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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