Like A Puppet

Last weeks Pen of the Damned stalks in the shadows wherever I go today. Like a Puppet, by Jon Olson, is a slow-rolling horror ride with a debilitating gut punch for an ending. Give it a read, I dare you.

Pen of the Damned

Earl was two hours into his shift and already pissed off.

It was bad enough that management stuck him out at the East Gate Security Checkpoint but they also put him with the new guy, Geoff. Not only that but his guts rumbled too, threatening to spill out his hind quarters at any moment.

No one really used the East Gate anymore as it had been turned into an exit-only checkpoint. The road was poorly maintained with crumbling asphalt and the gate itself was rusted chain link. Their guard shack was roughly the size of a large recreational vehicle and sat just off the road surrounded by weeds.

Inside was a large desk with two computer monitors, each of them linked to a CCTV camera. Fluorescent lights hummed above, giving the trailer a slight hint of green making Earl think of a hospital. There was a single phone hooked…

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The Within

Mark Steinwachs is writing honest-to-goodness-creepy-ass horror on Pen of the Damned. His story this week, “The Within” refuses to let go from the first paragraph and leaves you wanting for more. Only the finest in modern horror at Pen of the Damned.
The demons are almost here… are you ready?

Pen of the Damned

“It starts with your first cry,” the white-haired gentleman sitting next to me says. “Moments after you are born your demon is as well, a microscopic creature that grows as you do.” He takes a sip from the tumbler of whiskey he got moments ago and sucks in a breath from the burn.

“Melvin, honey, stop scaring the nice young man,” Barb—I think the bartender said her name was Barb—says from the other end of the bar while cleaning glasses.

I look up from my rum and Coke, realizing the two of them are talking about me. “I’m sorry,” I say, looking around the cramped room again. There are two tables with people who look lost in their own worlds. I’m out of place here, a new person trespassing on the regulars’ sanctuary. “Were you talking to me?”

“Sometimes the truth is scary, Barbara, you know that.” Melvin…

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Tiny Cages

Veronica Magenta Nero crafts a haunting piece on this weeks Pen of the Damned. Her prose is chilling and beautiful, filled with sorrow and macabre details. Come on over to Pen of the Damned and give a read!

Pen of the Damned

Your grave is unmarked to all eyes but mine. The cobbled path is cool, almost sharp and so familiar against my bare feet, a track I am compelled to tread over and over. Harsh stones become damp grass becomes soft dirt the further from the house I walk, into the woods where the tension falls from my body and my gaze lifts, no longer fearful of being condemned.

The world has become my silent jury. When I must go into town, I walk with my head down to avoid the pity and suspicion on faces that watch me pass. The verdict is plain on tight silent lips, and hanging in the air around me—guilty. Let them have their gossip, their macabre fantasies, they will never know the truth of what took place.

The house we once shared is a vast empty space abandoned of meaning. I have…

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Know Not The Dark

Joseph Pinto gifts early Christmas monstrosities on this weeks Pen of the Damned! There is quite the subtle nod to Lovecraft brewing in this that serves a fantastic end. Great read, folks. And remember: keeping the outside lights up all winter isn’t weird at all!

Pen of the Damned

It crept up his neck, colder than the cold.

He knew he should’ve done it sooner—take the Christmas lights down—but he wasn’t one for strenuous labor, especially not in the teeth of winter. He realized the first weekend after the holidays would’ve been a perfect time, but he opted for the couch instead; relaxation, beer, movies on Netflix. But the subsequent weekends bled one into the next; unpacking, painting, the arranging of furniture. Simply no extra time existed during the week, his wife and he being the professional couple they were. They never regretted their move from city to sleepy hamlet. They just didn’t anticipate the zeal with which their town celebrated the holidays.

Deep into winter, and still all lights remained aglow. Every block, every house, either framed in bulbs of classic steady white or pulsing in rhythmic green, blue, red. Residences blazing all at once to life…

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Fireworks

Brian Moreland brings utter chaos and graphic anarchy on this week’s Pen of the Damned! Brian has a straightforward approach when it comes to horror, leaving no room for cozy buildups and senseless narrative. Brian tells it how it is and often it is brutal and intense, just like we want! Good job Brian, and watch out for them damn kids and their digital screens.

Pen of the Damned

It was a beautiful night for July Fourth fireworks. Frank Manetti drank an ice-cold Bud as he sat with his wife, Kim, on a picnic blanket in the park. All around, over a hundred people had gathered on blanket islands, waiting for the big show in the sky. Giggling kids ran with sparklers. On a stage, the high school band performed ‘Stars and Stripes’.

Frank and Kim’s three-year-old daughter, Emmy, talked to a jar of lightning bugs that Daddy had caught with her earlier. His baby girl looked adorable with face-painted flowers blooming on her cheeks. Frank wished he could bottle up Emmy’s preciousness and keep it forever. His teenage kids had grown out of that stage.

Collin, his fourteen-year-old, sat off by himself under a tree, playing a damned video game on his tablet, oblivious to the festivities. Agitation gnawing his gut, Frank searched the crowd for his…

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Damned Words 22

Drabble — a work of short fiction around 100 words. That is what we did, except, well, you know, horror. Come and embrace the work of all the Damned on this edition of Damned Words 22. One picture. Eleven stories. All to scare you into a constant pee-pants state. At least you’ll be as cool as Miles Davis. Billy Madison FTW.

Pen of the Damned

The Forever Burden
Lee A. Forman

Only at night could the tower be seen—a spectral fortress alive in darkness. Under the sun the site was an open field, but when the moon rose from its resting place, the stone went up as far as any lantern could illuminate. It seemed to touch the stars. They gathered there each midnight to offer their sorrows to the Lord. He who would cast vengeful death upon them from above. One living soul for one living day. The bargain had been set for as long as any could remember. An unending deal with an unseen God. Their forever burden…

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Torches
Veronica Magenta Nero

I silence my jagged breath and press myself flat against the cold stones. They chant my name as they jostle flaming torches in the night, boots stomping, their malicious song churns in my stomach. When I close my eyes I see…

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Crone

Christopher A. Liccardi brings “Crone” to this weeks Pen of the Damned. It’s an in-your-face sort of tale with a fast tempo and raw characters. There is a subtle element of humor in the beginning fold, one that fits believable terror of the mind so well. Embrace the Damned and give a nod to Chris for this excellent read.

Pen of the Damned

That crazy bitch said seven.

Seven of them, but she didn’t say which seven. She didn’t say where they were or how to find them!

Fuck!

Why did everything have to be so damn cryptic? He hated all the mysticism and bullshit.

Peter recalled that conversation, the last normal conversation he’d had. “Seven Devils, boy. You have to kill them all at once, or they come back.” She laughed, sticking her bony finger in his face.

“What the hell are you pointing at?” He slapped at the finger, but she was too quick. Old age had taken nothing but her looks away from her.

“I can see them,” she cackled. The last three teeth in her head were black. The urge to strangle the life out of her was overwhelming.

“I can’t see them. How can I kill what I can’t see?” he spat back at her.

“No, you…

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Sweet Ophelia

Ghost stories are best when they haunt the mind. “Sweet Ophelia” by A. F. Stewart, does just that. Anita digs relentlessly with chilling realism and exceptional pacing. I’m a parent, one that honestly loses sleep over stories like this. Come, embrace the Damned. Free horror, restless nights, all brought to you by today’s best in modern horror.

Pen of the Damned

Daddy, Daddy! Look! It’s snowing. Can we go out and play?”

Ophelia giggled and pressed her face close to the windowpane, staring at the flakes descending from the sky. She traced her chubby finger along the frost touched glass, waiting for an answer.

It never came.

Her silent father only sat in his high-backed chair and gulped another mouthful of Scotch. He stared into the flames crackling in the fireplace, ignoring anything else. When he drained the glass, he poured himself another drink.

Impatient, Ophelia sighed and climbed down from her window ledge perch. She glided out of the room in search of her mother. She found her in the kitchen washing dishes.

“It’s snowing, Mummy. Can we go play in the snow?”

Her mother never looked at her, simply kept at her task, and Ophelia sighed again. “No one pays attention to me anymore.” She tried stamping her…

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Waves

Nina has an ability to summon a wide range of emotions from a reader with her elegant horror, and in this weeks Pen of the Damned, she strikes awe in my eyes with her piece “Waves”. I look up to writers likes this, who can keep it short and vivid and vast and longing for more. Her prose, illustrious skills with words, paints the mind so well. Enjoy, friends!

Pen of the Damned

Trapped within this bubble, I feel nothing of the arid landscape that surrounds me. I sit in subjugation, offered scraps to feed upon; amuse-bouche for the soul, or so I imagine. Apportioned morsels to sustain me, but never more than your callous ego will allow. Yes, I have licked the plate and the tang has seared my tongue, left a residue of shame that will forever taint my palate. I once soared with as much grace and majesty as the prey that circles overhead – a dangerous companion to adopt, folly perhaps, as I know what it awaits.

Freedom, such a simple thing, stolen from me by destiny’s choice; a truth mourned beyond measure. I was vibrant once, as vibrant as the now desiccated tree before me. I see its brittle limbs, its exposed bones; the crack that foretells of the next fractured moment. I live that moment with…

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Serpentine Willow

Lee Andrew Forman crafts macabre splendors in “Serpentine Willow,” a tale of one mother’s dedication, deep in the heart of terror. Lee’s impresses with slick transitions, ghastly details and horrific monsters. Read this and reread it and tell others to follow suit because this story is everything a horror fan wants in a quick read.

Pen of the Damned

Rebecca’s toes curled in her boots when her feet touched the unholy earth. Ancient trees populated the forest ahead, pale fog twisting between their trunks with serpentine grace. Gnarled limbs formed an impenetrable canopy above, coloring all with a nocturnal hue. Tendrils of mist slithered around her legs, and her knees ached to buckle, but she forced herself on; she knew fear would bring demise.

She thought of Oliver. His shining face cast iron rods into her bones. It kept her from succumbing to the black moss which grabbed at her feet. His smile, the way he always wanted his sandwiches without the crust, his unending questions—memories that powered her will.

Movement in the brush clenched her jaw. But her eyes never averted the path; they stared forward, glazed with determination, intent only on reaching the end. After that it wouldn’t matter.

A clearing opened ahead. Rebecca stopped and…

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