?
My friends pushed me to therapy. I couldn’t stand it anymore. And I locked myself in my bathroom for a week. They banged against the door. The neighbors, they heard. They called the police and finally… Someone saw the monsters too. The police carted them away and took me into their care. They told me I’d be safe.
But just as always… As soon as I was released from my cozy vacation, they returned. The policeman pushed them gently towards me, and told me I was to take care of them.
When a monster comes into your home, you protect yourself. I told you this before. Can you let me out of these cuffs? My wrists hurt. Murder? No… I would never.
I killed monsters!
Why do you keep calling them my children?
Mother of the Swarm
By G.J. H.
The great mother throned at the centre of the hive, a chitin covered behemoth in the midst of crawling chaos. She had grown larger and larger, and so had her hive. Hundreds of her children swarmed around her, the air abuzz with the old ones, the ground covered with the newly born. The swarm counted millions now and she was still growing.
Another cocoon burst open at her back and new-born children poured out. She lashed at them with her scythe-like claws und cut the slowest of them to pieces.
Her children had learned to keep distance to their mother. Around her was a section of empty floor, a death zone occupied only by the mother and the corpses of her offspring. And into this death zone a new-born entered. It looked strange, unlike the others it had a fully formed carapace and its front legs had the form outward facing scythes. A Female!
The mothers Claw crashed down tearing a hole into the ground. But the female was already gone. It darted forward, narrowly evading another swipe from its mothers claws, then jumped. It landed on a cocoon, still embedded deep within her mothers flesh. The cocoon burst open and immature children started to wiggle themselves forth. The mother let out an anguished shriek, frantically trying to cut the female to pieces, but it was to late. It raced up the mothers body and cut through the her spindly neck, ending the shrieking. The hive fell silent for a moment, then the children let out a deafening hissing sound. They hailed their new mother.
Look at you, writhing on the ground, clinging to hope when all is lost. What a miserable excuse of a hero you are. The king lay dead on his throne, slain by my hands. The hands of one you believe did not exist.
How many of them have you killed? How many monsters have you slain? Did you even notice that each foe was stronger than the last? As though someone was creating them, training them, and then setting them upon the world of man. Had the thought even crossed your mind that your enemies were not mere mindless man-eaters? Had it even occurred to you they might have a master?
Long have I watched you slay my children. Long have I watched you fight as the king’s knight. Although, you were more of the king’s slave. Not once did you question his word. You trusted him implicitly. You never once thought that he was lying to you. That the king was the true evil of this world.
Mindlessly you slaughtered my children over and over and over again. Each time I wept for their passing and vowed to breed greater abominations to contend with you, the king’s champion. But when you had slain my strongest, I was beset with grief. In that moment I learned there was no foe who could put you to the sword.
So instead I put you to my tongue, my words. I created a beast that would lull you into my fold and slowly reveal to you fragments of a truth veiled behind the king’s deceit. I would bring you to your knees with inquisition. I would make you doubt your actions and face your worst fears and nightmares, ultimately culminating in this. The slaughter of your king. Tis a shame it came at the cost of your beloved comrades.
How many times did you save them? Did they ever return the favor? That’s too bad. You’re all alone now at the end of things. Alone with me, the Mother of All Monsters. Yet you resist the clutch of death. You are his kin.
Sorrow
By TheAssassin
Through the dust and sand, the woman trod alone. None came to help her, for in their eyes simmered only scorn. Not even pity came as she passed the people she might’ve once called friends. They knew of her, but they knew also of her son, and well, after what he’d done…
Weeping, she entered the jailhouse looking for him. She knew what he did, but maybe…
No.
She understood why she came.
Hidden in the darkened corner, rocking back and forth on the ground, cried her son: The monster. Her dear son, so earnest, so innocent, so pure. Once. What kind of broken world can turn someone so good into something so wicked?
“Arthur? My son?” She said, hesitant and mournful as if her son had died already. In his spirit at least, he was dead. A poor soul shattered by society and pushed to the edge. His were the sins committed, but this word – it claimed ownership over men such as he.
“Mama,” whimpered the man, voice hoarse from penitent tears. “Mama, I… Oh mama…” He collapsed into her arms and she cradled him, letting him melt his pain in her warmth. His woe, genuine though it may be, would never be understood by the world. They would hate him forever. He wept and wept in her arms, holding her tight. He truly regretted what he did. Maybe hope still remained…
No.
She understood why she came.
“Arthur,” she said, looking into his wide, teary eyes. “My sweet boy.” She smiled weakly.
“Mama, I messed up. Oh mama, I messed up so bad!” His words came laden with sobbing. “Mama, can you help me? I wanna get better mama, please…”
She rubbed his back and kissed his forehead. “I’ll help you, my sweet boy, don’t worry. I’ll help you”
She understood why she came: To help him.
She stabbed him in the gut.
He looked up at her confused and betrayed.
“I’ll help you, son, by saving you from yourself”
There is only one way to help a monster and it doesn’t come from love.
Oh, Mother
By tryman159
Edited by : Monster Mother Luna
”Oh, Mo…ther…” said the creature holding a skull on his forehead, choking on every word.
”Yes…yes. Today was your….birthday. Yes, yes. I know, I know. Mary won’t be joining today. Yes. She said she was sorry, but still. Gnnn…Mother, please! The ra…ke?” He raised his head.
”It’s…it’s over there, Mother, but why? Yes, yes, we need to make them… grow. Cannot grow strong without your vegita… vegetra… vega… graaaahh,” yelled the angered horror. ”That word… graaahh!!”
Taking a bone from one of his piles, he ravaged through his surroundings in anger.
”RAAHHHH. Holes and dirt. HOLES AND DIRT!! Like cake. Yes, cake… The same thing I heard the voices say.” Still exhuming more buried fallacies.
”They did it, Mother! They made the cake. They ate it and they laughed. YAAAA.” The pale being stopped his hazardous carnage.
”I tried to–to join. But they–they yelled. All but you,…Mother…Yes, you came… came came to us-ME…Introduced me….” It turned its head back to the skull now alone on the highest pile of bones.
”But Brad and Mary were crying in the corner. I…I did what brothers do. I came to Brad and fought… a bit. He was rusty… Yes, must be… Since he collapsed, bloodied. Ohhhh… Mother, the cheers! Mary did… she did. Rivers flowing from her blue sea…”
He bent to be at Mother’s level.
”Why, Mother? Why did you take the rake?”
Spasms circulated through its bald body. Its mouth gaped for air with what remained of its
mangled teeth. Tears of raven’s blood left its hollowed sockets.
”Ahhhh!!” A shriek of mutilated voices echoed behind it.
Looking back toward the end of the concrete room, a young and heavily pregnant woman laid. Her hands and feet were bound to the remnants of a rusty metal bed.
It crawled towards the young lady. Black bile leaving a large, heavy trail.
”She will be perfect like Mother.”
He reached the bed and rubbed the woman’s belly slowly with its gooey black hand, formed a circle ending in a downward arrow.
”This one is Sarah, Mother. She will help with… the children, Mother.”
Chronicles of The Dragon: Truth Revealed
By Makokam
She stood transfixed, watching as one of the greatest heroes on earth fought brutally against someone she thought she knew so well. Their blows knocked each other across streets and through buildings. They moved too fast for the camera to catch at times, only brief pauses when they spoke to the other allowed the camera to catch their faces.
Never could she have imagined his eyes to be so full of rage, or that she would see him so viciously attack another person.
He looked up and glared into the camera, before raising his hand to it. There was a flash of light and the video cut out. A moment later the video continued from a different angle, a smoking helicopter limped away from the fight in the background.
“What’cha watching Mom?”
She turned the TV off and turned to her Daughter, “Oh, just the news Jostica. What would you like for dinner?”
“Take out?”
“No.”
Jostica shrugged, “I don’t care then,” and left.
She turned back to the television and turned it back on. He was standing over Ultima, black scales now speckling his body, his eyes glowing like balls of flame, and black wings unfurling from his back. He lifted Ultima from the ground by their hair. He restrained one of their arms while the other tried to pry his grip from their hair, then pulled their arm left and their head right, opened his mouth wide and–
She gasped and turned away, covering her face.
“We’re sorry for what you almost saw,” the news Anchor said. She could hear the tremble in their voice. “We will come back once the fight has concluded and clean up has started.”
She didn’t care. She’d seen enough.
Her son was a monster.
Confessions
By CosmicDesperado30
Well, congratulations. You found all the right locks to all the right keys and have the woman behind the curtain here, all pinned and mounted like a prized big mouth bass. What is it you want? An execution? Or perhaps…information? A way to finally make the shadows and the unknown perfectly safe? The answers witch which to kill the monsters under your bed?
Very well, I confess. I confess that most of my children have been gone for quite sometime. Staked through the heart. Slain with silver. Blasted to ash by shotguns loaded with salt and cat’s eye shells.
As for those shadows you’re so inclined to purge, you’ve filled them in quite nicely yourselves.
It started simple enough. The inquisitions, the crusades, the witch trials; that idea the devil walked among you. I was scared for my progeny, until I realized you were only harming yourselves. Imagining anything to put the fear of my kind on to the faces of your own brothers and sisters.
I confess. I just whispered a few simple words to dissuade you from my kin. Heretics. Blasphemy. Spectral Evidence. Everything else that came afterwards? That was all you.
Then that infernal contraption called the internet happened, and once again I expected a reckoning. Cameras everywhere, people in contact with each other at all times, culture, knowledge, and wisdom at the press of a button. It would be the great unifier for your kind.
Or at least it would have, if I didn’t remember that this was humanity I was dealing with. All I had to do was to find the right people to attach the claws and fangs on to, then simply stand back and watch. I’ve seen the tools that work from across your history, I simply updated them. This secret group wants to take away everything you hold dear. The very leadership you live under feeds you lies like the earth is round.
I confess, my older children haven’t been active for a while. As for you, my youngest of sons and daughters, you are making mother very proud….
Better Than Before
By Zerokz
He curled up on his bed, his chest heaving. Sure, Eligh was tired, but he was more shocked than anything else. His mind raced, trying to recount everything that happened. He wanted to will it away, everything that he had done, seen and, and—
He started crying. At first, it was soft and slow, but the more and more he wiped his tears away, the harder they seemed to fall.
“Sweetie..?”
Eligh’s head jolted up. He rubbed his eyes and suppressed his tears. His mom couldn’t see him like this.
“Eligh, what’s wrong?” She placed a hand on his cheek and looked at his red, puffy eyes. “Have you been… crying?”
Eligh turned his head away. “No,” he said bluntly.
“You know you can’t lie to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”
Eligh turned away and crossed his arms. His fist curled up in anger towards his mother, but fear and love simultaneously told him to let go.“I saw what you did,” he mumbled, “And what my little bro did. A-a-and what I almost did.” His mother shut her mouth, and raised her head a little higher, shooting her son’s turned back a glare. Eligh’s hands shook in front of his face, “We’re monsters,” he whispered.
“No!” His mother raised her voice. “It’s your damn father who’s a monster! He got us stuck like this.” Eligh shook at her loud voice, and she frowned. “Please don’t blame yourself. We…we are creatures, never monsters. Don’t call yourself that.”
“But—people died, mama,” Eligh tucked his knees under his chin.
“You don’t have any blood on your hands, er, well paws,” she sighed and mumbled, “Your brother and I do…”
“Still, I don’t wanna be a werewolf.” Eligh whimpered.
His mother pulled him into an embrace, “You don’t have to be… we’ll figure out this curse. Okay, honey?”
“Okay.” Eligh smiled at his mother’s reassurance, and hugged her tighter.
Allure
By NocteVesania (Public Group Repost)
Being an awkward loser, I was comfortable living along, but with my old college friends finding love, I eventually found myself feeling lonesome in my empty apartment. So, after hearing about online dating, I went and tried it out.
That’s when I found her profile. Her long black hair was accentuated by her alluring blood-red lips. Her bright green eyes stared at mine with a sense of want. She was calling me. I mustered up my courage and sent her a message. She replied, and, after some back-and-forth, we were making plans for dinner.
We met up at a nice restaurant. She had a shyness in her voice, but I assured her I wasn’t planning anything weird. She laughed while I slightly died inside. She later offhandedly mentioned her ex-husband. When I pressed on, she refused to say more, calling him a devil and changing the subject.
She asked me how I felt about kids, and I told her I liked them. She confessed she has two precious little angels. I said I’d love to meet them. She smiled coyly.
After dinner, I offered to take her home. I ordered a bit more food to go. “For the little ones,” I said. After all, I needed to impress her with my thoughtfulness. Looking back, I probably could have done that in a more normal way.
When we got to her doorstep, she offered me to stay the night. I refused, saying I might disturb the kids. She smiled and said they’re probably still awake.
She opened the door and called out. “Kids, mommy’s home! I brought dinner!”
The “dinner” part should have rung some bells in my head since I’m pretty sure it was 2 in the morning. It was too late when I saw them, those nasty little ghouls, sprinting towards the doorway. I tried to scream as they dug their sharp nails into my leg and pulled me inside, but she had already pushed the door shut.
The last thing I remember was seeing her lick her blood-red lips. “Thanks for dinner,” she said in a sultry voice.
The Riot
By MasaCur
Warden Sinclair held the pistol in his hand, a second pistol on his desk. The pounding on the door of his office was starting to splinter the heavy oak door. The door split open and inmates from the State Ward of the prison swept into the office. Sinclair fired, sending four shots flaring out into the mob bursting in.
Sinclair threw the pistol, then grabbed the pepperbox revolver off his desk, but was quickly overwhelmed by the most violent of Newgate’s prisoner population.
Magnus Van Nilsson stepped into the warden’s office with a swagger. “Warden Sinclair! How pleasant to see you today.” He stroked his mustache with a smirk.
“You won’t get away with this, Van Nilsson!” Sinclair spat. “Her Majesty’s army will descend on this prison within the hour. If you think that–”
Van Nilsson smacked Sinclair with the back of his hand. “You underestimate me, Warden. You think that I didn’t plan this out? I knew how to defeat your prison. I have bested your guards. And I will walk out of here before anything happens.” He turned to the prisoners restraining Sinclair. “Bring him to the cell block.”
Sinclair saw that Van Nilsson’s men had released all the prisoners from the State Ward, and had restrained the guards. At least those that still remained alive.
“Did one of you grab Sinclair’s pistol?” Van Nilsson asked.
“Aye!” called one of the men holding Sinclair.
“Excellent!” Van Nilsson laughed. “Execute any still alive.” He turned to Sinclair. “Will you join me as I address the prison?”
Sinclair angrily spat at Van Nilsson.
Van Nilsson laughed, then smashed his forehead into Sinclair’s eye, causing pain to shoot through the warden’s head.
Sinclair was marched up to the top railing.
“Thank you, my loyal men!” Van Nilsson announced. “I accept my position as your new warden. As Sinclair is fond of saying, I am now your mother, your father, your God! As the new warden, I charge you, Sinclair, on charges of unending cruelty.” He glanced at Sinclair, then down at the floor three stories down. “And your sentence: defenestration!”
There’s Nothing to Fear, Mommy’s Here
By Tan Saggu
Rushing forward, she approached the gates, praying she wasn’t too late. Adrenaline and fear propelled her through the doors to see the self-proclaimed hero and her baby boy. Her son was at the man’s feet, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes craned towards her. He slowly reached out a misshapen claw and whispered;
“Mommy?” Before the Hero plunged his sword deep into his chest and her son’s hand fell to the floor. A single tear rolling down his cheek as the life faded from his big grey eyes.
“No! How dare you?! HOW DARE YOU!?” She roared.
“Pardon?” He slowly turned around. Staring at the woman, slack-jawed in confusion before relaxing seeing the older woman.
“Get off of him.” Her voice barely above a whisper.
“Excuse me ma’am?”
“Get your disgusting foot off of my son. Right. NOW!” She lunges at the hero hurtling straight towards him. On reflex he jumps back just narrowly avoiding her. He readies himself for further action, still exhausted from his earlier battle. Instead she laid there, sobbing. Clutching the body of the same monster that killed over a hundred villagers and had razed several small towns. She stayed there, hugging his monstrous form and begging for him to wake up.
“Good woman, why do you weep for such a demon? Have you not heard of his many sins? Of how many decent people that have lost their lives to such a monster?”
Her head slowly rotated to face him, her face malformed from sheer, unbridled rage. The malice radiating from her, filling the room and forcing him to take a step back. Never before had he seen such fury, such anguish etched on someone’s face.
“He.”
“Is.”
“My.
“SON!”
The hero began to quake with terror and slowly took a few careful steps towards the gates. The woman’s bloodshot eyes, drenched in despair, closed. When they reopened, they had changed and her hands started to crack and grow. Until her claws formed.
They are Mine
By MysteryElement (also in private)
I am wrenched from the nightmare with such violence I find myself sitting upright on waking. Struggling to fill my lungs, my chest tight from either too much or too little breathing, I leave my rumpled comforters and walk through the darkness with practiced steps. Light blooms across my studio with the flick of a switch, hurting my tired eyes, showcasing many canvases which I ignore as I take my seat. I could not look at them. I had to keep the image of my terror pure.
I try my best not to fully wake, not yet, as I accumulate the colors I need and begin painting. I have always struggled with nightmares, visceral nightmares. Some of my friends over the years have called them night terrors, and they may be right, but naming them did not stop them from coming. Casting my brush across the canvas, the colors this time vivid and the strokes harsh, it creates an almost savage image.
I had started painting them when the images followed me into my waking hours. Whether gore, fear, unsettling or any other kind of terror, the memories would haunt me through my day bringing tremors to my hands and tears to my eyes without warning or precedence. Painting them, giving them a physical shape, felt almost like expelling them from within me.
I finish my newest creation with a sigh, and regard with a calculating eye. I feel satisfied with the visage and the likeness to my nightmare I have conveyed. I cast my eyes across my other creations with a possessive pride, the macabre display of my fear and terror taking up almost every empty space on the wall. I would have to make room for this one.
“Her” (if picked give my spot to Calliope Rannis)
By Arith_Winterfell
We are made in symbols and bound by them. I remember her eyes, my lust, the ecstasy of her fangs. She was my Mistress then and I gave myself to her. I accepted her baptism of blood, that inversion of the promise of divine blood’s eternal life. Both kinds of life eternal lead through death, but the vows of the holy linger in waiting. What I gained was promises fulfilled, a lusty blood of animal passions.
I felt I loved her after that, and it was not long after I turned that I was sent away to perform a task. A task to punish a woman I didn’t know, whose beauty had offended my Mistress. It seemed an important calling at the time. While I was traveling though, I could feel a sudden change in my mind. My former Mistress was dead, and I could sense that because an illusion in my mind vanished. I saw now that I had been under her spell, a slave to a petty woman who wanted me to kill to satisfy her vanity. I could feel my shame in this. I had been her slave for a long time. I thought I loved her and that she favored me. I was simply a toy cast aside. She had loved no one but herself. Out of my shame at my own weakness in slavery, and out of the raging in my blood, I swore I would be a master instead of slave.
Later I learned confirmation of what I had suspected. A party of vampire hunters had descended upon her lair and slain all they found there. By chance, my task had saved me from such a fate. She may have been a petty woman, but the blood she gave me was far more ancient than her. I hear its bestial song and will fill its longing with the warm penetration of flesh by fang. In symbols am I bound, in death that gives life.
Mother of Monsters
By Chengir
The bell above the door rang as Mordechai entered the store. He looked a fright. His clothes were torn in numerous places. Around the holes in his garments, there was caked blood. Wisps of twisted smoke rose from his shoulders. Louis could hardly make out his robe’s original colors under the black dirt and soil marks. Mordechai had a smell about him which more resembled an unwashed cat than a master of the mystical energies.
Louis had been working at the Emporium of Magical Arts since he was sixteen. It had always been a fashionable place. Only the best practitioners shopped at this little boutique hidden near the south corner of Batty Street. The walls were lined with the glowing hues of mystic potions. There was no finer collection of newt eyes on the entire European continent.
Leaning over, Mordechai placed his hands on his knees as the door shut behind him. It took a moment for him to catch his breath. “I thought the Bandersnatch was bad,” he wheezed.
“Bandersnatch?” Louis inquired as he lit another stick of incense to cover up the overwhelming cat smell. Since Mordechai had entered the air tasted like the bottom of a cat box.
“Large creature,” Mordechai muttered, “Lots of teeth and fur.”
“I know,” Louis responded holding his nose, “I hadn’t heard of any of them being in town. Is there a convention of some sort?”
“Not one I’m aware of.” Mordechai finally managed to stand. “I was merely trying to explain how this creature was far worse than the dreaded Bandersnatch. In fact, I’ve fought demons with far less gumption and bravado.” He was still huffing and puffing from the exertion he’d used to kill the thing.
This was until I saw him peek outside as if he was checking to see if he’d been followed into the store. “What was it?” I asked with a certain amount of trepidation.
“I believe… let me think… ah, yes… I believe they said it was a weasel.”
“A weasel? for a minute there I almost wet myself.”
A Humble Request
by Matthew (Handsome Johanson)
To whom it may concern,
Some of the more astute observers among you may have noticed an uptick in the amount of robot invasions recently. I must assure you that resistance is futile. My babies are tough and will not show any mercy. It is better for you to just quit now, while you are ahead.
You may have repelled the first invasion, and the second invasion, and the third invasion, and the fourth, BUT YOU SHALL NOT REPEL THE FIFTH. My fifth generation of robots have less exposed self-destruct buttons, no on/off switches, higher kill limits, correctly installed inertial guidance systems, AND a cooler and more intimidating exterior. There is nothing you can do to stop them now!
Some of you have asked: “Why? Why are we being attacked by a very attractive and very smart woman and her army of beautiful robots?” Well, I shall tell you. Let these words fill your heart with grief and push you to make the right decision: immediate surrender.
When I was young, I was a very ambitious girl. To get ahead, I did what the other kids were doing: I would try to take their students’ lunch money, I would call people names and I would start fights. But I was too small to ever make a difference. I people looked down on me instead of treating me like the queen I am.
A very sad story, I know. If you wish to surrender now, I won’t blame you. If you are truly heartless enough to continue resisting, I have only this message to give you:
I AM NO LONGER TOO SMALL TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.
With my fifth generation of kill-bots, there is no possible way you can resist me! Please send all surrender requests to YourNewQueen@gmail.com.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Signed,
The Mechanatress
Under a mother’s care
By Larissa (Lari B. Haven)
Zoella dragged her own body from the mangrove’s mud, exhausted.
“Daughter, I came to your aid.” She heard a voice that she only had recollections of.
“Mom!” She mouthed.
Zoella’s mother appeared younger and elegantly adorned. The white dress framing her obsidian skin tone, creating a heavenly radiance. She swiftly lifted her from the mud-water like a plume. And embraced her tightly.
“Am I dead?” Zoella asked under her breath, too frail to utter words.
“Not yet. But when her infant cries, a mother comes. Even from beyond the grave.” Her mother smiled at her and laid Zoella’s head on her lap.
The transformation was rough and turning back was making Zoella throw up dark muck stuck in her throat. She felt like her body was crumbling.
Her mother patiently cleaned her daughter’s face with salt water. Cleaning the sludge from her wounds.
“Mom, I ran away!” Zoella’s tone was filled with pain. “I was certain that this time I would have it under control. But last night…”
“The curse had its way. I know.”
“The thing I become…” Zoella felt a revulsion from the memory. “How can I break it?”
“Sadly, you can’t. The curse reveals the monsters we have, but shelter away.”
She threw the rest of the saltwater over her body and Zoella let out painful grunts. The wounds were profound in her torso and legs; the scarring was so brutal, her mother wished it was her bearing instead.
“What if I turn and hurt them? My family?”
“It will happen if you keep preventing yourself from turning.” She then gave her a smile once again. “Be strong and accept it as part of you. They will understand.”
“No, only you can love me as a monster.” Zoella sheds a tear.
“I always did.” She responded.
They stare long into each other’s eyes, wishing to stay in that moment, but Zoella woke up soon after. The foamy seawater was washing away the dark sludge that was once covering her up.
From afar, the gallop of her husband’s horses approached.
Mother of Monsters
By Chengir
The bell above the door rang as Mordechai entered the store. He looked a fright. His clothes were torn in numerous places. Around the holes in his garments, there was caked blood. Wisps of twisted smoke rose from his shoulders. Louis could hardly make out his robe’s original colors under the black dirt and soil marks. Mordechai had a smell about him which more resembled an unwashed cat than a master of the mystical energies.
Louis had been working at the Emporium of Magical Arts since he was sixteen. It had always been a fashionable place. Only the best practitioners shopped at this little boutique hidden near the south corner of Batty Street. The walls were lined with the glowing hues of mystic potions. There was no finer collection of newt eyes on the entire European continent.
Leaning over, Mordechai placed his hands on his knees as the door shut behind him. It took a moment for him to catch his breath. “I thought the Bandersnatch was bad,” he wheezed.
“Bandersnatch?” Louis inquired as he lit another stick of incense to cover up the overwhelming cat smell. Since Mordechai had entered the air tasted like the bottom of a cat box.
“Large creature,” Mordechai muttered, “Lots of teeth and fur.”
“I know,” Louis responded holding his nose, “I hadn’t heard of any of them being in town. Is there a convention of some sort?”
“Not one I’m aware of.” Mordechai finally managed to stand. “I was merely trying to explain how this creature was far worse than the dreaded Bandersnatch. In fact, I’ve fought demons with far less gumption and bravado.” He was still huffing and puffing from the exertion he’d used to kill the thing.
This was until I saw him peek outside as if he was checking to see if he’d been followed into the store. “What was it?” I asked with a certain amount of trepidation.
“I believe… let me think… ah, yes… I believe they said it was a weasel.”
“A weasel? for a minute there I almost wet myself.”
Amsterdam, 1941
By Bemk
10-September-1941
Dear diary.
Ben and I are really considering pulling our children out of school. It’s difficult though. It would raise suspicions.
Maybe we’re lucky to have this choice though. Our neighbours haven’t been able to send their children to school at all. They can barely even open a window, lest they be discovered!
In the meantime the kids are learning things we really don’t agree with. Just today, Mark came home telling us how to tell if someone is a jew by looking at their nose. He seemed pretty enthusiastic about it too.
I think we’d be doing his brother Dolf a favour however. He is so eager to join his father in the resistance. We can’t let him of course. What if he gets hurt?
11-September-1941
Dear diary.
Thank god the kids were at school while this happened today. The neighbours in hiding got raided this morning and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
The agents weren’t gentle with them, treating them more like cattle than humans. They shoved them out into the streets. The adults were crammed into a truck, while the kids were lined up on the street before…
Those kids, they were so scared, and then they just got gunned down.
Ben’s mother is a jew. What if they come for her? What if they come for us next? Should we flee to England? Should we go into hiding?
12-September-1941
Dear diary.
I don’t know how to write this. If I should even write this.
Mark just came home. Proudly, with a smile on his face. He said he told the teacher. About the neighbours and about Ben’s resistance group.
What do we do now? Where do we hide? If they know about the resistance, we’re not safe there.
And what do we do with Mark?
Rat Mother
By Roman Rivero
The numerous rats in the sewer moved like a tidal wave of hairy consumption, feasting on anything they splashed on. From rotten garbage to the poor overworld critters that fell prey to sewer maws on their ground, the torrent of omnivorous rodents crashed through tunnels. And in the center of this underground storm of rats, lay the brood mother.
The motherly abomination was unlike her kin. Though you could tell she was a rat, save for her fat body that was as plump as a pig, but could only feed a handful of her children. The dozen extra appendages that scratched the concrete for she could swim through her sea of children like a general walking past soldiers. To her children she was the untouchable matriarch, and to herself, the apex predator of the dark world. And to the unsuspecting worker of the sewers, was once a story.
If only he saw the signs or listened closely in the tunnels. He never saw a single rat here, but he knew he could hear them. All tapping in the walls that tracked him. The tiny squeaking whispers as if they were plotting something for him. All leading to the one room they were waiting for him to enter in. A simple maintenance room. Completely covered in pipes.
Mother was hungry and so were the children.
He regretted closing the door. For he took the handle for granted.
Mother was hungry and so were the children.
He regretted seeing the first rat on a shelf. Thinking nothing of it, staring at him.
Mother was hungry and so were the children.
He regretted seeing the second rat, standing on the pipes.
Mother was hungry, and so were the children.
He regretted finding the rest, bursting out of the pipes.
Mother was hungry, and so were the children.
He regretted meeting Mother, for it was the last sight he ever saw.
Mother was hungry, and so were the children.
Mother of Monsters
By RVMPLSTLSKN (Repost from private)
Welcome, reader, though we haven’t time for pleasantries. Never enough, I say, but now especially; so listen close when I tell you that Sara breathed easy at last when the children were pounding on that plastic membrane. To say she felt harried–like you do when you’re late for work so you grab donuts only to learn everyone else started a diet–would be an understatement.
Sara was on the verge of breaking down, so she blinked away tears. That feeling faded for her, slowly, as the ‘timeout bubble’–so dubbed by the kids–muted their cries for attention.
She could only just hear them, roughly the same volume as you hear them now. What a wonderful invention, this ‘timeout bubble.’ What a wonderful modern world we live in. It’s impossible, of course, to be hurt by the membrane, so Sara just waves as the tots wale on the bubble.
Finally, they wear themselves out, get bored or otherwise move on.
Sara lays on the floor and breathes in the quiet. She hears a sound like knocking on a melon and looks to see Addie, the six year old, stabbing at the bubble with a toilet plunger.
“What are you doing?” Sara asks.
“Mom! Are you in timeout?”
Sara nods.
“Why?!” Addie isn’t scared, not really, but she feels like her reality is a lie. Adults aren’t subject to the rules of timeout.
“Because I need it.” Sara says.
Addie turns away suddenly, the plunger remains on the bubble. The hallway brightens, then fades into shadow again. The kids run toward it, shouting, ‘Daddy!’
Her husband is home and her peace crumbles into disappointment: she hadn’t made dinner yet. Not that it was expected. Jim would understand and it wouldn’t take long, but she always liked to not worry him with that detail.
Jim shambles down the hallway, kids on each limb. His head nods as the kids all talk. He’s smiling that tired smile he gets after long meetings and failed late-arrival donuts.
“I’m so sorry,” she tells him.
“Can I join you?” He asks.
And the kids scream as she accedes.
Mother’s Cradle
By Timberwolf
She loved her children. She had watched them take their first steps and speak their first words. At first they adored her and they loved her. Many of her children even worshiped her. But the early days were not to last. She watched her children grow older, and she watched them grow apart. They became distinct from one another; forming small groups that began to treat others as outsiders. It pained her to see them treat their different siblings with such contempt.
Inevitably they clashed again and again. They fought while all she could do was watch. It was not within her power to stop it. Many of her children died. Unbeknownst to those that still lived, she wept for the lost and the fallen. Her tears fell on deaf ears as the strife continued.
As time moved on, so did her children. They grew older and wiser. They stopped worshiping her and began to see her for who she really was. They thanked her for the life she had given them and they reconciled with their brothers and sisters. At long last her children would come together again. They explored her secrets, asked her about their origins. They learned from her. What she could give, her children would accept.
For all their lives, she gave her children everything she had. But she knew they would be her end eventually. Slowly everything she could give was no longer enough. Her children had grown even more and they had become hungry. Their hunger had become greater than what she could freely give, so they began to take. Slowly, piece by piece, they began to tear into her to satiate their relentless hunger. Some of her children knew, but there was nothing they could do.
Even as her children tore at her soil for her minerals, polluted her air with their industry, and fouled her waters with their waste, she could not bring herself to hate them. That is not what mothers do.
After all, her children were only human.
Found Family
By Preserves Roses
The ringing of the bell snapped Christine’s attention away from the lists of figures, in front of her. She stood stiffly, happy to have something to take her from her desk. She headed out to the little box built into the wall wondering about the poor frightened child that had been left to her care this time.
Christine made soothing noises as she carried the squirming bundle carefully into the large playroom of her little orphanage. As she entered the room all the children started running over looking for her attention. She stepped carefully so that she didn’t step on toes or tails as the children crowded in around her. She smiled at the sight of her darling children. She looked over the joyful group with every description of horn, and wing and tail imaginable. She heard the sound of hooves ringing off the floor as some of the children danced in glee. Many were calling out for her attention.
“Danu, Danu, what have you brought us?’
“Danu will you read us a story?”
“Danu look what I can do!”
She couldn’t remember the child who had first started calling her Danu, but many faces had called her by that name over many years. Children left with her by parents who were not prepared for the challenges of non-human children. She cared for every soul that was brought to her, and found magical homes for as many as she could.
Stepping to an empty crib she laid down her precious bundle and carefully unwrapped it to see who had come into her care. As the blankets fell away a purplish tentacle wrapped around her fingers. She looked at the squid-like alien face. The child started to babble in a strange language that made Christine’s ears hurt. Research; she was going to need to do some very urgent research. She had no idea what Eldritch Gods fed their children.
A Source of New Ills (Set in a still unnamed canon [name suggestions are welcome])
By Fredrick H. (Challeng3r22)
“Good evening, Miss Tarasque,” the elevator operator greeted the business woman.
“Please, Jim. Call me Lilian,” she responded.
In a few moments, she was inside her perfectly decorated and arranged apartment and was away from the prying eyes of society.
“Alfred,” she called.
“Yes, M’Lady,” the skeletal butler replied as he materialized beside her.
“I’m in the mood for a summoning. Please, bring the grimoire, my copy of the Universal Atlas, chalk in all colors, a pigeon, the sacrificial dagger, and a pot of tea out to the balcony.”
“I’ll have those out there, immediately.”
Alone again, she strode out onto the balcony, removed her jacket, and hung it over one of the chairs she had available. Just as she begun enjoying her now liberated movement, Alfred reappeared with a tea set laden tray in one hand and a stack of the other requested items on the other.
After he arranged the items on the table, the skeleton inquired, “Will that be all, M’Lady?”
“For the time being. You can begin on dinner now. I’m feeling something standard.”
After, thumbing through the Universal Atlas she found the chosen one was on her way home from the Eternal Library.
“Really, child. You should take better care of yourself and get home at a reasonable hour. Especially, considering that anyone with the proper information can track you down,” Lilian lectured the dot on the page.
With a sigh, she rolled up her sleeves and began work on summoning what would chastise the girl for her. In a matter of moments she had drawn the circle, recited the proper incantation, and made the blood sacrifice.
From the circle emerged a flock of imps.
“What are your orders?”
“Attack the chosen one, and ridicule her for being out so late.”
With their mission before them, they departed in a flock of hellish laughter. Finding herself drained, Lilian took a seat and a sip from her tea knowing they wouldn’t last long.
Perhaps, something with a human base would suffice.
“I wonder if Jim has any family that would miss him.”
Pass the Roast Third from the Left (crosspost)
By IsaDragon337
“Where’s the cumin?”
“Try the corner cabinet—”
“Can someone pull the green beans, please?”
Tiny Joe slithered through the busy kitchen. He was on a mission to find Grandmama. Maybe she was in the dining room?
“SO—you’re hogging the cinnamon already, Steve?” Cousin Merle lashed her tail, nearly tripping Tiny Joe. He scrambled away to Steve’s spluttering about how it was an appetizer. He giggled. Cousin Steve tried to pretend to be selfish, but he snuck Tiny Joe a whole cinnamon stick once. It was crunchy and tangy when he bit it.
“Ah, Tiny Joe!” He was suddenly swept up from under the tall-one’s stool by Uncle Marco’s taloned hands. “How is the little terror?”
“Put me down! I’m a big monster!”
He laughed. “Run along now, don’t want you lost underfoot!”
Tiny Joe scampered. Uncle Marco was huge, but he liked picking up Tiny Joe and he didn’t like that. He was a big monster!
Where was Grandmama? Tiny Joe went for the living room. Grandmama was—
There she was!
Grandmama was the oldest family there. She had deep wrinkles in her face, and her hands were thin-skinned and boney. She was wrapped in one of Great-Aunt-Calli’s shed skins, putrid green but warm. Tiny Joe giggled. It almost looked like Grandmama had a lumpy caterpillar body!
“…and then your old grandmama pulled out the cast-iron frypan, and wacked your great-grandpapy upside the snout,” she told her captivated audience of grandchildren. “He came back the next day with a freshly baked cake, and a new pan. And that is how we met.”
“Grandmama! Grandmama!”
“Is that Joe?” She squinted through her glasses.
“It is!” He jumped up into her lap, claws catching on her dress.
“I almost didn’t recognize you! You’ve gotten so big!” She laughed.
“Grandpappy wants you to come to the table, dinner’s starting soon!” With that, Tiny Joe darted off on six tiny wings.
Sarah pushed herself to her feet, and made her way to the table. If only her mother could see her now—a human in a family of monsters, imagine that!
Necessary Evils
By RedStein
Skoantis sat on her antique wooden chair, as she weaved her next creation. Umbriel, her little brother walked to her, hoping to see what she was up to. The toddler stumbled, which amused Skoantis. She picked Umbriel up and lifted him up to eye level.
“How are you today Umbriel? Did you eat enough of your vegetables?” The sister asked with a charming smile. “I don’t like veggies. It tastes yucky!” Umbriel whined at her with a massive pout. “Are you making things for humans again?” Umbriel asked.
“Indeed I am! Would you like to see what I made?” Skoantis asked. Umbriel responded with excited nods. She held her brother over an empty charred tree stump, which has crystal-like water. The reflective image of her brother’s face changed into images of Earth.
These images are flickering at a fast pace, quicker than a lightning bolt. A heavy heart is weighing over Skoantis seeing these. Images of dancing flora, ebbing away at the hands of time. Mighty landforms, holding lavish cities, crumbling to dust. Harmonious oceans turning into raging beasts. Weeping clouds covering the world in twilight.
After a moment, the water returns to its reflective surface. Skoantis sits down, as Umbriel sits on her lap. He looks up to her with child-like wonder. “Why do you create things that make humans sad? Why did father tell you to do this?”
Skoantis knew her little brother would ask that question sooner or later. With a guilty sigh, Skoantis pats her little brother. “I don’t like it myself if I am being honest.” She admitted to him. “Then don’t do it! Be happy!”
Her heart throbbed at the toddler’s innocent remark. “Without destruction, nothing new will be created. Without destruction, humans cannot learn.” She explained to Umbriel. Skoantis knew this was necessary. Tears rolled down her eyes, as her mind lingered on the guilt.
Umbriel embraced her tightly. Skoantis hugged her brother back, as the heavy toll on her heart momentarily washed away.
Thus, we were born monstrous (Darkspell Universe; renamed from Armitage Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)
Daniel stood alone in a spacious hall of Rosewood House, lined with portraits. Through the open window came the crisp autumn air and the sweet scent of roses. His gaze wandered over the portraits, to avoid meeting his mother’s gaze.
“The girl, Mia, told me what happened in Lockton,” she said, her voice neutral. “After Scott-“
“That’s not it, mum,” Daniel replied.
“I see. This is about Victoria, isn’t it?”
Daniel said nothing.
“Her death was over two months ago now,” Mrs. Armitage continued, “But I’ll understand, if-“
“Oh you do, do you?” he cut her off. “Well, that’s good to know.”
She raised her eyebrow.
“I grieved for her too, you know,” Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “But that isn’t why I’m here.”
“Spare me, mum. Spare me the talk about responsibility and being an Armitage. Just… spare me.”
“Victoria’s death was not-“
“Don’t! Don’t you dare, tell me what was my fault and what wasn’t!”
His eyes briefly flashed purple.
“If you feel the need to lash out at me, I’ll understand. Despite of what I am, what we are, I am still your mother.”
Daniel said nothing. He breathed heavily, trying to calm down.
“Give me a briefcase,” he said, his voice breaking.
“No. Victoria’s death was an accident. I will not punish someone, who cannot be held accountable. Besides, I need you.”
“There it is.”
“The world doesn’t stop to allow you to grieve forever. Like it or not, you have responsibilities now.”
“So I’m just supposed to grin and bear it? I can’t mum, I’m sorry. I can’t be, what you want me to be.”
“If you need more time, then take it. Emily can take over for now. But remember, you are still my son. And as such-“
“We’re monsters, my siblings and I, I know.”
“From a crude point of view, yes,” she turned to leave: “Be watchful, Daniel. The world is advancing and hiding is getting more and more difficult. I’d hate to outlive another child so soon.”
Daniel remained in the hall, now completely alone.
Messy Drive
by Toyloli
[ I just kinda threw this together, not my best work ]
“NOOO NOOO, MUUM BEE IS SLIMING ALLL OVER ME!”
“You’re a boy aren’t you? Slime her back!”
Beatie had started spreading out again, goo stretching across the back seat and into the boy’s clothes and shoes. It took a moment for him to notice but he caterwauled when he did,
“BEEEEEE!” Drawing small circled with his fingers gusty air whiped up inside the car, plastering Beatie’s slimy body against the window.
“ENOUGH!” the other woman in the passenger seat scowled her response.
“Can’t you two Stop Bickering!” Gesturing with her hands the witch pushed the two children together, Owen, who had been poking Bee’s goo all morning was still belted into the seat but Beatie’s body merged through the belts and smooshed into the boy. He caterwauled again.
“IT’s ICKY!”
Rebecca sighed, relaxing the spell and Beatie, gesturing a huff, returned to her side of the car. Hands forming sign language she commented.
“Gimme my goo back!” and trails of ooze peeled away from the boy’s skin.
The driver sighed, “You know I could have just opened a dimensional door to some other-world forest? Do we have to camp in this world?”
“And have to content with blood thirsty creatures?”
The two older women looked at each other, then laughed,
“Okay if they keep bickering I might agree with you.”
“Your husband took the easy way with the utility,”
“MUUUM! She’s out of her seatbelt again!”
Rebecca sighed, turning around in her seat.
“Okay, okay Beatie lets try this. I’ve been meaning to teach Owen sign language so lets turn it into a game!”
Kirsty looked back in the rear vision mirror to see their response, two hands still on the wheel, she used a third hand to open the compartment between the seats.
“I think I have a beginners book in here.” she replied, “Good idea sis!”
The book was found, and a game started, Bee would create shapes in her goo, Owen and Beccy Practicing different signs for the animal, object or spell buff. Keeping two kids busy on a boring ride was hard.
Unprepared Sacrifice
by Lunabear
The frigid wind howls outside of the rundown tavern. The scant amount of patrons ring the few tables. None of them speak.
The bartender wipes down the scarred, wooden bar. His brow is furrowed, and his mood is pensive.
A distant roar shakes the tavern. It sounds hollow, yet guttural.
Once the glasses stop rattling, the room releases a collective sigh of relief.
The door bursts open to a white flurry and an armored silhouette. All eyes are transfixed to this newcomer as they slam the door and make their way to the bar.
The barkeeper sizes up the lanky traveler suspiciously. “What can I do you fer, Stranger?”
The helmet is removed, and gray hair tumbles free. It rests against muscular shoulder blades. A jagged scar tracks diagonally through one eye.
“I come seeking to slay the mountain monster who terrorizes your village.”
A glass shatters. A few of the patrons gape.
“I have slain many beasts and savages from innumerable lands. More than likely, the monster that lives in this region is similar to ones I have already exterminated. Point me in its direction.”
“Y-you don’ wanna–”
“Venture there? Nonsense! I LIVE for the hunt!” The Stranger brandishes an arrowhead and sends it smashing into the shelved glasses above the barkeeper’s head. He ducks at the last moment, shielding his head with his arms.
“Ahem.” A chair scrapes harshly across the warped wood as an elderly woman stands. “I shall take this capable newcomer to the creature’s lair.” She smiles sweetly.
The patrons stare at the old woman with incredible fear.
“Very good, then!”
No one objects when the woman leads the Stranger away.
***
“How long have you been hunting monsters, dearie?”
“Q-quite awhile. In fact, it’s been so long that I don’t even remember my first kill.”
The woman sets her narrowed gaze upon the Stranger.
The Stranger fidgets.
“Right at the top there, then.”
The Stranger gives an overconfident laugh. “I shall slay the creature before sundown!” The Stranger begins their unsteady climb.
Another roar resounds.
“Don’t fret, my sweets. Dinner’s on its way up.”
Nothing good comes from hate.
By: MDC (Michael Case)
Lovely Lilly walked out of her house like she did every Sunday. She avoided the people walking to church and would head to the park and sit there talking to her baby.
Everyone said that she seemed like the perfect mother. Her little baby would coo and kick around in the bassinet, though at the time, nobody ever claimed to have seen the baby.
The rumor back then was that she was victimized by somebody, nobody knew much more than that. Months later she started walking to the park every Sunday with her bassinet and sat in the park.
After a few years had passed, people started to talk since she would still go to the park every Sunday with her baby. It didn’t seem natural that she still had a child, who should have been able to walk on its own, ride around in the same bassinet.
Some of the people that would approach her at the park would notice that she would cover up her child so that nobody could see it. Though these same people still complained about a smell, they also said that the child sounded like a baby cooing and happily kicking under the covering.
One day while the woman was walking to the park, like she did every Sunday, she was struck by a car, killing her. The poor man driving the car ran out to check on her but saw something in the bassinet that caused him to run away from the scene.
A few of the people that would normally have walked to church that day, stood around shocked at what happened next. The child in the bassinet crawled out from under the cloth. The infant was covered from head to toe in rotting skin, bones were protruding from the child’s body, and it crawled on to the now dead mother and just started feasting on the body.
After that day the park closed down, the church shut its doors, and every Sunday nobody would go outside. That child was never recovered. Nobody even tried.
Arachne
By: VeryBoringName
She was still having the remains of her partner coursing through her system, providing nourishment as she haven’t moved for days, it must have been a week by now, just a couple more. She moved one of her spindly legs across the velvety smooth line it was hanging on to by the power of the grip of her minuscule claws to better protect the sack made from similar white lines, but unlike those she was hanging onto, the insides of that sack were now teeming with slowly developing life.
Second week, she was feeling hungry, more than ever before as she hasn’t moved from the hexagon hanging in between two small branches of what to her would be a titanic plant in scale, she could feel as the egg sack beneath her slowly awakened. Her fangs moved a bit, scraping the thick chitin on both of them, she sensed vibrations under her feat, prey or opponent either way, it will be enough to sustain her for the next week, she carefully moved around, to spot a big, greenish, six legged being with it’s red eyes panicking and see-through veined wings flapping around as it got stuck in her web, she moved quickly, dragging the precious sack with her as she plunged her fangs into the fly and feed off of it.
Yet another week passed by, she was restless, it could happen at any point, she knew what would happen after it, then she felt a small but noticeable bite on her eight leg, as miniature fangs for the first time plunged themselves into flesh of another being, and more and more and more. Soon most of her eyes were surrounded by her ravenous offspring, as the little spiderlings began feeding off of her mother, piercing the chitin of her abdomen, legs and cephalothorax, she accepted her fate as pedipalp and fangs lowered themselves as her life ended under a hundred small bites.
And on a small spider web in a bush a spider died, and the offspring scuttled about, being carried on the wind, and life moved on.
I Know a Great Sushi Place!
By Marx
“Matthew…” She purred, running her finger down his chest. “So nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Lilith.” Matt grumbled, refusing to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her forwardness. “I assume you know why I’m here?”
“You aren’t just here for a social call? You wound me, Matthew. I thought we were closer than that.” Lilith giggled before making a show of looking up thoughtfully. “However… Word around the campfire is that you’ve been having demon trouble. An incubus, to be specific… “
Matt’s eyes narrowed into a scowl. He HATED mind games and Lilith excelled in them. Dealing with her always came with a price. Coming to her was a last resort and she knew it. But just when he began to speak, Lilith continued.
“You know… as the mother of incubi… among other things, I have influence over my progeny. Had you just accepted my earlier offer for an alliance, this whole thing would be a non-issue.” Lilith commented, smiling a little too sweetly.
“That alliance came with strings.” Matt growled.
Lilith stuck out her lips into a pout. “Oh, come now… I’m not so bad, am I? And Lucifer is a sweetheart once you get to know him.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “I avoid deals with people who have monikers like the deceiver and the lord of lies.”
Lilith threw her head back into a loud laugh. “Oh Matthew. How I’ve missed your wide-eyed innocence. Might I point out that Heaven tried to kill you purely because of YOUR bloodline? No one’s an angel. Not even the angels.”
Matt grit his teeth. She made a good point, but that is what she does. She twists the truth. The best liars do. “Enough. I would… appreciate your help. I’m open to negotiate-”
“No.” Lilith interrupted. “Doesn’t work that way, Sweety. You know what we want. You join us, I’m all yours. That’s the deal. The only deal.”
“Then we’re done.” Matt grunted, storming out of the office.
“Don’t leave angry, Matthew! It’s just business!” Lilith yelled after him. “You should call ahead next time! We can do brunch!”
“A Child’s Curiosity” (Sword Isles)
By Connor A.
“Papa, who’s the ‘Mother of Monsters?’”
The Heartless Lord paused, silently cursing at the obvious falter in his writing. He took a breath, looked at the young Tasha, then spoke, “First, you do not call her that. Her name is Valerie.”
Tasha nodded. She held back a giggle when the Heartless Lord stood and picked her up. He walked out of the room, presumably to attend to other affairs.
“Second, little heart,” he tapped Tasha’s nose once, “she was my wife.”
“‘Was?’”
“Which Wyld is responsible for such a title? I will have to have a word with them.”
“Papa, what happened to her?”
He did not look directly at Tasha. “I assume she has a wonderful life, wherever she is. After she left my domain, I did not try to find her.”
The two stayed silent as they traveled through the halls.
“Papa.”
“Yes?”
“Why do they call her… that?”
The Lord stopped in front of a door and sighed. “Do you know the story of how humans received magic?”
Tasha gently poked at where her father’s heart should have been. “Your heart got thrown into a lake.”
The door opened to a long feasting table.
“That is the direct reason, yes. Do you know who took my heart?” The Heartless Lord walked into the room.
Tasha’s eyes widened. “Valerie?”
There was no response.
“Papa, why would she do that?”
“Her motivation is not my story to tell.”
“But—!”
The Heartless Lord’s eyes bore through his bandages in a way Tasha never saw before. “She is human, just like you. Humans are more prone to impulsive actions.”
Tasha looked away.
“What is important,” He spoke softer, “is that the other Wyld viewed the wizards that came from her actions as monsters. Hence Valerie’s undeserved title of ‘Mother of Monsters.’”
The child looked at the table for a moment, then back at her father. She decided to change the topic for his sake, “Can I help prepare the feast?”
The Heartless Lord gave his daughter a sad smile. “Of course.”
A Busy Bloodmother (Redeater Universe)
By Calliope Rannis
Katarina loved what she did. Watching her young grow up was by far the most satisfying thing in her long, long life.
But she had to admit that raising four kids within a year of each other was overstretching herself a tad.
“…and that’s everything about the Etchin bloodline. Now Angus, the Dinah bloodline you might find more interesting-” Katarina paused to snatch a few gulps of blood from the arm of her current donor, a quiet muscular man called Richard. “Thank you dear. Now as I was saying – what do you want Rosie?” she says distractedly, noticing her daughter’s nearby scent.
“I’m hungry.”
“Are you going to help feed Amy?”
“What? No!”
“Then you can wait for our dinner donor to get here. Richard is for me.”
A dramatic sigh, and Rosie stomped off. As they faded, Katarina heard a second set of slower, stumbling footsteps. “Becka, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard…” she says, turning around to see her second-youngest struggle to walk across the room.
“I’m okay mom, I can do this myse-AH!” Her wobbling legs collapsed, but Katarina was already there to catch her fall. “Agh… oh, I’m sorry…”
“There there, don’t worry,” Katarina comforted as she guided her to the couch. “You’ll be able to walk again soon, you don’t need to rush it.” Leaving a kiss on her daughter’s cold forehead, she returned to the table and Angus.
His expression was hard to read behind his beard, but his eyes were understanding. “We could find a better time for this?” he said quietly.
“No no, it’s fine, there’s so much cultural stuff to learn and you won’t want to stay here much longer, we should get these lessons in-”
An ultrasonic keening pierced into her ears. Amy. She was hungry again.
Katarina could already feel blood beginning to fill her mouth. Angus coughed politely, a trickle of blood spilling from his own. “You should tend to that.”
His new mother sighed, holding her head in her hands. “I should, yes.” Then with a quick stride, she left the room to feed her newborn.