Tag Archives: Retribution

A Friday the 13th Horror Short Story ~ Something Wicked by Krysta Scott ~  #fri13thHorrorShortstories 

Something Wicked by Krysta Scott…

Fun Fact: Something Wicked was originally developed as a romance. It lay dormant, while I focused on other projects. When I returned to it, I realized it had all the makings for a horror story with romantic elements. It is darker than I first intended but I am thrilled that this story is finally complete.

Find it here:

When Ashlyn Turner receives a cursed antique scrimshaw doll from her overbearing mother, she dismisses the ominous warnings as mere folklore. But after her fiancé suffers a horrific accident and her best friend’s behavior turns erratic, Ashlyn realizes the doll’s sinister power to punish betrayal. Enter Luca, a mysterious expert on cursed objects, who vows to destroy the doll before it claims more lives. As Ashlyn uncovers dark secrets among her loved ones, she must confront a chilling truth: the curse cannot be broken, and anyone could be next.

Excerpt:

Grant whistled as he drove from the grand hotel. Everything was going exactly as planned. Ashlyn might suspect his infidelity, but she was going through with the wedding. He hadn’t given her enough reason to call it off. He and Olivia had been careful. His long hours at the office were the perfect cover for his affair. Sweet little Ashlyn was so trusting.

He cruised down the long, winding driveway that led from the hotel parking lot. Too bad he couldn’t hang around and enjoy the lifestyle his newfound wealth could afford him. But he and Olivia would surely be found out if they stuck around. Even worse was that he had to go through with the marriage to a woman he didn’t love. A brief marriage. He comforted himself with the thought.

Ashlyn wouldn’t truly own her inheritance until marriage. Little did she know, the silly clause in her father’s will would be her undoing. He allowed a sneer to curve his lips. The family was so old-fashioned.

His headlights cut through the black night, and he accelerated hard, enjoying the excitement of speeding along the treacherous roads. An adrenaline rush-almost as thrilling as committing murder. He laughed, digging in his pocket for the flask of whiskey. Just as his fingers closed around it, something large and quick appeared in front of the Jaguar.

The flask flew from his hands, and he let out a scream, trying to swerve to keep from hitting the animal. Too late. The stag seemed to leap toward him, landing with a thud of grinding metal and shattering glass.

Antlers as wide as the car smashed through the windshield. Pain like he’d never known pierced his chest. He stared in horror at the antlers impaling him to the leather seat. The stag writhed its legs, attempting to break free. With each movement, excruciating, burning agony seared his lungs. 

What the fuck?

He fumbled his phone from his pocket, his fingers barely working. Funny how his entire body was screaming with relentless pain, yet his fingers felt numb.

Finally, he punched in 911.

The operator’s words seemed to come from a distance. “911, please state your emergency.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, blood gurgled to the surface. Somewhere, deep inside his torture-wracked soul, someone or something seemed to whisper the words…All those who betray you will suffer.

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. Something Wicked 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. 

Find Krysta at: krystascottauthor.com

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A Friday the 13th Horror Short Story: Fatal Attachment by Mary Coley ~ #Horror #Fri13thStories #Blog

The sixth of thirteen creepy tales of murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th…

Fatal Attachment by Mary Coley

Fun Fact:

I was hacked years ago and the creeps got all my vital information. For over twenty years, I’ve dealt with this, as they sell my information over and over again. I’ve been enrolled in Italian cooking classes, received books in the mail, and had attempts to file for my tax money. This story came from my revenge thoughts!

Find Mary’s Friday the 13th story here…

Blurb:

Oliver Calvert has been scammed more than once in recent weeks. The police can’t help. Oliver remembers how his wife, Rhanita used to handle those who wronged her. If he curses the unidentified culprits, will their lives be wrecked as his has been? On one Friday the 13th, he finds out.

Excerpt:

Oliver Calvert sat on the front porch glider. The muscles in his legs shook. He’d hardly slept last night, but when he did, the dreams he had were vivid nightmares. The plagues were visiting his dreams. Now he needed to find out how to visit them upon his scammers. How could that happen when he didn’t even know their names?

He shut his eyes, closing out the house across the street, the man walking his shepherd down the sidewalk, the blue jay squawking at him from that old elm in his front yard. Rhanita would know. He should have been able to go to her, to tell her that he loved her and needed her help as never before. Would she listen, would she help? Not that an answer mattered. She’d removed herself from him. They’d had so many years ahead of them. Now he was alone.

He clasped his hands together and recited again what his wife had always murmured, the curses she had uttered when someone had shunned her or made a sly comment that cut her to the quick. Rhanita was crafty that way. She always had a comeback, usually a curse. She’d mutter it and mutter it again. Then she’d go into the house and light black candles, throw her black shawl over her head, and kneel among the flickering flames, repeating the curse incessantly.

A few days of that and suddenly the cursed neighbor or acquaintance would be at the door with a casserole or home-baked bread, and a story to defend the offense. He thought the stories were simply excuses, but Rhanita took the offered gift with a frown and closed the door.

The offender might stay on the porch for hours, begging to be admitted, forgiven, or merely listened to. When Rhanita judged it had been long enough, and the regret was sincere, she would open the door, and nod. The offender would walk away, and Rhanita would replace the black candles with white ones, light them, and kneel once again, repeating a rush of words as she swayed wearing a white shawl.

Could it be that simple? A shawl, some candles and some murmured words? But what words? And how could it work if the offending party had no name?

A motorcycle zoomed down the street.

Oliver recalled what he had done last night. With only the light of the waning moon peeking into the dark bedroom, he found his wife’s shawl and the box of black candles, barely stubs. In the living room, he placed the lit candles in a circle on the wood floor, threw the shawl over his head and lifted his eyes toward heaven. “I am like Job, a simple man. This disaster was not deserved. The perpetrators are not worthy of success. I curse them. May the fruit of their work bring pain and misery. Send down the plagues of Egypt. The universe knows who did this.”

Words tumbled out. As he spoke, he heard Rhanita cursing the scammer until the moon and stars disappeared behind a thick cloud.

About the Author:

Mary Coley loves a good scare. She writes award-winning mysteries, usually set in her home state of Oklahoma. With the heart of an adventurer, she loves to travel and learn interesting new things. Sometimes they end up in her fiction. 

https://www.marycoley.com

https://www.facebook.com/MaryColeyAuthor

*** Find all the stories here: https://linktr.ee/fridaythe13thstories

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A Friday the 13th Horror Short Story: Broken by Laura Strickland ~ #Horror #Fri13thStories #Blog

The fourth of thirteen creepy tales of murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th…

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.

*** Find all the stories here: https://linktr.ee/fridaythe13thstories

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