Finding Fans, One Fan At A Time

Finding fans is hard work, so I wrote a flash-fiction piece to embody it. Enjoy, and if you feel like posting one of your own, feel free! Just remember that because I write everything from middle-grade to horror and back again, people of all ages read this stuff, so let’s not get overly bloody, crass, or sexual.

 

ALSO: The best STORY POSTED BY MIDNIGHT ON DEC. 29, 2017 (my choice) gets FOUR FREE MBC EBOOKS.

Because why not! To be eligible, though, the story has to POSTED IN THE COMMENTS BELOW.

Everyone tells me I should just focus on finding one fan at a time, one fan at a time, one fan at a time. It’s harder work than I originally thought it would be; but each time I get a fan, it makes me feel special. I know they love my work, because they start screaming in horror from the start. Some of them don’t even make it to the first page, just lost in the terror of the back cover copy that I read to them as I nail their feet and one hand – the other has to be free to turn the pages! – to the floor of my basement.

 

UPDATE: SEE THE STORIES BELOW TO SEE WHICH ONE WAS THE WINNER!

Thanks to everyone who participated. A lot of them were creepy, some were downright awful (in a good way), and ALL of them were fun!

16 comments

she glanced at the almost worn away spiral symbol over the door as she took a deep breath and pressed it open and the familiar chill settled in as she descended the dark staircase to her fate. The stone walls started to narrow and made her shiver as it brushed against her shoulder and seemed steal the warmth from her soul. she has arrived to the underground gathering where she saw her mother before her die to satisfy the gods. Her heart fought the existence of all of this but their faces demanded obedience as a knife made its first slash through her skin and as the red began to flow so did the tears for her daughter who might one day share her fate. As the last drops fell she whispered, “I love you.”

I was alone in the cabin, just the cats and I, my life was basically Heaven. Then that one night, my eyes slid open as I heard the tiniest of noises outside, just a scritching sound, mind you, but still a sound. I could not sit up, I couldn’t move, just wait, the light switch was too far away, the cats were curled tight at my side, it was their heads lifting to sniff at the air that warned me, the sound of their aggressive purring, the quickened beats of their hearts as I reached for their sides. What…was making it’s way under my cabin by the river.

Linda Jenkins

We moved to Florida when we retired for the obvious; warmer weather, sandy beaches and great fresh seafood.
Nobody warned us about one thing, although we had many friends in the south.
I should have said thousands of things because soon after we settled into our new older home we were invaded by what are nicely called palmettos.
Now at night when I get up and a turn on a light they are skittering everywhere, falling out of ceiling vents and making me question our decision to move in the first place.
Shall we stay or shall we go is invading our thoughts, our dreams and our visions of what lives we have remaining knowing when we awaken we just might find them crawling into every orifice we have.

Cricket Booth

The winds blowing and the window panes are rattling with each gale force. My headache is getting worse, time for a Tylenol. I head to the kitchen when the knock deliberate and paced sounds on the front door. I jump. Who could it be in this storm, miles from town? I go and stand by the door listening, nothing but wind. Maybe I imagined it? I look at the door and see I forgot to lock it and the safety chain hangs unhinged. Dammit! If I lock it now they will hear me, suddenly the door knob starts to slowly turn, the wind howls in terror, and the lights go out. The wind howls louder as the door slams open. Oh dear God!, the howling wasn’t the wind afterall.

I can feel the tenderness of her skin through the knife, as if it were an extension of my touch. My body nearly convulses, but it’s to something incredibly faint, yet deep down, that screams to resist this uncontrollable pleasure. Of course I can’t climb back to the edge.
But he wasn’t looking at me, are there others in the room? He scorched my soul, so who would I save by swallowing my fear and burying my panic?

3 truths and a lie
The door creaking is just the wind.
There is no such thing as monsters under your bed.
The noise is just the tv
There will be parts for the police to identify in the morning..

Last kiss
She didn’t want to dance. But, he swept her up into his arms. As he kissed her, he drained all the life out of her.

Valerie Dircks

The surgeon carefully draped the patient’s peeled off forehead over his nose–that was the standard way to access and repair facial fractures like this. The patient had undergone general anesthesia, and the monitors around him beeped steadily, reassuring that vitals were normal. It was always disconcerting how the patient’s now lidless eyes stared blankly into space, so the surgeon moved quickly to cover the moist orbs with the gel that would prevent them from drying out during the proceedure. As he extended his gloved hand the patient turned his bloody, exposed skull and wide lidless eyes toward the surgeon and smiled.

mbc@writteninsomnia.com

WINNER!

All of these pieces were fun, and some of them made me grin with wicked delight. But something about this one just made me cringe (in a good way).

Great job! Check your email for prize details!

Randy Tayler

I had to attend Mike’s funeral for appearances, but going to the wake was the wrong choice. It went late into the night, and I couldn’t seem to get away. It turns out that was because they didn’t /want/ me to get away – they somehow knew it was me who killed Mike. Out of respect for the deceased, they waited until the clock tolled midnight, and the party abruptly stopped. Each of the other guests stared at me, and Mike’s wife started handing out knives.

Richard Kozak

I’m paralyzed and cannot speak, naked on a hard table. Knives of many sizes are within my sight. A large hand grabs one and points it at my heart. With a growling chuckle he pushes it under my skin…I feel my heart skidding to a stop. GOD HELP ME

My given name is irrelevant. All who know me call me Karma. I have heard the phrase “life’s a bitch, and then you die” many of times as I’m sure you have also. So I must ask, what lead you to make my acquaintance? Whatever the case may be, it is unfortunate for you- as I too, am a bitch.

Bonnie Coponen

Praying for a girl
As a mother it was the hardest, most wretched thing you could ever do, murdering your own son. But the prophecy was specific; only a female can become the next ruler of the coven and it must live on. The pregnancy test is tomorrow and I’ll know it’s fate. I’m praying for a girl.

The Forest of Broken Trees

The four teenagers, Ben, Jason, Wade and Wendy stood beside their BMX bikes staring at the copse of trees that had erupted overnight up and through the rocky, sage-brush covered floor at the base of the sand dunes where they raced their bikes during the summer, the tops of the fully grown trees appearing as though a giant logger had casually swiped at them with a chainsaw, leaving some completely severed and others twisted at 45 and 90 degree angles. Fueled by bravado and the need to impress the only girl at the party, the boys mounted their bikes and, as a group, and with a parting wink from Jason, spun their rear tires through the hard arid soil through what should have been the dappled shade of the boughs, but appeared more like a black undulating fog. Minutes passed-perhaps only seconds-before parched wind gusts crested the tops of the dunes and, gathering speed, swirled down into the trees, toppling their trunks and pulling their crackling branches under the desert earth with deafening ferocity until nothing remained except the lava rock-strewn, hard-pan landscape that had remained for centuries at the foot of the ever-changing dunes. The scream that exploded from Wendy’s core shook her body, twisted her hands into fists and was carried soundlessly away.

This story was actually posted at 10:45 PM MST, 29 DEC, 2017.

With a click of my fingers, I can make the lights go out. Driving along, I snap streetlights into puddles of dark, make the front house lights singing “Welcome home!” choke on their own black tongues. I send screens to their death, red-eye buses off mountains, electricians up ladders. I don’t like the light in your eyes, either.