Tag Archive for: microfiction

Showtime

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by Warren Benedetto

 

Deke woke from a dream of his life before the circus. He had been roaming under the endless Montana sky. A blinding light shone from above. A watery, gurgling voice spoke.

“This one.”

Then, darkness.

Deke’s eyes fluttered open. He was in a box of frosted glass, naked and cold. The lid opened. He squinted up at his captor, at its four tentacled arms, its translucent head, its singular yellow eye. Deke had learned that the least painful option was to simply comply. Perform his routine. Entertain the crowd. Survive another day.

His captor spoke. Its voice was liquid.

“Showtime.”

Warren Benedetto

Warren Benedetto writes short fiction about horrible people doing horrible things. He has a Master’s degree in Film/TV Writing from USC. He is also the developer of StayFocusd, the world’s most popular anti-procrastination app for writers. He built it while procrastinating. Visit www.warrenbenedetto.com

 

The Greatest Show on Earth

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by Pauline Yates

 

Teaching a monkey how to strike a match was a clever trick. It required the use of electric shocks to his fingers, but when he lights the ring of fire for the Bengal tigers to jump through, the crowd applauds me as the greatest animal trainer in the circus’s history.

However, I underestimated the monkey’s cleverness. He can also wield a whip. Biting it from my hand, he directs one tiger to herd me from the left, another from the right. The third tiger crouches beyond the flaming ring, mouth open, fangs dripping saliva, waiting for my leap of death.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates is an Australian author of horror and speculative fiction. Her short stories appear with Midnight Echo, Metaphorosis, Redwood Press, plus others, as well as several anthologies including Mondi Incantanti, published by Riflessi di Luce Lunare (RiLL), Italy. Links to Pauline’s stories can be found at https://paulineyates.com/

 

Tick Tock

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by Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

 

The contorted body was lifeless, yet warm. Hollow eyes, horrified visage. Tick tock, a portent of doom. The mirthful laughter seemed a distant memory. The ‘Ringmaster’ promised a unique experience. Yet now she trembled, whip in hand. Sixty seconds. Soon, the oblivious soul entered. She glanced back at the body. Hers. Desperation coiled the whip about his fragile neck. Edges crudely tightened, his agonised gasps and frothing pleas were hushed. She awoke in her body, unscathed. The asphyxiated body laid by her side and a new ringmaster waited with sixty seconds to claim his own victim for salvation. Tick tock.

Vijayaraj Mahendraraj

My name is Vijayaraj Mahendraraj. I go by Vijay. I am originally from Malaysia but currently work as a physician in Canada. Writing has always been a burning passion of mine.
Facebook: @vijayaraj.mahendraraj

 

Spectre Spectacular

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by James Hancock

 

We came to town at night. Cries of wild steeds broke the silence as a line of covered wagons brought hidden mysteries for a special performance. Word spread fast, and with the black tent erected, guests lined up for the evening’s show.

Spectre Spectacular. This was no ordinary circus, and if anyone told you they’d seen its kind before…they lied.

The twisted mimes danced through the waiting audience and set a tone of terror. Uncomfortable laughter stopped, a chill rolled in, and shapes leapt from the shadows.

Through the cacophony of screams and panic, the demons drank their fill.

 

James Hancock

James Hancock is a writer/screenwriter of comedy, thriller, horror, sci-fi and twisted fairy tales.  A few of his short screenplays have been made into films, and he has been published in print magazines, online, and in anthology books. He lives in England, with his wife and two daughters.  And a bunch of pets he insisted his girls could NOT have.

 

The Juggler

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by Caoimhin Kennedy

 

The urge to piss led him behind the tent. He unzipped and released.

Footsteps forced a halt to his relief.

He turned and there the Juggler stood. Three balls tossed through the air. The roar of the crowd beyond the tent walls exploded.

The juggler stepped from the shadows, his face appearing in the moonlight. Pale, bloodied, savage, evil.

It was then he realised the Juggler’s tools were not balls, but skulls.

One swipe of the Juggler’s claws separated the head from the body.

His bladder let the remaining liquid free as the Juggler feasted to collect his fourth ball.

Caoimhin Kennedy

Originally from Ireland, Caoimhin Kennedy has always had a passion for telling stories. He currently lives in Ottawa, Canada, working in the engineering sector. His works can be found in a publication of Every Day Fiction and in three upcoming Black Hare Press anthologies titled: West, Cyborg, and Eerie Christmas Vol. 2.

 

Nightmares at the Circus

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by Liam Hogan

 

There was no net. There was no audience, either. Not a live one, anyway. Just corpses, staring up into the big top.

If Sally didn’t make it to the waiting arms of the other trapeze artist, no-one would gasp as she fell screaming through the air, no-one would rush to help as she lay broken on the packed dirt.

She screwed up her nerve. They were in sync: now was the time. She leapt. For a moment, she feared she’d fallen short. But the hands were there. Sally grasped them, relieved.

Skeletal arms broke free and plummeted down with her.

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, with stories in Best of British Science Fiction and in Best of British Fantasy (NewCon Press). He’s been published by Analog, Daily Science Fiction, and Flame Tree Press, among others. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

Near Miss

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by Sophie Wagner

 

Blindfolded and arms outstretched, he turned to the crowd and asked for a volunteer. No one moved.

After a moment, a clown stepped into the crowd and hauled a sobbing Andrew to his feet.

“Please don’t make me,” Andrew begged.

“Don’t worry, he never misses,” the clown replied.

He dragged him to centre stage, tied him to a board, then stepped back and handed the blindfolded man a knife.

Quickly, he spun around, then let the knife fly from his hand. With a thud, it stuck in Andrew’s heart. Not missing a beat, the carny folk descended upon their meal.

Sophie Wagner

Sophie Wagner is an emerging student author who has had multiple short story and poetry publications. You can find her work at the Macabre Ladies, Black Ink Fiction, Eerie River Press, Iron Faerie Publishing, the Black Hare Press and more. She hopes you have a horror filled day!

 

Clowning Around

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by Blaise Langlois

 

I had been in the tent for most of the afternoon, sticky from the August heat. So far, most of the applicants had been rather underwhelming.

Just then, an awkward looking figure lifted the tent flap and strode over, his oversized black shoes squeaking as he moved. I indicated toward the empty seat in front of me.

His face paint was traditional, and a frown replaced the typical goofy grin—something that just wouldn’t do.

“Could you smile for me, please?” I sighed.

The clown’s red lips peeled back to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“You’re hired,” I told him.

Blaise Langlois

Emerging author, Blaise Langlois, will never turn down the chance to tell a creepy story. You are sure to find her writing in between teaching and raising four beautiful children, or feverishly scratching out ideas (which to the chagrin of her supportive husband, usually occurs just after midnight).

Website: ravenfictionca.wordpress.com

 

The Naughty List

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by Les Talma

 

She made a deal with Santa.

It was uncommon, but she had been very good, while others had been very bad. 

So bad that they’d driven her best friend to suicide with cruel taunts and ceaseless torments.

Coal just wouldn’t cut it.

But now, she’d be punishing those naughty-listers. Just her, them, a toolbox full of sharpened candy canes, a sturdy hammer, some Christmas lights, and maybe some black ops elves to help…

After this, she’d never be on the nice list again.

She was fine with that.

And when she was done, she’d have some gloriously screaming Christmas displays.

Les Talma

Les Talma likes atmospheric horror movies, amusingly strange TV shows, comic books, fairy tales that are dark and delicious, and pixie dream girls that go on bizarre blood lust frenzies. He scribbles down things in notebooks, sometimes they end up as finished works.

 

Into Every Life Falls a Little Rain, Dear

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by Steven Holding

 

‘Tis goodwill season and the Devil’s fuming.

Despite different addresses (one red-hot, another ice cold), post destined for the pole keeps appearing. Incorrect grammar’s the reason: lists from mixed-up kids who can’t spell S-A-N-T-A. Both wear red, keep company with knee-high entities, but there the similarities end.

Sickened, Old Nick’s quick to teach Saint Nick a lesson: Christmas isn’t white, but crimson.

Come the twenty-fifth, he’s found the sleigh, sniggering, “Naughty or nice, everyone’s due a surprise. Something shocking in their stocking—not Jingle bells, but Hell’s bells and buckets of blood!”

Hidden in Santa’s bed—nine severed reindeer heads.

Steven Holding

Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. Most recently, his work has appeared in HENSHAW FOUR from Henshawpress and HALLOWEEN FRIGHTS from Black Ink Fiction. You can follow his work at www.stevenholding.co.uk