One of the 13 stories in A Friday the 13th Story #9: Godwin’s Folly by Krysta
Scott
Fun Fact:
My family descends from the McEwen clan in Scotland. McEwen was, until recently, a broken clan because it lacked a Chief. The castle McEwen deteriorated into ruins. According to the family lore, anyone from the McEwen blood line was forbidden to cross the threshold of the ruins. If they did, they would die. This curse is the inspiration for Godwin’s Folly. Imagine my disappointment when I was unable to find any reference to any McEwen curse during my research of the book.
About Godwin’s Folly:
At twelve, Abigail Lyons dared her sister Ellie to enter the cursed ruins of Godwin’s Folly—Ellie vanished and was never seen again. Eighteen years later, Abigail inherits the family castle in Glenfallow, Scotland, forcing her to return to the place that shattered her childhood.
With the help of her medium best friend, she uncovers journals, legends, and dark secrets surrounding the folly. But someone in Glenfallow knows what really happened—and will do anything to keep the truth buried.
Excerpt:
“Oh, it’s more than that, love.” He shrugged. “When the moon is full, you can hear wailing coming from behind that wall. It sounds like a girl is crying or lost.”
“Okay,” Rachel waved off his spooky story. “Sounds like every ghost story I’ve heard. A place is haunted. Someone is wailing. Nothing new here.”
I knew Rachel was baiting him into saying more. It’s what she did to get to the root of a legend. Most of the time it ended up being a disappointing rumor that had grown with too many renditions.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it.” Gavin grabbed a towel and wiped the counter. “I’ve heard the wailing myself. A more mournful sound you won’t hear anywhere else.”
“Did you spend the night there?” I don’t know what possessed me to ask the question.
Gavin shook his head. “No. I could never get over the wall. Every time I got close, it was like some forcefield kept me back.”
“You’re making that up.” He had Rachel’s interest now.
“Did any of your friends make it across?” I cocked my head, curiosity getting the better of me.
“No. As I said something kept us from success.”
Rachel rubbed the back of her neck. “Any other stories about the castle?”
“I don’t know if this is true but there is talk that there used to be sacrifices on that land.”
“You can’t be serious.” I reeled back.
“It’s just some talk. Most of us have heard the wailing. But there are few people who are still alive who attended the parties. Master Lyons was just a boy when his parents entertained.”
I crossed my arms. Gavin’s prattle seemed more like a wives’ tale than anything that could carry some truth. Then my heart stopped at his next words.
“The family stopped entertaining once Godwin built his Folly. Rumor is that the tower was built to mark where the bodies are.”
A chill went up my spine. Don’t go in. Uncle Godwin had been very clear on that point. “That doesn’t make sense. Ellie…”
Gavin regarded me with what I could only see was pity. “The whole town felt bad about that missing girl. Bad business that. The lads and I have a theory that she is the one who wails.”
I frowned still trying to process the information.
“If I were you,” Gavin continued. “I’d get far away from that place as soon as possible. A ghost will get you. Just like they did her.”
About the Author:
Krysta Scott is the author of the novel, Shadow Dancer. Since publishing her first book through the Wild Rose Press, she has published two novellas in the Martini Club 4 series and eight novellas in the Friday the Thirteenth series. Godwin’s Folly is the latest story in the series. When she is not writing, she can often be found watching Hallmark movies, true crime shows or reading a good thriller. She is a retired attorney who lives in Oklahoma with her husband and dog.
One of the 13 stories in A Friday the 13th Story #9: Swamp Teeth by Alicia Dean
Fun Fact:
I had just finished this story, the weekend I was to upload it for pre-order, when my son, Presley and I watched the croc movie ROGUE. In the movie, one of the characters scattered ashes in the water, which happens in my story as well. Have you seen the movie? It was really good.
About Swamp Teeth:
A month after a college student is killed by a croc in a fraternity dare, his grieving father invites the friends who were with him back to the swamp for a memorial. But they soon discover the man has something more nefarious in mind.
Excerpt:
He stood and walked to the back door. Outside, the swamp stretched into darkness. The water moved slowly through the mangroves, reflecting the moon in broken silver fragments. The air smelled like salt and mud. He had run airboats through these channels for twenty years. Every narrow path. Every shallow cut. Every place where the water deepened suddenly. He knew them all.
Tobias stepped onto the porch. The boards creaked softly under his weight. Out beyond the mangroves, something moved in the water. A low ripple. Then stillness.
Tobias leaned against the railing and stared into the dark water. A memorial would make sense. People understood memorials. Ashes scattered in the place someone loved. It was a simple idea. A respectful one. He had texted them a few days ago. The boys and Landon’s girlfriend, too. Teddi. She had been there that night as well but had been gone by the time Tobias arrived at the scene.
He had invited them all to come down to the Keys and spend a few days. He told them they could help scatter Landon’s ashes. Said he would take them into the backcountry. The water where Landon had grown up. The water where he had died.
Tobias watched the moonlight move across the swamp. Five people had stood on that shore and watched his son disappear. They had all walked away. Tomorrow night, he would take them back onto the water.
The swamp had teeth.
And it remembered.
About the Author:
Alicia Dean lives in Edmond, Oklahoma where she enjoys writing dark and creepy stories. Her other passions are Elvis Presley, true crime, MLB, NFL and watching too much TV.
Friday the 13th might be unlucky…but if you like to read horror short stories, then it’s your lucky day! Another series of Friday the 13th Horror Stories releases today. Check them out…if you dare…
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
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
The fourth of thirteen creepy tales of murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th…
Broken by Laura Strickland
Fun Fact:
I’m a great believer in Karma, Fate, Cosmic Justice or whatever you’d like to call it. What goes around comes around, and stories of retribution satisfy me deeply. This tale takes that concept through several centuries and gives it a twist of horror. I’ve seen these karmic consequences come true in real life. But that’s another tale…
Find Laura’s Friday the 13th story here…
Blurb:
When Burton Renfrow awakens from his thirteenth nightmare in a row early on the morning of Friday the thirteenth, he doesn’t expect to be drawn into a tale of betrayal and retribution. But there’s a dead woman in his studio, a shard of broken mirror embedded in her breast. And when Burton falls into the mirror, he faces his own past, one so terrible it changes who he thinks he is, and who he’s always been.
How long might it take for a man’s misdeeds to catch up with him? Is there any escape, once vengeance tracks him down? What is the just punishment for rampant greed and selfishness? The answer just may leave him broken.
Excerpt:
As he moves into the studio, he senses something. Something amiss. Despite the darkness and the clutter, he knows this space. After spending untold hours here indulging his passion, its details are imprinted on his brain.
Even when he steps out of the light spilling from the bedroom, he can see enough. Ambient radiance shed by the street lights bleeds through the tall windows.
Bleeds.
He can smell blood.
A shiver travels down his spine, one that reaches right in and twists his bowels. No, surely not. He’s carried that from the dream.
On soundless feet, he pads forward. Weaves his way between the pieces of furniture that now seem marooned without purpose. The canvasses. The draped forms. Toward the tall mirror which should, as it always does, wink at him through its oval eye.
Mr. Bolton wants his daughter painted as if framed by that mirror, so Burton has left it out in the center of the room.
It does not wink at him now.
The smell of blood grows stronger as he crosses the floor toward the wooden chair, which sits in the center of an open space where he surely did not leave it.
Something is in the chair.
Something that should not be there.
His breath catches and then rattles in his throat. He doesn’t want to see.
He must see.
The overhead lights, as he knows, will illuminate the place to an almost unbearable degree. He does not want that.
There’s a lamp he uses for shadowing on the table to his left. He steps over and switches it on.
The light, soft as it is, makes him blink. At first he doesn’t comprehend what he is seeing. Because it shouldn’t be there. It can’t possibly be there. All in black. And red. A glitter of light where there should be none. An impossible juxtaposition of visuals.
He jerks his gaze up and encounters the cheval mirror. The frame of the mirror, he corrects himself, for the glass has been shattered and lies about the base in shards.
All but the largest of them, which is embedded in the breast of the woman in the chair.
About the Author:
Laura Strickland delights in time traveling to the past and searching out settings for her books, be they Historical Romance, Steampunk or something in between. Her lifelong interest in Celtic history, magic and music are all reflected in her writing.
The fourth series of Friday the 13th horror short stories is now available. In each, a murder takes place or a body is found on Friday the 13th. See if you can spot the other recurring elements. Dive into these short horror reads and have a frightfully great time!
****** Only 99 cents until the witching hour when the price goes up! (Well, until around midnight :))
For the series buy link, click on the below:
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Spit on a grave by Tamrie Foxtail
Fun Fact:
When I was in high school there was a cemetery across the street. It may sound odd, but it was a quiet place to study and walk. And there was that one mysterious headstone…off by itself…broken….
About Spit on a Grave:
No one likes a bully and Kiera’s tormented by four of them. But Kiera knows something they don’t. She knows how to turn the tormentors into the tormented.
Snippet:
“Audrey’s right,” Makayla said. “This is spooky. Why can’t we just say we went?”
“Because we have to post a picture,” Jenna said. “With the time.” She pointed to her right. “Kiera said the grave is over there in the corner, under the oak tree.”
They walked two abreast, dead leaves crunching beneath their feet and the full moon playing hide-and-seek through bare branches.
“There,” Alissa said, pointing at the lonely stone. She motioned for the other three to follow.
“Do we just take a picture standing in front of the grave?” Audrey asked.
“We’re supposed to spit on it,” Makayla said.
“That so disrespectful,” Jenna said.
Alissa shrugged. “Who cares? She was a child killer.” Alissa turned on her camera and aimed it at the stone. “Here we are in front of the grave of Barbara Dawn Callan,” she said in a spooky voice. “So scary. Not.” She made certain she was in the video, turned and spit on the grave. “There you go Barbara Dawn. Come and get me.”
Makayla followed. “Waiting for you, Barbara Dawn,” she taunted.
About the author:
Tamrie Foxtail followed her husband from the Sunshine State to the Sooner State thirty years ago. She loves carousels, reading, her family, and her fur babies.
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Soulless by Alicia Dean
Fun Fact:
When I write, I like to pay homage to things I love or that are personal to me. In Soulless, there are several scattered throughout:
The name of the town is Pleasence, after Donald Pleasence who played Dr. Loomis in the Halloween movie franchise.
A nearby town is called Boone Springs, which is the name of the town in my grim reaper romance, Soul Seducer.
My sheriff is Rosalyn (Roz) Grimes, and Rick Grimes is my favorite character in Walking Dead, and Roz is from one of my favorite sitcoms, Frasier.
Of course, I mention Elvis, though briefly.
And, I mention MLB, although at the time I wrote it, I didn’t realize that no post season game would be happening on Friday, although in the story I say there is.
And, lastly (I think), my bad guy’s name, Dearil, means ‘call of death.’
About Soulless:
When Sheriff Rosalyn Grimes shoots and kills the serial killer who is holding her daughter captive, she thinks the ordeal is over and her town is safe. But a rash of new murders plunges them right back into the nightmare—is there a copycat on the loose or, even more terrifying, has the same murderer come back to life?
Snippet:
He was only ten feet away, and she was suddenly afraid to go any closer. He gave off a bad vibe…as if just his being naked in the middle of the road wasn’t a bad vibe enough. No, there was something about this guy she wanted no part of. Screw it, she’d definitely call the police. And grab her gun while she waited for them.
She backed away, keeping her eye on him, but still, he didn’t move. She turned and hurried to her porch. She was twisting the knob when a smell like death assailed her nostrils. Fear choked her, and she whirled to see the man looming behind her. How had he gotten here so quickly?
She fumbled for the door and managed to get it open, then hurried inside. When she went to slam the door shut, he shoved it open from the other side and sent her tumbling to the floor.
He stalked over to her. “Let me in, little piggy.” His harsh voice rumbled out of him like a death rattle.
Shivers raced over her skin. “What do you want?” she managed to get past the lump of fear in her throat. “My husband’s upstairs, and he’s got a gun.”
His grotesque mouth lifted in the parody of a smile. “Don’t lie to me, Bethy. Your husband’s out of town. I need his clothes.”
The moon outside the window passed from behind the clouds, illuminating his features, and she gasped with recognition.
About the Author:
Oklahoma author, Alicia Dean, has an unhealthy fascination with murder and all things creepy and disturbing. On a lighter note, she’s a lifelong Elvis fan, loves the NFL and MLB, and hardly ever makes her darkly disturbing fascinations a reality.
Some friends and I attended a forensic class at a Skeleton Museum. We were given a skull and instructions on how to determine the cause of death. It was interesting to go through the steps anthropologists and forensic scientists go through to determine age, sex and physical trauma. Skeletons really can tell a story of a person’s life.
About The Widower:
Lucy Cable has an inexplicable talent for reading bones—she can look at a skull and see the person’s face. While touring a local bone museum, she notices a skeleton on display and is horrified to identify it as her missing friend. When another murder takes place, Lucy realizes a maniac is in their midst. Can she figure out how to stop him before her snooping around puts her next on his list?
Snippet:
“I didn’t think the museum would have this effect on you. Seriously, I just thought it would be a fun party.”
“I’m fine,” Lucy said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”
“Ok, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find Cora.”
“Knock yourself out.” Lucy headed for an empty bench across the room. She was almost there when a sight stopped her short. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she had. It couldn’t be. Slowly, she pivoted on her heels. She had to be imagining things. She walked toward the single skeleton in the far corner of the room.
She put her hands on the glass and stared at the figure allowing the flesh to layer in her mind. There was no mistaking it. The same pert nose. The high cheekbones. The perfectly shaped rosebud lips. Add the blue eyes and long blonde hair. It was Maeve. Her mind spun with the implications. She’d seen her last night and now her skeleton was on display. “Oh, Maeve.”
“Now, what do you think of my museum?” Professor Porter beamed down at her. Lucy looked into the eyes of a killer.
About the Author:
Krysta Scott is the author of the novel, Shadow Dancer. Since publishing her first book through the Wild Rose Press, she has since published two novellas in the Martini Club 4 series and three novellas in the Friday the Thirteenth series. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband, daughter and dog.
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The Boy in the Bubble by Stephen B. King
Fun Fact:
This story was inspired by meeting someone who spent his childhood as a true boy in the bubble due to severe allergies that would kill him if he left it. Later in life, when he gained some immunities, though he still has to lead a sheltered life, he suffered a hernia and the operations went wrong. We can all be grateful that he didn’t have the telekinetic power Timothy does in the story……
About The Boy in the Bubble:
Timothy has spent his life in a bubble which protects him from fatal allergies. But nature always compensates and Timothy has developed incredible telekinetic powers. When a simple hernia operation goes wrong causing him unbearable, non-stop agony, Timothy strikes back the only way he knows how by reigning death and destruction.
Snippet
Much later, when Joseph recalled the incident, he realized their attacker suddenly resembled a marionette operated by a manic puppeteer. As the man reeled backward away from the cab, his hand, which held the switchblade, trembled as it turned toward his own stomach. The man seemed to be fighting with an invisible bodyguard, and he grasped his right wrist with his left hand to try to stop the knife from stabbing into his own body. But he was fighting a losing battle, and the blade disappeared into his stomach as he screamed a blood-curdling yell which ended with an even louder shriek.
“No,” Joseph shouted frantically, “Timothy, stop.”
The man jerked the knife out, and a squirt of blood arced toward the open door, some hitting Miriam’s skirt. “Arggghhhhhh,” the mugger exclaimed and looked directly into Joseph’s eyes as the knife re-entered an inch higher, then again, and again, repeatedly until he fell to the sidewalk, shaking and kicking his legs in pain before passing into unconsciousness.
About the Author:
I am thrilled, and deeply humbled to have published 17 books. Though my first love is psychological thrillers featuring the worst serial killers imaginable, I have also written romantic thrillers, horror stories and even a time-travel romantic thriller where the protagonist comes back in time to save the world, and falls in love. Find me on FB: @stephenbkingauthor
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A Wicked Fate Mark Edward Jones
Fun Fact
I like to pluck quotes from Shakespeare’s different works and in Hamlet I found ‘Our wills and fates do so contrary run.’ I wanted to show a bit of the killers’ perspectives in this story. Can the young female antagonist, Miomir, resist her destiny, or will her uncle force her to accept her fate?
About A Wicked Fate:
Miomir ìl Kurić desires money, power, and to be feared, while unburdened by her past. Her Uncle Karanosz insists she remains a part of their unique family, one which harbors special skills … and connections to evil.
Snippet:
The ancient granite structure no longer offered Christian worshipers a place for gathering in southern Vienna. The Catholic Church abandoned then sold St. Ezekiel—some said because the hauntings had never ceased. A half-century earlier, the Jews of Vienna had been herded like cattle into the old church before transport to Mauthausen or one of its surrounding camps. The church sat empty for decades, an outcast building with broken stained glass, dusty pews and altars, and fading memories of the long-ago tragedy.
Two people had claimed a portion of the former church. A man with a fedora in his lap leaned back into a cushioned love seat, his head tilted upward with eyes shut. A young woman paced the living area, clenching an unlit cigarette between her lips.
Miomir stared and yanked the cigarette from her mouth. “Comfortable?” she asked, staring at her resting uncle. “Two dead, and now we are the hunted again.”
Tasev sighed and sat forward. “Dear Miomir, I cannot believe you let it happen.” He shook his head. “There will be many questions about the condition of the body. If someone knows your … abilities, they will identify you.”
About the Author:
Mark retired from higher education finance in 2017. He is working on his third detective mystery, has written three paranormal short stories, and has completed the first chapter of a proposed sci-fi mystery.
One morning, during the writing process of SHARE my grandson and I went on a bicycle ride through town. On our way home, our path led us beside an abandoned building with an entire wall missing. We could see something inside and climbed onto the crumbling foundation to get a better look. There, standing alone, was one single piece of furniture–a baby cradle complete with bedding. In contrast to the surroundings, the cradle was in perfect condition. The scene absolutely took my breath away, because of the similarities to my existing book cover–so much so, I snapped this picture with my phone.
About SHARE:
Expectant mother, Autumn, offers to lend her body through “lend and borrow” technology to her childless boss and mentor, Sadie, who longs to experience the movement of a child within her before she dies. However, Autumn is horrified to learn that her good intentions have warranted certain death for her unborn child. Sadie doesn’t like to share.
Snippet:
“Wow,” Autumn breathed, stopping in her tracks. “Look at that.” She pointed to a large painting of a crying infant whose colorful—was it a soul?—descended from the sky, entering the child, filling its small body with light. A Not For Sale sign was attached to the ornate frame.
Sadie approached, touching Autumn’s arm. “How far along are you?”
She turned slowly toward her. “Almost five months. But most people are surprised when I tell them. How did you know?”
“I just knew.”
“Do you have children?”
“Actually, no. I’ve had three miscarriages, each at around twelve weeks gestation. Shortly after the last one, our house burned down, and my husband died in the fire. No children, no husband. It’s just me and my shop. Loss is so painful.”
“That is heartbreaking.” Autumn wrapped an arm around Sadie. “Your husband is waiting in heaven for you. Your babies are there, too.”
“I wish that were true. But my children never drew their first breath, therefore they never received a soul.” She looked up at the painting. “The soul is granted by God when a newborn child takes its very first breath. The soul is precious. Reserved for children who thrive outside the womb, not those who merely exist inside it.”
“You said yourself it was painful to lose your children,” Marlene piped in, her words bristling with irritation.
“Extremely painful. But even more painful was the acknowledgement that each of those small, lifeless bodies lacked a soul.”
The breath whooshed from Autumn’s lungs. She steadied herself against a sturdy-looking bookcase as Marlene put an arm around her and glared at Sadie. “Seriously, lady? What you said goes way beyond polite conversation.”
“I’m sorry—”
About the Author:
Anna is a screenwriter, freelance writer, and fiction writer with twelve books in publication and over a dozen articles/stories featured in Writers’ Digest, Southern Writers, and Woman’s World magazine. She was named “Oklahoma’s Best Author of 2021” by Oklahoma Living Magazine.
In “Blanks,” my favorite character, Josiah Poopart, better known as Beaver, rides again. I liked him so much in “Stripes” that I couldn’t resist writing a sequel. I’ve known him in various forms my entire life: canoeing buddies, fellow soldiers, family members. Men with a simple yet somehow poetic view of life. None as homicidal as Beaver, of course, but they speak of the world much as he does. He is very true to my experience and very close to home. He is not sophisticated, but he is creative, and he’s never met a story he was afraid to embellish. He’s so fun to write. My hope is to write at least five stories documenting the misadventures of my lethal, bucktoothed friend. I’d like to eventually publish them as a single work. (Title suggestions are welcome. 😊) We’ll see.
I did a lot of research for this story (LSD, Spavinaw history, etc.) I always do. My favorite scene, however, wasn’t due to any research or innate creativity on my part. I really wish it was. The Tale of the Depressed Duck was given to me whole cloth by my buddy Colin. He had just had a nearly identical conversation with his wife and was wondering how he should respond. I had no advice for him but, I roared when I heard the story and had to find a way to make it Beaver’s. Fortunately, Colin was willing. I’m hoping you enjoy my retelling of The Depressed Duck. If not, that’s on me. The original version was hysterical.
About Blanks:
Beaver Poopart has graduated both the VA psych ward and the police academy. Now he’s gone to Oklahoma in search of a wayward woman. Lots of people are going to wish he hadn’t.
Snippet:
“Anyway,” I said, “thirteen weeks I spent getting my head unscrewed and re-screwed. No booze. No women. Nothing but cigarettes and all the sleep and VA chow you could eat.”
“Food bad?”
“Hell, no. I ate better than I ever did. Free, too. They had this carrot Jell-O that I got to liking a lot. Little blob of whip cream on top. Real darn good. Sometimes I think I ought to head back over there for dinner or lunch some time. In fact, we could—” I stopped myself. Shooter might meet one of my docs. He might not understand about that dead orderly, Raymond.
Nothing to do with me, of course. People break their necks falling down the stairs all the time. They don’t often die on the fire escape outside my room, but that ain’t my fault. Truth is, nobody knows what he was even doing out there. I reckoned him for a peeping Tom, and I told them so. I told them I was suing for sexual harassment. I pointed out that he kept trying to give me weed, which everybody knows is a gateway drug to sexual slavery. Turns out they had their own suspicions.
About the Author:
Christopher Farris lives in a very old, very small house in a very old, very small town nestled deep in a valley of the Boston Mountains of Northwest Arkansas. His novels, The Fountain, and Intersection: A Trucker’s Christmas Carol are available at Amazon.com, as are his Friday the 13th short stories, including the first Beaver story, “Stripes.”
The climax to the story takes place in the old Rainier Brewery in south Seattle. The huge building is next to the freeway with an iconic “R” sitting on top. Millions of people have driven past the place, but few have entered it. I decided the bowels of the building would be an ideal setting.
About The Devil’s Dregs:
A witch has stolen Steven Metcalf’s newborn son and intends to sacrifice the child to her dark lord. Steven and his two friends scour Seattle to rescue the infant, but the city has become infested with witches and their allies. Can Steven and company save the innocent before it’s too late?
Snippet:
We were about fifty yards down the hill, stumbling through the ferns and salal bushes when a bright flashlight illuminated us. A woman shouted, “This is the police! Stop where you are!”
We ignored her and increased our pace, careening down the hillside by taking flying leaps through the wet fall foliage. Gunshots rang out. I could hear the whizzing sound of bullets flying past us and into the leaves of bushes. Bark flew off a nearby tree. This caused us to leap even faster until we entered a copse of evergreens with low-hanging branches, shielding us at least from view. We crouched on the ground and gathered together as bullets continued to wiz over our heads.
“What now?” asked Hu. While normally cool as a cuke, her voice betrayed her desperation.
About the Author:
Robert Herold is the author of the award-winning Eidola Project novels, which follows a team of 19th-century ghost hunters, and The Seattle Coven Tales, declared by N. N. Light Book Heaven as the “must-read paranormal series of the year.” Find out more at:http://robertheroldauthor.com
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Feast or Famine by Jon Minton
Fun Fact
The story contains a scene at the Teatro della Pergola, an opera house in Florence, Italy. It opened in 1656 and still hosts shows today. In the scene, the main character is watching Robert le Diable, a Meyerbeer opera about the medieval legend who discovers he is the son of Satan. Released in 1831 it is known for the provocative Nun’s Ballet.
About Feast or Famine:
Theresa Salomé is cursed and blessed. Every Friday the 13th, she must kill and cannibalize her victim, extending her life. She’s collected knowledge, amassed wealth, and watched empires come and go. But as centuries pass, the cycle and isolation threaten to tear her mind apart. Is she a monster, a preview of humanity’s future, or just another pawn for gods and devils.
Snippet:
Tess’s strength and extended life came from the brain and heart, the meat and potatoes of the meal. She threw the heart to Marco, who tore into the tough muscle like butter. Despite popular opinion, the brain isn’t something you can hold. Tess scooped out gelatinous fat, slurping it from her hand like an oyster.
Everything that came after the brain and heart, just like the spinal fluid hors d’oeuvres, could be skipped. Tess reminded herself that there was a technical need. If nothing else, body disposal. On a cursed day, she tore flesh and consumed it with the same efficiency as her companion, and together, they would devour it down to the bone in a single day.
About the Author:
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.
The natural springs and caverns that are part of this story were once popular spa destinations in Florida for travelers in the laste 1800s and early 1900s.
About Violet:
Ivy Powers, now Ivy Ligon, is happily married, renovations to convert the Victorian home she inherited from a distant relative into a bed-and-breakfast are almost complete, and she just discovered she’s expecting. Life is perfect except for troubling dreams and the heartbreaking wail of a child that keeps waking Ivy in the middle of the night. While one lost soul may be seeking solace, another intends to keep its secrets buried…forever. Ivy will be forced to pay a price in her quest to right a wrong…but will it be worth the cost?
Snippet:
“Did you hear about the skeleton they found at the sinkhole on Aaron Rebisz’s farm?”
Ivy was sitting cross-legged next to a box of ledgers from the 1900s the town librarian had dropped off for the new museum. Across the room, Truby Santella was methodically sorting four generations of war medallions donated by Pete Wilson, a retired Navy captain who came from a long line of patriotic men and women who’d served in the Armed Forces.
“Passaway is slow to reveal her secrets, but nothing stays buried forever.”
Ivy flinched at Truby’s choice of words. Although she’d slept a few more hours, undisturbed by eerie cries, the thought of a small child dying in an underground cavern unsettled her. She’d confessed her feelings to Mike who frowned sympathetically but cautioned her about jumping to conclusions.
“We don’t know what happened,” he’d said, smoothing a strand of hair out of her face. “A family could have been picnicking out in the field on top of another sinkhole and the child fell in and was trapped under the dirt and rocks. Jackie mentioned something about a health spa where people came to swim in the natural springs. Could be the child accidentally drowned or was swept away by the waters. Whatever it was, I suspect it happened a long time ago, given there are no stories about children who unexpectedly went missing in the area.”
Her husband was right. The child’s death was most likely an unfortunate mishap.
No, it wasn’t.
Ivy’d had a series of baffling and inexplicable events when she first arrived in Passaway. Premonitions, visions and dreams that seemed to be those of another woman, ghostly encounters, roses with supernatural abilities—all related to Rosemary Storm’s murder. She’d learned to trust her intuition and believe in the unbelievable.
There was a dark secret connected to the child’s skeleton spit out by the earth yesterday. What would it take for the truth to be revealed?
“You’re familiar with the town’s unofficial history.” Ivy tried to sound curious, not like she was digging. “Have you ever heard of a young boy or girl getting lost in the caverns around here?”
“That’s not something I know,” Truby drawled. “Each generation has its own secrets.”
About the Author:
Connor Treadway is the pen name for the writing team behind Gothic thrillers and mysteries. The duo lives and writes in northeastern Florida.
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Karma’s a Bitch by TL Schaefer
Fun Fact:
This was one of those stories that just appeared in my head as I drove back from a lunch meeting with my writer friends! Driving time is the best time for conjuring ideas.
About Karma’s a Bitch:
Millie is determined to prove the existence of the paranormal in Bountiful, Oklahoma. But the people of Bountiful don’t care much for strangers asking questions…
Snippet
A monster emerged soundlessly from the depths of lake into the eerie silence, the last rays of sunlight putting her on display.
She was small, no bigger than Millie, but pure presence and power surrounded her like a nimbus, making her seem larger than the men arrayed before her combined. Her naked body was mottled gray and green and brown, long knotted ropes of what looked like moss shrouding her face. She was grotesque and stunning at the same time, and her terrible, terrifying beauty made the breath clog in Millie’s lungs.
The water streaming off of the monster was clear, and all around her water lilies formed and bloomed, a riot of green and white and pink against cool, crisp water that had looked black and clouded just a moment before.
A kind of wonder tinged with terror swept through Millie, leaving chill bumps on her arms as she looked and tried to comprehend. Failed. She’d never seen anything like this. Had a feeling no one had, except the men who’d summoned the creature.
About the Author:
TL Schaefer writes mysteries/police procedurals that also have a romance twined throughout. And likely some stuff that goes bump in the night.
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Knockers by Mary Coley
Fun Fact
The KNOCKERS story came together after visiting the famous Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, CO this summer.
About Knockers:
Trina Ellsbury needs a break. Then she checks into the StayLonger Inn. The desk clerk neglects to tell her about Knockers that linger on the fifth floor, or the history of Room 511.
Snippet:
“Front Desk. How may I help you?” A woman asked.
“Trina Ellsbury in 511. I need maintenance. The water in my bathtub is brown.”
“511? That can’t be right. What room, Ms. Ellsbury?”
“511. I checked in last night and have been here all day.”
The woman cleared her throat. “I have no one in 511. We don’t rent that room. Please check the number again. I’ll be happy to send someone up.”
“Trip has been here several times today.”
“Trip? We don’t have an employee by that name.”
“Then ask Lou. He delivered food and picked up something for the cleaners. I assure you I’m here and in room 511.”
“Lou? We have no one on staff named Lou. I’ve been at the desk all day.”
“Mr. Jenkins has helped me each time I’ve called. Get him, please. Mr. Jenkins, the manager.”
“There is no Mr. Jenkins. I’m Sandra Lawson, the night manager.”
Someone knocked on the door. Knock…knock, knock, knock, knock. Five times. In my head, the two answering knocks sounded.
“Maintenance, Ms. Ellsbury.” Trip called. He knocked five times.
Through the peephole, I recognized Trip’s blazing smile. I knocked twice in response, loudly, and let him in.
About the Author:
Mary Coley thinks in mysteries. Her favorite question is WHY? A traveler, nature and dog lover, her next story is just around the corner. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband and Trixie, their current rescued hound.
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Spine Chilling by Michelle Godard-Richer
Fun Fact
I put up a post in The Booklounge For Readers and Authors to ask men which classic books were their favorites to decide which book Peter McFadden would possess.
About Spine Chilling:
Peter McFadden’s life is ending, but he isn’t ready to leave this world and his killing ways behind. His spirit lingers inside his favorite vintage book, tethering him to this world, while he waits for his next victim.
Snippet:
Esme kneeled beside her sister and angled the flashlight on her phone into the dark space beneath the box spring. The beam illuminated two boxes. A black metal case and a big shoe box.
Lucy pulled them out. “If he had anything valuable in this room it would be inside these.” She tugged the metal box towards her and lifted the latches. “Yep, this is his old Colt. We’ll take this with us. What’s in that one?”
With an unexplainable sense of unease lifting the hair on the back of her neck, Esme pulled the shoe box towards her and flipped it open. “This is weird.” She picked up a bundle of cards, with a woman’s driver’s license on top, held together by an elastic band. She tugged the elastic off and spread what turned out to be a bunch of driver’s licenses across the carpet. They all belonged to young women. “What the hell, Luce? Why would he have these?”
“I don’t know. I’ll google the names.” Lucy’s fingers flew across her iPhone as she glanced at the driver’s licenses. Her skin turned clammy, and her hands shook.
“What’s wrong, Luce?”
“Ohmigod. I’ve searched three of the names so far, and they were all murdered by the Colorado Strangler. And the police still haven’t caught him. But that still doesn’t explain why Dad has these.” Lucy picked up a small jewelry box, the only other thing left in the shoe box. “I wonder what’s in here.”
Esme’s stomach twisted into a tight knot as her brain worked through the shock of their discovery and arrived at a horrific conclusion. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
“Why not?” Lucy opened the box, then dropped it, and covered her mouth.
The box landed on its side and a mound of gleaming white teeth spilled out all over the carpet. Almost as if their father had polished each tooth individually after…he yanked them out of someone’s mouth.
About the Author:
Michelle Godard-Richer is the award-winning author of The Fatal Series. She writes edge-of-your-seat suspenseful stories with strong protagonists and diabolical villains. linktr.ee/mgodardricher
Happy Friday the 13th! It’s release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. Today, I’m pleased to welcome myself with my story, Mister 13…
Fun Fact:
While writing this story, I researched the dates for past Friday the 13ths and used the actual date for each year that was mentioned. One of the dates I used was January 13, 1984…which happens to be the date I got married. And, it was on a Friday the 13th. And, we divorced nearly 13 years later…coincidence or were otherworldly forces at work? 😀
*** Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents – grab them now before the price goes up!!!
Psychologist Giselle Bishop is treating a patient who suffers from friggatriskaidekaphobia, a fear of Friday the 13th. When he was younger, his family was murdered on Friday the 13th by an unknown killer dubbed Mister 13 by the media. Since then, he’s been terrified to leave his house on the dreaded date. She understands his fear because years earlier, her roommate fell victim to Mister 13.
With another Friday the 13th approaching, Giselle convinces him to overcome his fear by facing the very day that paralyzes him, so he reluctantly ventures out. But when she sees a news report that a young woman was found murdered by someone with the same MO as Mister 13, she understands she has made a grave error and her patient is right to believe he is in danger. But he’s not the only one, because now Mister 13 is coming after her.
Excerpt:
She answered the call, and Lydia cried out, “Did you hear what happened?”
Dread gripped her. “No, what is it? Are you okay?”
“Someone was killed…in your house. Yours and Darcy’s old house. The girl who lives there now was murdered. Tonight. Someone called it in to the media. Not even 911. They called the news station.”
The sentences rushed out, piling on top of one another in a panicked jumble.
“Oh my God,” Giselle gasped. “That’s horrible. Do they know who did it yet?”
“No,” Lydia said. “But I’m pretty sure it was Mister 13.”
“What? Why do you say that? Are the details the same?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t said much yet. But, come on, Friday the 13th. At your old house. I just know it was him.”
Giselle grabbed the remote and flipped over to a local news channel. The sportscast was on, but the story scrolled along the bottom, ‘Breaking news, a young woman was found dead in her home after a tip was called in to our station. Details are sketchy at this time, but it appears the victim was stabbed multiple times. Police are not releasing whether they were connected, but thirteen years ago, a young woman was murdered in this same house by an unknown killer. Police suspect it was the work of the serial killer known as Mister 13. Again, we are unsure if this latest killing is by the same person. More details as they become available.’
“Oh God,” Giselle murmured. Her mind went to Everett. She’d finally convinced him to face his fears, to venture out on this dreaded date, and the first time he summons the courage to do so, another tragic murder happens.
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I’ve got to go. Let me know if you learn anything else. Talk to you soon.”
She hung up and dialed Everett. The call went straight to voicemail. “Everett, please call me as soon as you get this. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” She hung up without mentioning the murder. If he was out and heard about it, he’d be terrified.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. It was irrational to think something would happen to him…the murder had nothing to do with Everett, but rational or not, she couldn’t quell the worry. And she wouldn’t rest until she knew Everett was okay.
Bio:
Alicia Dean began writing stories as a child. At age 10, she wrote her first ever romance (featuring a hero who looked just like Elvis Presley, and who shared the name of Elvis’ character in the movie, Tickle Me), and she still has the tattered, pencil-written copy.
Other than reading and writing, her passions are Elvis Presley (she almost always works in a mention of him into her stories) and watching a LOT of television, which she calls research so it doesn’t appear that she’s wasting time.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Krysta Scott with her story, Tormented Whispers…
Fun Fact:
Recently, I had the opportunity to stay in a refurbished motel on route 66 in Flagstaff, Arizona. I was thrilled. My eldest not so much. One of the differences between a motel and hotel is that the location of the door to your room is different. In a motel, the door opens to the sidewalk and parking lot. In a hotel, the door opens to a hallway inside the building.
My eldest didn’t like the exposed feeling of opening the door and stepping right outside. Also, the motel had a huge window facing the parking lot. This meant that anyone who walked by could look into our room. It was a bit unnerving. She insisted that my husband and I occupy the bed closest to the door. Anyone who has watched Schitt’s creek knows that this is the ‘murder bed’. If someone were to break in, the people in that bed will be killed first. I am very pleased she was so concerned for our welfare.
It didn’t help that there was an Embassy Suite right across route 66. We had stayed there last year enjoying the hot breakfast and complimentary cocktails. Some of her objections are raised by Megan at the beginning of the story. Below is a photo of the motel.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
Raelynn Carter used to hear voices as a child but she silenced them long ago. When her boyfriend unceremoniously dumps her, she and a group of her friends embark on a project to renovate an old hotel on route 66. Once there, she encounters a presence, and the voices start talking to her again– unloading their stories of torment, pain and longing.
Attempting to ignore them, she focuses her efforts into repairing the dilapidated hotel. But the voices become more insistent. Then someone dies. At first it looks like an accident but there is something more sinister lurking in the shadows. As the body count rises, Raelynn knows it’s only a matter of time before the evil comes for her.
Excerpt:
I backed away. Another scream pealed out from inside the room. Shit! Someone had gone inside. Tentatively I took a step forward. “Susan?”
No response. I leaned in and flicked on the light. As I did, the lights came on. A gust of wind rose from behind me pushing me across the threshold. The door slammed shut. I turned to wrench it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
A whimper came from the far-left corner. I edged around the bed. A small figure crouched shivering by the wall. “Hello? Can I help you?”
Her head snapped up with wide deer-in-the-headlight eyes. Curly brown hair barely touched her shoulders. She couldn’t be more than seventeen. A rough whisper escaped her lips. “You shouldn’t be here. He’s coming.”
“It’s ok,” As I spoke, I could see my breath. I shivered as I reached out to the girl. “He’s not here now. Why don’t we go outside where it’s warmer.”
She shook her head. “He won’t let me.”
“It’s ok, let me help you.”
The lights flickered. She looked up, her face crumpling into terror. “He’s here.”
I followed the track of her gaze but saw only the ceiling. When I turned back to the girl, she was gone. A quick scan of the bathroom revealed it was empty. A small tremor skittered up my spine. This was the second hallucination in less than an hour. It was time to leave. I rushed to the door, yanking as hard as I could.
A rumble of laughter filled the room. There is no escape!
I yanked harder. My heart hammered in my chest. But the door wouldn’t budge. My hands were so sweaty they slipped on the handle making it hard for me to grip it. Still, I yanked.
The laughter grew more intense until it was shuddering through me. The humming followed urging me to turn my head to the mirror. It glowed in the center. I closed my eyes refusing to do its bidding. It didn’t matter. My feet moved anyway, propelling me until I stood in front of the mirror. My arm flew up and my palm connected with the cold fractured surface. On their own my eyes opened. This time I didn’t see my reflection.
Bio:
Krysta lives in the southwest. She loves anything containing the elements of science fiction, horror and mystery. In addition to the Friday the 13th series, she is the author of a paranormal romance, Shadow Dancer.
Author Alicia Dean 