Author of paranormal and romantic suspense. Follow her on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alicia-Dean/131939826889437) or twiiter (https://twitter.com/Alicia_Dean_)
Another story in the Friday the 13th Horror Series…
Blurb:
On the night of Friday the 13th, in the eerie halls of the infamous abandoned Ravenclaw Manor, a dead body is found in front of an antique mirror, shattered into countless jagged shards. The police call it a tragic accident. Carousel Ryder knows better. As she digs into the Firestone past, she uncovers a sinister family curse, whispered rumors of a haunted mirror, and a string of mysterious deaths stretching back generations.
Jackson Firestone Clairmont, the last surviving member of the cursed bloodline, races to help Cari unravel the truth before the mirror claims another victim. But when the reflections begin to shift—showing glimpses of the past, the future, and something inhuman lurking beneath the glass—Jax realizes that breaking the curse might come at an unspeakable cost…losing the woman he is meant to love for eternity.
Because some mirrors don’t just reflect the world. They trap souls. And once you look in… something else might be looking back.
Excerpt:
Cari peeked around a window frame, her gaze scanning the large empty room with a huge vacant China cupboard until she glimpsed the chalk outline on the foyer floor. She held back a small sob. A shadow caught the corner of her eye and she sprung away from the window, a breath lodged in her throat.
Counting slowly to ten to calm her racing heart, she chanced looking again in time to see Jax go to his knees and begin cleaning up the outline of the victim. As he continued scrubbing, Cari’s gaze traveled over to the mirror behind him. A shadow reflected eerily in the antique glass when a cloud moved across the sun behind her.
She gasped. For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn there was a face staring back at her from deep inside one of the fractured pieces of the mirror. When she blinked, the image was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“I have to get a look at that mirror,” she whispered, backing away from the window. Creeping down the stairs, Cari made her way across the yard to her car. Slipping into the driver’s side, she sat back and waited until she saw Jax leave.
Knowing this was possibly her only chance, she planned to steal her way back to Ravenclaw Manor like a cat stalking a mouse.
About Author:
Award-winning author, Maxine Douglas writes in several genres, including American historical romance, contemporary romance, and cozy mysteries. A Wisconsin native, Maxine resides in Oklahoma. While Maxine may miss her family and friends in the north, she loves the mild winters Oklahoma has to offer.
Having found love in 2001 and then losing the love of her life in 2018 to cancer, Maxine hasn’t given up on believing in true love. She hopes that she expresses that feeling of hope with every story she brings to life through her writing.
Maxine is a current member of the Oklahoma Writers’ Federation, Inc. and its affiliations Central Region Oklahoma Writers and Oklahoma Romance Writers Guild. She is also a member of the Friends of the Chickasha Library and serves as a Board Member of the Chickasha Area Arts Council.
And…here is my offering in the Friday the 13th Horror short story series…
Fun Fact:
This story is very loosely influenced by the movies Sometimes They Come Back (1991) and Buried Alive (1990), coincidentally both starring Tim Matheson. On second thought, it’s not like them at all. But they both gave me the creeps and I hope my story will give you the creeps as well.
About Dirty Girl:
A couple involved in an illicit affair are responsible for a tragedy that results in a young girl’s death. They think they’ve buried their transgressions and can get on with their lives.
But they are very, very wrong.
Excerpt:
He took the girl’s hand, and a shiver raced over his body. Her flesh was ice-cold, even though it was a warm June day. An odor emanated from her…something unpleasant…like damp earth.
Like the dirt they’d buried the poor girl in…
He shook himself mentally. It was just his guilty conscience. This girl was probably about the same age and was similar in size and coloring.
He went to pull back his hand, but her grip tightened almost imperceptibly, and he met her dark eyes. Something seemed to lurk in their fathomless debts. Some kind of secret knowledge…or accusation. He wanted to look away, but was unable to. Light flickered in the brown orbs and he saw a flash of a scene…just a brief moment but he could swear it was there. Headlights shining on trees, the glint of moonlight. Two figures—one thrusting a shovel into the dirt, the other holding a flashlight. The smell of dirt assailed him and, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
“Dad?” An uncomfortable chuckle from Corbin. “You can let go now.”
Corbin’s voice brought him out of the trance. He shuddered and released the girl’s hand. Before he turned away, he detected a small quirk of amusement on her lips, then it was gone.
About the Author:
Alicia Dean lives in Oklahoma where she enjoys creating dark, suspenseful stories. She loves scaring people and, when she was a child, she did so by doing things like putting panty hose over her face and going into the back yard and looking into her sister’s window. Now that she’s grown—and realizes she could get arrested for such antics—she lets her stories do the scaring.
Check out another wickedly creepy story in the Friday the 13th Horror Series…
Fun Fact:
The title of this story popped into my head first, out of a murky, dark sky as if some evil imp whispered it to me. The story unwound itself afterwards, like a bad—and very disturbing—dream.
About Dead Man’s Shirt:
Mike O’Grady’s on the hunt for a job, not a career as a serial killer. But when he buys a shirt with a dubious background he begins to wonder. Has he acquired the shirt, or has it acquired him?
Excerpt:
With the tan jacket in his hands, Mike stands and remembers. Horror floods through him in the wake of—
Is that satisfaction?
Oh, God.
He’s imagining all this, right? Brought on by the news reports and that scene out on the street. Only a few blocks from here. And all the stress he’s been under.
Then, what’s all over his jacket?
Splashes of coppery brown. Some large splats. Some just small dots.
Like were on the shirt.
Most of the red stains are on the sleeves. Like a man in a dream, Mike picks at the substance with his nail. Some of it flakes off.
It has to be—paint. Yeah, that’s it. But where did he get into paint? When?
Another image suddenly flashes into his head. The knife lying in the bottom of the sink.
Oh, God, no.
Impossible.
Isn’t it?
About the Author:
Award-winning author Laura Strickland enjoys time traveling to the past or wherever else her fancy takes her and searching out settings for her books, be they Historical Romance, Steampunk or something in between. Born and raised in Western New York, she is intensely interested in animal welfare. Connect with her at: www.laurastricklandbooks.com
In my latest #Fridaythe13th story, Sandcastles, our killer uses the beach itself as his murder weapon. But can people really drown in sand? And how realistic is quicksand portrayed in stories?
Drowning in sand, also known as sand aspiration, is a real risk. It can suffocate and crush you at the same time, causing respiratory asphyxia due to thoracic compression. Tragically, children have perished this way, even in sandboxes.
And while quicksand might rapidly swallow a character whole in a book or movie, this isn’t realistic. The human body is less dense than quicksand, so you will only sink partially…until panicked movements by the victim cause more liquidation, which will make them sink further. Despite its name, quicksand provides a slow, dramatic death, giving the victim ample time to deliver tearful goodbyes, profess love, or reveal plot twists.
Who can forget the Swamps of Sadness in The Neverending Story? RIP Artax.
About Sandcastles:
How far will one woman go to avenge her brother’s murder? She’s not sure the police deserve to capture the murderer and have the news hail them as heroes…and maybe the Sandcastle Killer deserves to see the inside of a grave rather than a cell. Kindle or paperback.
Excerpt:
“You’re awake,” he said, a lively lilt in his voice.
“David…why?” she sobbed, seawater filling her prison, feet kicking up the wet silt turning to mud. She sunk her fingers into the sand as she tried to claw her way up, only for one wall to collapse. Mud washed over her feet, rising to her ankles, then her shins. “David! I’m going to drown.”
“Yeah, careful with that,” he said from a distance. “Trying to claw at the walls will make it worse.” David took the same, lectured cadence July’s father might use to remind her that improperly insulated windows would run up her electric bill.
She felt herself sinking, pressure on the soles of her feet as the earth sucked July into the abyss, slowly, as if Mother Earth were taking the time to savor her morsel.
“Hey, you want to see something?” he shouted, even further away. “Get ready to catch.”
She screeched for help as loud as she could, tendons in her neck straining. A shiver ran up her spine when her feet hit a dramatic temperature change and her body slipped further into the quicksand.
“C’mon, now. You won’t catch it. On three. Ready? One.”
“Help me!”
“Two.”
The mud crept up her chest, a chilling reminder of David choking her unconscious earlier. She peddled her legs to stay afloat, thighs burning in the sludge.
“Three.”
She recognized her cell phone as it arced through the air. She struggled to get a hand free, but snagged the device before it fell into the mud.
“Did you catch it?” He laughed. “It still has the SIM card, if you think you can call someone.”
What is it about a picture? Especially on a phone, the bright LED makes the vibrant colors pop. Even in the sun’s glare, the sandcastle he built was clear, July’s grave lurking in the background. Her eyes succumbed to the picture’s gravity, and she stared at its magnificence before the mud stole her vision, hearing, and breath.
Author bio:
Jon Minton is an American speculative fiction writer based in Oklahoma City. He is a software developer but has always been passionate about a great story.
Another story in the Friday the 13th Horror Short Story series…Flamebound Bride by Krysta Scott:
Fun Fact:
Historically, bridal bouquets were made of fragrant herbs and spices to ward off bad luck and evil spirits. In the middle ages, bouquets included flowers to mask body odor.
Blurb:
After a catastrophic first marriage where her husband abandoned her and her daughter, Rachel’s life is finally looking up. She is about to marry the man of her dreams. And the festivities begin at an exclusive hotel the week of Friday the 13. Rachel is determined her life will be better with her fiancé.
But disaster strikes when her ex shows up begging for another chance. Never mind his bad timing, she is now plagued with memories that are not her own and speaking a language she does not know. After a mysterious death, Rachel realizes her circumstances are more complicated than she imagined. Determined to make things right, she must summon her new found power or her daughter may be the next to perish.
Excerpt:
She opened her mouth to call out to him, but no sound emerged. Her fists beat against the invisible barrier. Dark welts formed on her knuckles. Her skin split and pain slithered its way up her arm.
No one shall have you, save I.
A disembodied voice whispered in her ear. Although it was spoken in another language, she recognized the words. She knew it was him. The man who’d tried to possess her. The man she’d refused.
She found her voice and screamed at the air. “I reject you, Nilo. Why can’t you accept that?”
A deep chuckle filled the room.
Her head whipped around as she searched for the sharp cold eyes of her nemesis. He should not be here. He should not interfere. He had no power here. It had all been arranged and decided by her father.
“It is done, Nilo. Not even you can change that.”
Wanna bet?
The fire pit erupted and a strong wind whipped through the tent
About the Author:
Krysta Scott is the author of Shadow Dancer, two novellas in the Martini Club 4 series and seven novellas in the Friday the Thirteenth series. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband and dog.
Please help me welcome today’s guest, Margo Carey…
Please tell us a little about yourself, where are you from? Where do you live now? Family? Pets?
Originally from Marblehead, MA, I later moved to Rhode Island with my husband and son. New England holds a special place in my heart. It’s where my imagination led me to write. Today, we live in Southwest Florida with our black cat, Sammy. Though we enjoy riding our bikes, we gave up kayaking after a couple of scaly denizens followed us around then bumped my husband’s boat. However, the positive outweighs the negative. The view from my office is always green. No ice. No snow. My latest pastime is walking and recording ideas for my next book. I enjoy reading paranormal and anything witchy. My favorite TV shows are Elspeth and Tracker. Life is good.
Tell us a little about how you came to write Demon Amulet.
Demon Amulet is set in Newport, RI, one of my favorite places. I created the Watcher Clan series around a mysterious stone tower that some believe was built by the Knights Templar. If so, I wondered if there could be descendants. Might those relatives have psychic powers? When we lived there, my husband was an offshore lobsterman, and I spent a lot of time in the wharf area with wonderful little shops. My characters also love those touristy lanes. I chose the title, Demon Amulet, to reference the story’s lethal magic trinket. Although I had already done intensive research on the Knights Templar for the first book, I found this second book more difficult because I had to discover new ideas: conflicts, story arc, and goals. I do love Google Earth for my setting research. That and Pinterest for photos of people who look like my characters and for ideas on their outfits. Each book can stand alone which means different protagonists and villains. In my first book the protagonist is a young brunette unaware of her family or powers. Her antagonist is a dreamwalker. This second book revolves around a beautiful blonde cousin and a vicious warlock. For the third, a thirty-something redhead goes up against a traitorous member of the Templar council. Of course, each story has the necessary handsome and psychically powerful love interest.
Stone Tower and Me
Are there any tricks, habits or superstitions you have when creating a story?
When I’m looking for a setting, whether it be a house or neighborhood, I always picture someplace I’m familiar with. But, if I don’t know I use the internet. The Brendani estate in this book is in an exclusive neighborhood. Although I’ve ridden by the driveways, I had to get a view of the homes and riverfront property via Google Earth. The apartment in the next book is my sister’s former abode. That way I can picture my characters as they move around.
What book have you read that you wish you had written?
Any one of the Harry Potter books.
What’s your favorite book of all time and why?
“The Agony and the Ecstasy” by Irving Stone. A wonderful narrative about Michaelangelo.
What’s your favorite childhood book?
Nancy Drew. The beginning of my love of mysteries.
Would you rather have a bad review or no review?
As much as I’d hate a bad review, I do want to know what I’ve done or not done to upset a reader. Critiques can be painful, but they help you grow.
What is your favorite quote?
“Nothing you do can change the past. Everything you do can change the future.” Anon.
Your most prized material possession and why?
A beautiful wood jewelry box. My son made it for me.
If you could be a character in any of your books, who would you be?
I’d be Lia Ferguson. She is beautiful, tough, and has a great sense of humor. Oh yes, and she has awesome psychic powers.
What is the toughest criticism given to you as an author? What has been the best compliment?
For me, a criticism I had trouble fixing was “Show. Don’t tell.” I still go back and look for it in my writing. What made me happy was someone telling me that they loved my characters. I also love my characters and try to make that come out on the page.
Tell us Your favorite…
Movie: See No Evil. Hear No Evil. A comedy with Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder
TV show from adulthood: NCIS
Food: Really good french fries
Sports team: Boston Red Sox
A cursed amulet. A deadly warlock. An impossible love.
Excerpt:
Moonlight filtered through the clouds, bathing the Brendani property in swaths of soft light. Lia inhaled the sweet aroma of beach roses carried by the wind. A perfect evening. A shiver unrelated to the weather coursed through her. Would he be waiting?
Gravel crunched under her feet and the bite of chlorine teased her nose as she neared her destination. She paused for a moment to control her erratic breathing. Nerves? Ridiculous. No man had ever disturbed her.
The glow from the changing room lanterns almost reached the pool. The flickering shadows on the liquid grew into waves caused by the powerful strokes of the swimmer. Mesmerized by Aiden’s straining muscles, desire stirred in her belly.
She swallowed and strolled closer. “I see you made it.”
He stopped and looked up, unruffled. She knew he’d been aware of her. Watchers could always sense another’s approach. As the silence lengthened, she reached around to the back of her neck, undid a clasp, and let her cover-up slide down. Aiden’s sharp intake of breath made her skin tingle.
His eyes darkened as they raked over her body. A slow smile played across his face. “Coming in?”
The deep timbre of his voice ignited her desire. She paused for another moment to enjoy the heat simmering between them. Without breaking eye contact, she lowered herself to the pool’s edge and slipped in. The warm water covered all but her bikini top.
“Ooh!” she said as she gazed at him. “It feels so good.”
Her body responded to the naked desire blazing from his eyes. She swam past him to the deep end and turned. He hadn’t moved, but she felt his penetrating gaze follow her.
Poised there in waist-high water, Aiden resembled one of the ancient sea gods.
Margo Carey, an award-winning author, weaves tales of romance and supernatural intrigue. She began her career trying to write cozy mysteries, but the paranormal inevitably slipped in. Rather than fight her muse, she gave in to her pen’s inclination, changed her genre to Paranormal Romance, and titled her website, My Haunted Pen.
Her gripping novel Trace of Evil, a NEST finalist, immerses readers in a haunting romance in Salem, Massachusetts. After her move to Rhode Island, she penned The Convent House, the first in her Watcher Clan series that follows the perils and romance of psychically gifted descendants of the Knights Templar. Readers’ Favorite gave it a five-star review. The second book, Demon Amulet, will be out in June, 2025.
Margo now lives with her husband Paul and their unapologetically spoiled cat, Sammy, in South Florida. Will inspiration for her next book spring from the shadowy, gator-infested swamps where she and her husband kayak? Stay tuned.
Check out another story in the Friday the 13th Horror Short Story series…
Fun Fact:
Ishtar is the perfect demon/goddess to assist the witch, Maara. She is the Mesopotamian goddess of war and sexual love, two qualities (sex and violence) that Maara employs to achieve her ends. Here is a photo of the goddess, who is both alluring and fearsome.
About Devil Redux:
An ancient goddess/demon is brought to life in the service of a witch set on slaughtering a family. Award-winning author Robert Herold spins a frightening yarn of modern horror.
Excerpt:
Instead of his student, a tall, gray, naked woman appeared in the doorway. The woman had wings, and her legs became bird-like below her knees with large, sharp talons that dug grooves into the tiled floor as she moved.
Ishtar come to life?
The creature smiled and uttered something that Hill could not translate.
Hill stood and shook his head, not comprehending what was said. He shivered but also felt the warmth from urine spilling into his pants.
The creature spread her wings. Her face contorted with fury, and she screeched before diving across the room at the professor. She pivoted to present her outstretched claws at the last moment, which struck the professor full-on. Hill flew backward, tipping over his chair and sliding back on the floor until his head struck the radiator. Still conscious, he screamed as the woman’s talons raked across his face, tore into his eyes, and dug long furrows in his cheeks. His jaw tore free. Then she attacked his torso. The pain, white-hot at first, suddenly faded as his body could no longer process the ripping and tearing of flesh. A moment later, he could no longer process anything at all.
About the Author:
Seattleite Robert Herold is the author of the award-winning Eidola Project novels, which follow a team of 19th-century ghost hunters who become engaged in deadly supernatural investigations, and the Seattle Coven Tales, about a grad student who becomes targeted for sacrifice by a modern coven of witches. In addition, Mr. Herold’s work has appeared in anthologies and on the Saturday Evening Post’s website. Several short stories will soon appear in Feral, a German horror comic magazine. Find out more at: https://linktr.ee/robertheroldauthor
Check out this Friday the 13th Horror Short Story…
I have always respected our sons and daughters who go to war to fight for our way of life. I try not to differentiate between wars and conflicts—I leave that to the politicians. Suffice it to say, if called upon to fight, regardless of our government’s motivations, I respect those who must kill or be killed.
Some time ago, I read a compelling story by a well-known author, featuring protagonists and antagonists who were survivors of the Vietnam conflict known as Tunnel Rats. I was so fascinated by what I read that I did some research on it.
Not far from Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City, in the Cu Chi District, the Viet Cong constructed a series of tunnels stretching over 400 kilometers. The tunnels were used to transport troops, supplies, and weapons to launch surprise attacks on the South Vietnamese and allied forces. They also provided a means to evacuate the wounded; in fact, the attacking troops even established underground hospitals. The tunnels were sophisticated in their design, featuring ventilation to minimize the impact of gases and bomb blasts.
Volunteer tunnel rats were recruited from the Australian, New Zealand, and US armies to enter and destroy the tunnels. These rats had to be small in stature because some tunnels had low roofs and narrow walls. They worked in pairs, usually armed only with sound-suppressed pistols and bayonets. They often encountered tethered poisonous snakes, rats, punji spears, and booby traps. If the lead soldier survived such horrors, he would frequently confront the enemy and be forced to fight to the death using only his bayonet. His partner, trailing behind, would set explosive devices to collapse the tunnel if and when they returned to safety above ground.
It is a tragic reality that while many tunnel rats were killed underground, an extraordinarily high number of survivors died, in some cases, years later, due to exposure to Agent Orange and other gases that seeped from the surface.
For a long time, I’ve wanted to write a story about these men and the psychological effects of fighting such terrible battles single-handedly in the dark, confined tunnels riddled with the enemy.
In Bless Me, Father, I was able to feature a man who, after one particularly bloody and gory fight, suffered a mental and physical breakdown and was discharged from the army. He returns home to confront his demons, and with love and family support, he comes back from the brink and becomes a Catholic priest.
Several years later, Father Martin begins to suffer from terrible nightmares involving dead bodies that have been violently killed. Simultaneously, one by one, his parishioners who come to confession are discovered murdered and mutilated. Is Father Martin so psychologically traumatized by his wartime experiences that he is killing his flock, or has a psychopath targeted him?
Check out this story in our Friday the 13th Horror Short Story Series…
Phantom Fair by Raven Lee
Fun fact:
When I was a teenager, a rumor ran rampant through my school that the traveling carnival in a nearby town had a horrible accident on the Gravitron and people were thrown into the midway. It was at that moment; I refused to step foot on another ride that could be folded up and put on a truck.
Where that accident didn’t happen at that carnival in the nearby town, it did happen at the Missouri State Fair that same year, 1991. One of the panels of the Gravitron came off as the ride was slowing. Four children were seriously hurt when they fell 5 feet to the ground and spectators were injured with flying debris.
Thankfully, no one died, but approximately 1,300 people a year are injured in amusement park rides, with a significant portion of those injuries happening on mobile rides like those at fairs and festivals. So, what if those accidents aren’t so accidental? Find out in Phantom Fair.
An avid traveler, Raven Lee, has never met a spooky tale she didn’t love. Ghost towns, haunted houses, or mysterious forest, wherever the story, she is fascinated. When not traveling, she channels her paranormal obsession into writing her own stories, hoping to make you sleep with the light on. Raven haunts northeast Oklahoma with her husband, children, and furry family. Learn more about Raven here: https://linktr.ee/AuthorRavenLee
It’s that time again. In 2020, I had the idea of having a group of 13 authors each write a stand-alone horror short story centered around Friday the 13th and they would release on Friday the 13th. I was fortunate enough to find other authors who were on board. We are now on Series #7. Some of the authors have come and gone and we’ve had new ones take their place, but I’m thrilled that so many have agreed to join our creepy fun.
Check out our latest round of spooky Friday the 13th stories…
Author Alicia Dean 