Tag Archive for: drabble


by Tim Law

I have whispered those words before, in passionate moments when desire has overruled logic.

Tonight, you believe we have taken playtime from the bedroom to the kitchen. Your naivety makes me smile. Tied to the table instead of the bed, I run my teaser across your flesh, only this time it is not a feather. Tonight, I have chosen my carving knife. Your breath quickens, eyes go wide as I slice off your tip. The mask silences your screams.

As I devour you, piece by piece, I say those words you know so well.

“I love the way you taste…”


Tim Law

Tim Law hails from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. A happily married father of three, family is very important to him. He works at the local library, surrounded by so many wonderful stories he’s constantly inspired to write. His general musings can be found at:

Website: somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au

Feast of the Dead

by M. Belanger

Sever the head with a single, swift strike. To hesitate brings shame to the family. Open the cavity and remove all organs. Offer these to the gods. They like their meat bloody.

Dig a pit two handspans wider than the carcass in all directions. In the bottom, kindle a fire of sacred wood. Burn this down to embers.

Stuff with apples and onions, garlic, grapes, and figs. Wrap with chela fronds. The next dawn, the meat will be ready: smoky, tender, and sweet. The closest relative receives the first portion.

And this, my child, is how we honour our dead.


M. Belanger


by Weird Wilkins

I always thought I’d die in battle…

Now I lie here, the drifting snow slowly smothering my twisted form. My skin, blackened and wracked with weeping welts, sloughs in great hunks from my charred bones.

I try to speak, to curse at the one who has wrought this upon me, but I can manage nothing more than garbled splutters. I lie here, quietly drowning in my own putrid blood.

The agony of my pox-ridden body is second only to my shame.

I am to be denied Valhalla.

To think, the old ones said there would be glory in hunting witches…


Weird Wilkins

Weird Wilkins is long-time writing enthusiast taking the terrifying plunge into the world of actually submitting work for publication. He’s rooted firmly in the “weird fiction” subgenre of horror with a particular passion for stories revolving around a mounting sense of dread and healthy lashings of body horror. He plans to forge a reputation as a purveyor of frightful short stories in both collaborative collections and his own anthologies.

For Glory

by Kai Delmas

Gunnar breathed in the sea spray as if it were mead while they sailed through the storm.

Midgard’s edge was surely close now. They had been sailing for weeks.

Scales rippled in the choppy waves.

“Jörmungandr!” Ivar roared from above, pointing.

Finally, Gunnar thought, readying axe and shield. His companions joined him at the rails.

The giant sea serpent raised its massive head, much bigger than they had imagined.

Gunnar jumped aside as Jormungand bit off Ragnar’s torso. All that remained were his legs, blood spraying wildly.

Screaming and chaos ensued.

Gunnar chopped at scales, to no avail.

Jörmungandr feasted.


Kai Delmas

Kai Delmas loves creating worlds and magic systems. His fiction can be found in Zooscape, Martian, Crepuscular, and several Shacklebound anthologies. His debut drabble collection, Darkness Rises, Hope Remains, was published by Shacklebound Books. You can support him at: patreon.com/kaidelmas and find him on Twitter @KaiDelmas or Bluesky @kaidelmas.bsky.social


by Tim Law

You cut down my father, stole my sister away; leaving me a sword I couldn’t lift and a burning desire for revenge.

Now you have returned, older, just as I am. You’ve grown weak, while I’ve the strength of my whole tribe. My son and daughter bear witness as I promise you death. I discover fury is not the weapon I’d hoped it would be.

You leave me broken; man, blade, spirit. I weep as I watch my daughter take your hand. My sorrow deepens as I see my son pick up that sword’s pieces, vengeance in his young eyes.


Tim Law

Tim Law hails from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. A happily married father of three, family is very important to him. He works at the local library, surrounded by so many wonderful stories he’s constantly inspired to write. His general musings can be found at:

Website: somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au

Norseman of the Dead

by Andrew Kurtz 

The rancorous stench of death emanating from the Viking longboat reached up to the Halls of Valhalla and Fenrir’s nostrils.

The dead don’t always travel on land, but sea.

The re-animated corpses of the Viking warriors, putrid flesh blanketed with maggots and worms, crew the ship littered with the bones of their victims.

They aren’t interested in treasures of gold and jewellery that would make a man wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Dominating women to satisfy sexual desires is a task left to the living.

A great banquet awaits them at the next unsuspecting village, a feast of human flesh.


Andrew Kurtz

Andrew Kurtz is an up-and-coming horror author who writes very graphic and violent short stories which have appeared in numerous horror anthologies.

Since childhood, he has loved horror films and literature. His favourite authors are Stephen King, Clive Barker, H.G. Wells, Richard Matheson, Edgar Rice Boroughs, and Ian Fleming.

The Last One

by Stephen Herczeg 

Dark skies greet me as I wake.

Pain strikes my flesh. ‘Tis nothing compared to that of my friends, my comrades, my enemies. Dead, littering the battlefield, unmoving.

I am the last one. The conqueror.

Gold shimmers above the corpses. Their spirits stand as one.

The great gates of Valhalla open. Silently, they march into paradise. An eternity of drinking, feasting, and fighting.

The gates shut.

Alone again, I drop to my knees screaming to be invited inside.

Alive, Valhalla will never accept me.

Gripping my axe, I set out for combat. I must fall, and others will join me.


Stephen Herczeg

Stephen is an IT Geek based in Canberra, Australia. He has been writing for over twenty years and has completed a couple of dodgy novels, sixteen feature length screenplays, and numerous short stories and scripts.

His horror work has been featured in numerous anthologies. He has also had numerous Sherlock Holmes stories published.


by Kailey Alessi

“Don’t touch me!” I back up, my knife comically small compared to the sword brandished by the invader.

“You’re brave, girl.” The invader removes her helmet and blonde braids cascade down her shoulders. She glances at the cooling body of my father and grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was a worthless drunk.”

She peers at me more closely and I itch to pull down my sleeve to cover the bruises.

“No one ever lays a finger on a shield-maiden,” she says, then walks away. I pause a moment. Then I sheath my knife and follow her to the ship.


Kailey Alessi

Kailey Alessi has lived in Michigan, Kentucky, Idaho, and Florida. An archaeologist by day, by night she writes disturbing fiction. She is the author of the Of Vampires and Men dark fantasy series, and her flash fiction can be found in numerous anthologies.


by Martin Murray

Oein awaited the Witch on the grounds where his slaughtered army lay.

She promised him their return in exchange for his daughters.

The Witch appeared from the shadows, her face the color of the moon.

She took the girls’ hands, leading them towards the darkened woods; her purpose for his children, Oein did not know. Eir, his youngest, looked back- her cheeks flushed with worry.

An owl cried, and his risen brothers stood amongst the fog. Their eyes were milky-white, with rotten jaws hung slack. The Witch’s voice caught the wind: “I return the bodies. I cannot retrieve the souls.”


Martin Murray

Martin Murray is a writer based in New York City. He received his MFA in playwriting from Columbia University. His short fiction has appeared in Deathcap & Hemlock, Microfiction Monday Magazine, and Flash Fiction Magazine. He is a screenwriter currently working on an original project for Troma Entertainment.

Facing the Enemy

by Jameson Grey

“This cur does not deserve the blood eagle,” Harald, the clan chief, declared.

Having once witnessed the ritual, I considered him not tearing out my ribs and ripping out my lungs to be almost merciful.

“I want a memento of my greatest victory,” Harald added.

Still, I hoped my end would be swift. Perhaps to satisfy the chief’s bloodthirst they might simply lop off my head?

As the executioner approached the block to which I was tied, I saw, instead of an axe, he carried his keenest knife.

My fate was confirmed when Harald spoke again.

“Bring me his face!”


Jameson Grey

Jameson Grey’s work has been published in Dark Recesses Press magazine, Dark Dispatch and in various anthologies including Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology from Ghost Orchid Press, Let the Weirdness In: A Tribute to Kate Bush from Heads Dance Press and Love Letters to Poe, Volume II: Houses of Usher.

Website: jameson-grey.com