Category: Trembling With Fear

Serial Killers: On the Origin of the Species (Part 1) by Avital Malenky

Serial Killers are part of our Trembling With Fear line and are serialized stories which we’ll be publishing on an ongoing basis.

Once upon a time, many years ago, Hannah traveled to a brand new and far away World.

A humid jungle planet that was empty of alien life, it was nonetheless bursting with exotic kinds of vegetation. Having visible water on its surface it presented an alluring target for brave young colonists.

The human race was in the middle of what later will be known as The Great Migration. They had no hope but to leave and start again somewhere else so the human race planted their seeds all over the galaxy in a desperate act of survival and called the action Great.

Just a mere few decades before the Great Migration was conceived the Earth was changing in a way that could not support human life as it was descending into perpetual winter. Chain reactions resulting from human actions started centuries ago had caused an exponential and unstoppable change on the surface of The Earth.

The temperature inside the atmosphere that has been rising slowly since the 1900s was causing the permafrost along the globes once permanently frozen edges to melt a little bit more every year.

Unknown to anyone, the permafrost in the north and south of the planet held beneath it a million years’ worth of rotting pools and their vapors. This gruesome mass was made up of dead animals and plants buried in vast fields of death over the eons.

The gasses this mass grave omitted were luckily trapped under the permanent ice for all these years, but no more. Once five percent of all the permafrost on Earth melted one too warm a summer, it released to the atmosphere a huge amount of greenhouse gasses. Their levels in the earth’s atmosphere hit a crucial point and a few short years of never before seen climate disasters were the prologue to a permanent change in The Earth’s climate.

The countries that suffered the most, mainly the Northern Hemisphere ones, gave everything they had for the construction of the first Migration Fleet. Their sacrifice saved the human race. Even though some would say, it was the actions of the very same countries that caused the climate change in the first place.

The deal was simple and thousands took it. Hannah and Itzhak, newlyweds and desperate, went along for the ride.

Each migrant committed to working through the first tough ten years of the settlement unpaid, and if and how they survived, they were to be rewarded by receiving a share of the produce and a piece of the land.

Tiny satellites that were deployed prior to any colonists’ drop-offs supplied ample information from above for years in some cases. Later on, they will provide a means of communication for the new settlements, but first, they brought new data on each possible location and this one looked unbelievably good.

LV-420 was enveloped in comforting signs of life; it had lush hills and valleys that were cut only by enormous rivers along its landscape and the temperatures read 30º-50ºC, not very comfortable but still extremely livable. There was no movement seen by the satellites in the thick green below, orbiting the planet for a decade before the actual colonization began, strengthening the suggestion that this Planet had no life forms but plants on it.

A great find, an amazing location if it was true and Hannah and Itzhak pulled more than a few strings to get on this particular Colony. The planet known only as LV-420 was a perfect destination and was to be their new home, that is, if their colony survived.

Every migrant had a real chance of survival. Everyone who left on The Migration believed it to some degree, or they never would have left.

The odds of survival on the colonies, unfortunately, were not very high and by the time Hannah was getting ready to ship out the rates stood at a sixty percent total destruction rate. A huge improvement after the first year of the Great Migration, the one no one survived.

The first wave of colonists were sent to the dwarf planets inside the Earth’s Solar System and died out completely within a few short months. Their deaths asserted the fact that it was impossible to inhabit a planet with no presence of water in its atmosphere. Means of making, storing or reclaiming water from waste all eventually failed, and the entirety of the first wave died from thirst. The earth watched them perish in horror and desperation from above.

For the second wave of The Migration, the search widened through the galaxy to much further away Solar Systems, further than ever before thought possible, but specifically to planets with visible water on their surface.

A Planet with no animals or plants was preferable, exotic life proved fatal to the colonists almost every time. Unfortunately, alien life could not be avoided on most plants selected for colonization because water usually meant life. It turns out that life pops up almost everywhere where liquid water was found, alien life that was inhospitable and almost always fatal to the newly arrived settlers. 

Avital Malenky

I grew up in an ultra-orthodox community in Israel but left that life very young. Having traveled all over the world after my Military service in Army Intelligence, I settled with my husband and son in England. I battle PTSD daily and am caring for my son, recently diagnosed with autism.

Trembling With Fear 06/07/20

This bit is going to stay here until the pandemic is over. Thank you to all keyworkers who continue to keep us going during the pandemic. As the UK and Europe moves out of lockdown, I really hope that eventually we can get some sort of normal going around the world.

But normal seems to be a long way off, convulsing under the onslaught of the pandemic, economic disaster and long-present tensions erupting to the fore once more. I don’t talk about politics here and I’m not going to say much now, but I can’t ignore what I see and I want to say how sorry I am. The UK is not a blameless society, it still has issues which need addressing but it has moved forward from what it used to be – sometimes it would be good if it moved faster but on the whole, we have progressed. What I see in the US however, is something I can’t get my head around, the sheer scale of ingrained hatred displayed by some towards others of a different ethnicity, this whole stupid idea of white supremacy, the level of violence and injustice, the guns. I abhor it. Yes, all lives matter BUT only from a position of respect and equality, until that situation is achieved there will always be a need for movements such as #BlackLivesMatter.

Nor would I ever dream of tarring a whole population with the same brush. I’ve come to know so many decent people in the states, via Horror Tree and other avenues, and to them I would just like to say I hope your country regains the peace and stability it needs, and also the justice and equality demanded by all. And in my own country, my dream is to see every type of prejudice and ignorance over colour, race, religion, gender, sex or disability stamped out utterly.

Stepping back in to our world of horror, I’d just like to remind readers and contributors I round up the latest book launch news on Fridays on Horror Tree – culling the information from the Pandemic Book Launch and Hot Off the Indie Press groups on Facebook and also some direct contacts. If you are from either the POC or LGBT+ communities and have a book out soon, drop me a line and I’ll add it to the roundup and work out a way of highlighting it (me and WordPress do have our differences at times!). This way we can promote #BlackLivesMatter and Pride. I’m also happy to include book launch news in my editorial. Want a book review or interview? Cathy Jordan is Horror Tree’s Review Co-ordinator and Selene MacLeod oversees the interviews.

Our first story this week in Trembling With Fear is Pale Horse by Lynn Love. This submission is one of those I knew I’d left a comment against after reading it the first time. I went back to my tracker and found just two words ‘Terrific, atmospheric’. Having re-read it, this still holds true. From the wonderful opening line ‘You brought a cow to a poker game?’ to the personification of Pale Horse making it as much a character in the story as the men – it is ‘lean and tough, cruel and greedy’ – to the well-paced dialogue, this is a beautifully crafted chiller about sinners and their own personal roads to Hell.

In the Drain by Radar DeBoard grabbed me simply by virtue of that clump of hair pulled out of the drain. I hate it when I have to clear that, that horrible grey, slimy mass – ugh, makes me ill thinking about it. Good ploy I might add in writing. Choose something you know will make readers cringe.

Unkindest Cut by R.J. Meldrum is a story initially rousing pity in the reader, until you read on. Misdirect your reader and you get a stronger effect from the ending.

Wee-Ja by Theresa Derwin, puns with its title and twists a haunting in an unlikely environment. Play with your title, it can add so much when you have a limited wordcount.

Take care



Stephanie Ellis

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Happy weekend one and all! I know that you’re reading this on the last day of the weekend (or potentially later) but I still hope you’ve had a good one! 

This week we’ve got some great stories and the first one is a fun-filled piece as I’ve been hooked on western horror as of late when not reading fantasy. 

When it comes to the site, I would like to again share that we’re currently:

– Looking for more interviewers and book reviewers!

– Taking more guest posts for Horror Tree
– Looking for write-ups on Horror Tree on your website (with what we do, fun facts about the site, etc.)
– And finally, opportunities for the staff of Horror Tree to be interviewed.
If any of these are something you’d like to help out on, please be sure to contact us at [email protected] or by using our contact form.

Have a great last day of the weekend all!

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree


Unholy Trinity: Carnivore by Justin Boote

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.



Farmer Watson opened the door to the cowshed and stepped in. The cows shuffled in anticipation of exercise and food. He slapped one on the back to get it to move, but instead it resisted.

“Go on, go!”

Instead, they surrounded him.

Something pushed him to the ground. He grunted, nervous.

“Hell you doing?”

Then, something tugged at his earlobe. He screamed. A cow stood on his chest, bit his nose. Others tore at his arms, legs, his face.

They only stopped when all that remained was tough bone or muscle tissue. And that was happily devoured by the rodents.


Paul loved the countryside, watching the wildlife. He could relax, not worry about being bullied or taunted for being fat.

A squirrel ran past him, then stopped, staring into Paul’s eyes. He grinned.

Another appeared, then another until he was surrounded by almost a dozen.

 One bit his ankle. Another ran up his leg, nipped his throat.

They charged.

He fell and was smothered by ferocious animals. They scrambled over him biting, chewing, tearing. His screams only stopped when one forced its way into his mouth, scurrying down his throat until he choked him to death. They ate him whole.


Keith dumped the body in the river and sighed. Another one to add to the collection and the local wildlife would do the hard work for him, stripping the remains of flesh and any evidence. 

He smiled. A squirrel scurried to the water’s edge and began to drink. He was doing the countryside a favour, adding protein to their water supply. Maybe they’d get a taste for it.

He turned and was startled to see a cow standing over him. It had a red smear across its face. It stepped closer and nudged him. Keith’s last thought was of taste.

Justin Boote

Justin Boote is an Englishman living in Barcelona for over twenty years working as a waiter in a busy, centrical restaurant. He has been writing short horror stories for four years and in this time, has published around thirty short stories in diverse magazines and anthologies. He has also co-edited and published an anthology with a group of writer friends called A Discovery of Writers, now available on Amazon.

His short novella, Badass, published by Terror Tract, is also available at Amazon in Kindle and paperback

He can be found at Facebook under his own name or at his Amazon Author Page.

Trembling With Fear 05/31/20

This bit is going to stay here until the pandemic is over. Thank you to all keyworkers who continue to keep us going during the pandemic. As the UK and Europe moves out of lockdown, I hope the situation in the US is improving. I really hope that eventually we can get some sort of normal going around the world.

On the home front, I’m on half-term and managed at last to shorten my writing To Do list. I’ve just finished the draft of my novel, The Woodcutter and sent it off to its first beta reader. That particular book has taken over almost 2 years to write as it’s stopped and started due to a combination of work pressures and suddenly deciding to write another novel at the same time. The only reason I did the latter was because I couldn’t shake an idea which suddenly came to me and which I needed to get out of my system before I got back to my poor old Woodcutter. I will try not to do that again. How do you all cope with this sort of thing? Are you strict with yourself and finish what you’re on, do you change tack, or do you do both simultaneously?

One common link between these two novels is they were both born from NaNoWriMo. That is the month I use to get something new off the ground. Makes me wonder what’ll happen this year.

Publishing news this week includes congratulating an old writing friend of mine, Christopher Stanley, whose collection of flash fiction published via The Arcanist, The Lamppost Huggers and Other Wretched Tales, is out June 1st . I had a sneak peak prior to publication and can really recommend it. I’ve always enjoyed Chris’s flash fiction and if you want an example of a master, he is it. He has been so supportive of many other writers, it’s lovely to be able to return the favour here.

Likewise TWF contributor, Mark Anthony Smith, who appears to be everywhere at the minute. His collection of fiction and verse, Something Said: Fictions and Verse is currently available and Red Cape Publishing’s anthology containing one of his stories, C is for Cannibals (A to Z of Horror Book 3) is available for pre-order.

It is also great to celebrate the work of other staff members of Horror Tree, particularly one whose work I have enjoyed in the past. Ruschelle Dillon’s novella, The Stain, published by Black Bed Sheet Books, is now available. Having read Arithmophobia, which I highly rate, I can’t wait to get stuck into this one.

And last but not least, look out soon for the charity horror anthology, Diabolica Britannica organised by Keith Anthony Baird which includes stories by TWF writers Alyson Faye, Janine Pipe and me as well as a number of other writers. There are two very famous horror authors in this line up but I am not at liberty to say who they are yet. This book is to raise money (in response to the coronavirus) for the wonderful National Health Service (NHS) over here in the UK.

This week’s Trembling With Fear starts with The Whispering Queen by Erick Mancilla and brings us the horror not just of the Devil on your shoulder but the impact an addiction can have on the family. To risk your family and its future, particularly the future of a child, can seem incomprehensible but is sadly a reality for many who fall into this trap. For me, it was the Henry’s weakness at a time when he was most needed which grabbed me. When you pose a situation asks the reader a question, in this instance, ‘How could he?’, you know you’ve got them and they’ll read through.

Awake by Janine Pipe is a premature burial with a twist. The missing teeth, and the reason, gives the trope a refreshing change.

Outback Carnage by Mark Anthony Smith makes the characters small and vulnerable against an expanse of wilderness. This is a question of survival.

Shadows in a Dark Room on a Rainy Night by D.J. Kozlowski is just creepy. Not by what’s there, but what’s not.

Take care


Stephanie Ellis

Editor, Trembling With Fear

We’ve got some great stories this week and I think you’re going to appreciate your weekly dose of fiction!

Also, I have some good news! We’ve made some progress on the anthologies and it looks like we might be down to TOC’s and formatting for the most part. We’ll be working to try to make real progress in those areas in the next week. (Finally, an update that we’ve moved forward on these again!)

While we’re still a couple of months out on drabble, we’re always open to more and would love to see any come through possible.

While not directly TWF related, I would like to mention that we’re currently actively seeking:
– Guest posts for Horror Tree
– Write-ups on Horror Tree on your website (with what we do, fun facts about the site, etc.)
– Opportunities for the staff of Horror Tree to be interviewed.
If any of these are something you’d like to help out on, please be sure to contact us at [email protected] or by using our contact form.

Have a great last day of the weekend all!

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree


Unholy Trinity: Crossed by Terrance V. Mc Arthur

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.




Crossbows, I understand.

People, I don’t.

Take Daryl. He shows up at Ace Crossbows, the day after he gets fired, goes into Wagner’s office. I hear shouting, a gunshot. I see red spatter the translucent office divider, and Daryl comes out with a gun, shouting and shooting. Patterson dropped like a wounded moose, bellowing.

I ducked behind a display case, grabbed a Wonderbow Special, loaded, and waited for Daryl to stop and reload. I took my shot. Got him.

What happened? Maybe there was too much pressure and Daryl snapped. 

Like a crossbow.

Maybe I do understand people, after all.


Cross Words

“Right hand, green,” Hal said.

How did Sibyl talk him into this? He came here, broke up with her, and now? Playing one last game of Twister, “for old time’s sake,” she’d told him.

Sibyl said, “Left foot, yellow.”

Pain shot up his leg as Hal’s foot hit the circle.

He said, “Right foot, green.”

“Left hand, red,” she said.

Hal’s arm snapped, and he crumpled, moaning, onto the game mat.

She stood over him, smiling in malicious triumph.

“Never play games with a witch, Hal. Don’t you know? Words can kill,” and she said, “Heart, Code Blue.”

Game over.


Cross Reference

The last library patron wouldn’t leave.

Mr. Edwards explained, “Sir, it’s past closing time. You’ll have to go.”

The shabby gentleman stood, proclaiming, “I must finish my work!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the rules are the rules. I must ask you to leave.”

The man swept papers into his carpetbag, strode to the door, and snarled, “May the Drabeg rend your flesh!” and he left.

“Drabeg?” Mr. Edwards murmured. Librarians may not know everything, but they know how to find out. He walked to the card catalog, opened a drawer, flipped to a card, and read:



Behind you.

Terrance V. Mc Arthur

Terrance V. Mc Arthur is a librarian, storyteller, puppeteer, and magician. He makes strange things, like dryer-lint art and playing-card sharks. His stories have appeared in Trembling With Fear and over a dozen anthologies from Thirteen O’clock Press, Untreed Reads, and Peculiar Pages.

Serial Killers: The Seven Invasions of Earth in the 21st Century by David Berger

Serial Killers are part of our Trembling With Fear line and are serialized stories which we’ll be publishing on an ongoing basis.

Invasion IV – The BEMS

The briefest of all invasions, the BEMS (short for “Bug Eyed Monsters”: a traditional term) appeared at the second convention of the Universal, National, International, Conclave of Real Nerds (UNICORN) in 2065 in Madison, Wisconsin.

Even given the number of people at the convention engaged in cosplay, it took only a few hours before many participants noticed a number of their fellows wearing unusual, dark blue costumes, with segmented arms and legs and huge masks covering their entire heads. These masks featured gaping, toothless mouths, a fine set of antennae, and huge, bulging, incredibly realistic insectile eyes. The eyes gave them their names. Each of the BEMS was accompanied by a tall, beautiful blonde woman in lacey lingerie and high heels, wearing a bubble-like space helmet and a space suit that seemed to be made of cellophane. There were twenty-six BEMS and twenty-six blondes.

During the course of the UNICORN, the BEMS were both sociable and popular although they declined to speak. There are thousands of videos, selfies and stills of the BEMS and their blonde companions, posing arm in arm with participants. Many rumors spread as to who the BEMS were: the cast of a soon-to-be-released sci-fi movie; members of some strange cult of billionaires; or enemies of the Raelians. It was discovered that the BEMS had an entire floor in the hotel that was hosting the convention. By the end of the first night of UNICORN, this collection of rooms, which became a giant suite, was the location for a continuous party, providing seemingly endless food and drink. At all hours, attendees at the convention could be found enjoying themselves and attempting to chat with the BEMS, who inevitably responded with friendly nods. Many of the participants camped out in the suite for the duration.

Apparently, the BEMS had anticipated their popularity. They came equipped with BEM masks, small versions of their own heads that could fit over one’s head and which were given away free. Soon, hundreds of convention goers, especially youngsters, were wearing these masks both in the convention hotel and out in the streets and public places of Madison. Also available free were BEM bobble heads, BEM coloring books, BEM action figures, and a full set of trading cards, one hundred and four in all, showing the BEMS, four pictures of each, in various poses, with fanciful names: Awful Abner, Bang-up Bill, Cool Charlie, etc., down to Zealous Zeke.

In the closing hours of UNICORN, the BEMS, all twenty-six of them, gathered in a circle in the center of the convention hall, with their blondes. A goodly section of the crowd, sensing that something was about to happen, gathered round them. The BEMS chanted together in an unknown language for several minutes, while pumping their segmented arms up and down and stamping their feet. This was suddenly followed by a great, roaring cheer, which was taken up by the crowd. Immediately after, the BEMS and their women left the hotel. A silver-colored, windowless vehicle, roughly the size of a bus, with sixteen soft tires, came rolling up the hotel driveway, and the BEMS and the escorts entered. The vehicle rolled away and vanished from sight. 

The twenty-six women were let out, each still in her spacesuit and lingerie at the hotel in Madison where twenty-six rooms had been occupied by the lovelies since they day they had arrived in the city. Each night they had been taken back there from the convention hotel around midnight and picked up in the morning in their costumes, both ways by twenty-six limousines. The BEMS remained at the UNICORN hotel the entire time seemingly not sleeping at all.

It turned out that the blonde ladies had been hired as a group from a talent agency in Las Vegas. They had been flown to Madison in a chartered jet, where they found their rooms in their hotel waiting for them, along with their costumes, which they thought to be hilarious. They were provided with little illustrated booklets explaining their roles as escorts to the BEMS. They were questioned for several days by the FBI, CIA and other security agencies. They knew nothing of the BEMS, who apparently never spoke, but who were invariably kind and polite, only insisting, nonverbally, that the ladies stay with them when they were in the convention hotel.

As to the eight-wheeled silver vehicle that picked the BEMS and their ladies, it was determined that it made a stop a few blocks from the second hotel, where the BEMS picked up twenty-six pizzas, mixed plain, pepperoni and anchovies. And twenty-six liters of Diet Coke. Later, it was spotted several times on highways leading north out of Madison. The final time the vehicle was seen, it was leaving a local road onto a dirt track leading into a state forest, fifty kilometers from the city. The vehicle and its passengers were never seen again.

One of the items given away by the BEMS was a comic book alleging that the origin of the BEMS was a planet circling a star not far from Earth. The BEMS in the comic were depicted as happy tourists on vacation. Their amusement with common human objects is depicted. Their favorite thing seemed to be a hand-operated eggbeater. Their method of reaching Earth is not depicted. 

It’s hoped that the BEMS may visit UNICORN again someday.

David Berger

David Berger is an old guy from Brooklyn, now living in Manhattan with his wife of 25 years: the best jazz singer in NYC. He is a father and grandfather.  He has been, among other things, a case worker, construction worker, letter carrier, high school and ESL teacher, a legal proofreader and a union organizer.  Loves life, his wife and the world. Hopes to help the latter escape destruction.

David has been published by Verso with his graphic history of American bohemia: ‘Bohemians’, co-written by Paul Buhle and by DRABBLE for his works ‘Invisible Dudeand ‘Statuary’. His story, Ghoul Days, features in The Sirens Call ezine, Issue 45.

Trembling With Fear 05/24/20

This bit is going to stay here for every week until the pandemic is over. Thank you to everyone in the health services across the world, to all who have been keeping us going from delivery drivers, to checkout operators, from armed forces to public services. As we move out of lockdown, I hope their contribution continues to be recognised. Thank you again from everyone at TWF.

On the personal front I’ve been lucky to be able to go into work for a number of weeks now preparing my new library for the eventual return of the students. Not quite at the furnishing stage but it’s been a proper work out on the lifting and shifting front – 6000+ books stock-checked! It’s been tiring but in its own way it’s kept me sane, and given an ‘almost’ normality to my days. This won’t go on forever but it’s helped.

Something I’ve noticed on social media concerns motivation and suprise at the sudden lack of it when given that long desired bit of time to actually get on and write. I think when you have worries over health, finances or the world in general, you shouldn’t be suprised at all; these are big, and valid, concerns so don’t beat yourself up if you can’t get round to doing what you always said you were going to do.

But how do you keep motivated when you write? I’m in a good place at the moment, getting on pretty much every day with my main WIP and noticing the sense of panic that it’s not going to work or the story is all over the place has gone, even though I haven’t written the ending yet. I have a strange – and scary – sense of calm with this one, I know the ending is there, lurking in the back of my mind and will appear when it’s ready, everything I’m weaving into earlier chapters now is building up to it. It is the strangest feeling, this surety. However, there have been, and will be again, times when I need an extra bit of motivation and that is when I turn to the words of others. I picked up a copy of The Horror Writer from Hellbound Books, the other week and have just finished it. Edited by Joe Mynhardt and including essays and articles from a variety of authors including Stephen Graham Jones, John Palisano, Stephanie Wytovich and so many others, there’s a lot in there to give you that proverbial ‘kick up the backside’! I would certainly recommend it.

TWF contributor publication news this week comes from Justin Boote. His first novella with Terror Tract, Badass has just been published and is available on, I’ve downloaded it and I’m sure Justin would smile if I told him to find the link, I typed in ‘Badass Justin Boote’. If you’ve read some of his stories in TWF, you might agree this is a good description of him!

We lead this week’s Trembling With Fear with a chilling ghost story, Daisy’s Swing from Kevin M. Folliard. The house, the surroundings are all painted in careful detail, immersing you in the environment of that room so you are as much ‘there’ as the main character when they experience their ghostly encounter. Slowly the history of the room and the house is revealed until you realise the innocence of the title of the story is anything but and leaves you with goosebumps.

Payback Time by James Bates is probably a scenario imagined by many but never actually put into practice. How many of us have revenge fantasies but never – thankfully – carry them out? Revenge can provide so many storylines.

The Last Song by Lionel Ray Green is an offering in a slightly different format and no less powerful for that. Bleakness and despair mixed with a note to a family pet, makes this a moving little story.

They Whisper by Maura Yzmore is a mini cosmic horror and challenges ideas of belief. Usually, people regard you as mad if you claim to hear or see ghosts. Not in this case, that is accepted. It’s what those very people themselves don’t accept which provides a touch of irony in this story and adds an extra kick.


Take care



Stephanie Ellis

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Well, I was able to get our new logo on the site and a couple of our social media accounts. I’ll slowly be moving in into position everywhere in the coming week!

I’d just like to quickly share that we were a bit behind on Unholy Trinity and Serials though feedback and contracts should hopefully be getting straightened out over the coming week. As to the anthology? We haven’t been able to make any movement on that for a week or so. I’m really hoping that next week we’ll be able to make some more solid progress. My apologies on this delay.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree


Unholy Trinity: Birds of a Feather by G.A. Miller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Birds of a Feather


She looked out the front window, the wind-swept rain splattering the glass, the empty street outside a soft blur. 

“Bad enough we’re under quarantine, did we have to get this damned storm too?” she sighed, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. She lit up and dropped the Bic lighter next to the pack as she walked through the rooms yet again, looking for a distraction.

She inhaled deeply as she ran her fingertip lightly across the books on the shelves, then glanced at the body on the floor.

“I should have killed someone with better taste.”



He watched her moving around in the house, ignoring the howling wind driving the rain like pellets from a shotgun shell. She reminded him of the actresses in those old movies, the black and white mysteries he liked so much.

It was her hair. How he’d enjoy running his hands along those silky strands as she pressed close to him in a darkened room, imploring him to protect her from whoever was stalking her, following her around.

Sure, that’s how it went in the movies, but for real? Never, not for him anyway.

Well, he thought, maybe it’s my turn.


Bored, she went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. 

Typical guy, she thought, leftover take out from who knows when and a cold six pack on the top shelf.

“Waste not, want not,” she giggled, taking a bottle of beer and twisting the cap off as she let the door close. She took the revolver out from her waistband and set it on the kitchen table, rubbing her belly as she took a healthy swig from the cold bottle.

She was kneeling down to look at the food in the pantry when she felt a hand on her hair.

G.A. Miller

G.A. Miller is a new voice in the chorus of horror authors, drawing his ideas from everyday, commonplace events that take unforeseen turns down dark corridors.


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