Tagged: Drabble

Trembling With Fear 5-28-23

Hello, children of the dark. This week we’re scrambling a bit, because – as you’ll see below – Stuart got some big news and had some big headaches when it comes to this here site. So we’re keeping it short and sweet so we can make sure you get an issue this weekend and not… not get one? 

So here we go. An update from the boss man is below, but let’s dig into this week’s tremblingly good menu.

In our short story, Matias F Travieso-Diaz takes us deep into the Amazon. This is followed by three delicious quick bites:

  • Victoria Huntley waits in silence and grief,
  • Fiona M. Jones hasn’t yet built resistance, and 
  • Kellee Kranendonk deals with my worst nightmare (spiders! argh!).

And a few reminders before I let you go: 

  • We love a drabble. Please send them to us! 
  • We also love three drabbles, connected by some form of thread. We call these Unholy Trinities, and our specials editor Shalini Bethala would love to see some more in the inbox.
  • Ditto serials. Have you got a longer story that could logically be serialised into four parts? Check out our submissions page for details, then send ‘em in to Shalini.
  • Finally, we still have submissions open for Shadowed Realms, the new Horror Tree anthology covering the non-pro markets. Details over here.

Oh – and as a final word, my current broken-bone-ness means I’ve personally been running behind on TWF emails and submissions. Shalini has been helping out, but I’ll get onto these things this week. Thank you for your patience. 

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

We’ve had a TON of site problems this last week. It seems to have been ironed out for not but it hopefully has moved up our timetable to moving to the new host. We almost made an emergency move over the week that we weren’t prepared for and would have lost us email for a week. 

I had more to say this week, but, the site problems are pretty much eating up all of my attention, so hopefully it is all temporarily straightened out and this means that the move will happen sooner than later.

If you’d like to extend your support to the site, we’d be thrilled to welcome your contributions through Ko-Fi or Patreon. Your generosity keeps us fueled and fired up to bring you the very best.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Unholy Trinity: Cave Painting, The Cooper Party & Trapped by Cassandra Vaillancourt

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.

 

Cave Paintings

 

     When we entered the lower chamber that’s when we saw the paintings. We were awestruck by the almost realistic depictions of animals and humans. There was hunting scenes followed by battle scenes.

     The more we studied, the battle scenes looked more like raiding parties. As we probed deeper, we saw the capturing of prisoners. We all gasped in horror at the imagery depicting the killing and eating of captives followed by celebrations.

     “This cave must’ve been home to a cannibal tribe.” I Mused.

     A harsh voice from behind barked, “YEAH, AND IT STILL IS!”

     We all turn around and scream.

 

The Cooper Party

 

     A group of friends went exploring in Cooper’s Cave which was named after a group led by Professor Cooper that mysteriously vanished.

     After entering the cave, they discovered a subterranean world of wonders of stalactites, stalagmites and columns.

     After going into an almost endless tunnel, they stumbled upon a huge cavernous room. They heard the screeching of bats and looked up.

     Suspended from the ceiling along with the bats was the lost Cooper Party.

     “Professor Cooper?!” asked the leader. He was answered by the ravenous look of the professor and his group as they lunged down on the hapless explor

 

Trapped

 

     “Damn!” Greg hopelessly searched in the cave trying to locate the opening where he entered to no avail. Just when he was about to give up hope, a light fell on him. It was a fellow caver who was beckoning him. Relieved, Greg followed his rescuer.

     Greg had a difficult time keeping up through the endless passageways and sudden turns until he was back in the cave alone except for a figure huddled against a wall.

     Greg cast his Carbide lamp on the figure only to discover that it was the frozen, encrusted remains of himself.

     His light goes out.

 

Cassandra Vaillancourt

Hello. My name is Cassandra Vaillancourt. I am a Trans Woman who is making a transition from artist to writer. I work as a humble retail worker. I’m new to The Horror Tree with my first short story “The War Wreck” and the drabble, “Black Gold“. This is my first unholy trinity. My goal is to become more accomplished in the horror genre with hopefully a couple of books published in the future. I am on Facebook and Twitter.

Trembling With Fear 5-21-23

Hello, children of the dark. How are the lighter days treating you? Every year, I get confused by how light it is in London Town right about now. It’s usually so dark and murky by the time I’m finishing up work for the day, but now it’s as bright as anything. I find myself accidentally working longer and longer hours, tricked by the sun. I’m sure it’s a capitalist plot to turn us all into worker drones.

This wouldn’t be so bad if I was at least earning the big bucks. Alas, as a freelancer in this market, those days are well and truly over. I am, however, using my time to build up something pretty exciting, if I do say so myself. Something new for the indie genre writing community. And something else for those who write in the occult realms, too. Big things afoot.

But anyway, you’re not here for my incoherent, broken-bone-influenced rambling. Let’s get onto this week’s trembling offerings, quick smart!

In our short story, C.M. Sumrall invites us to dinner for reminiscing – and revenge. This is followed by three delicious quick bites:

  • Justin Hamelin deals with a haunted house,
  • Ceferino Ruiz deals with grief, and 
  • Mike Rader deals with a college prank.

And a few reminders before I let you go: 

  • We love a drabble. Please send them to us! 
  • We also love three drabbles, connected by some form of thread. We call these Unholy Trinities, and our specials editor Shalini Bethala would love to see some more in the inbox.
  • Ditto serials. Have you got a longer story that could logically be serialised into four parts? Check out our submissions page for details, then send ‘em in to Shalini.
  • Finally, we still have submissions open for Shadowed Realms, the new Horror Tree anthology covering the non-pro markets. Details over here.

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Hello, dear readers!

As we sail through the whirlpool of time, my current class is proving to be quite the adventure – an exhilarating ride of learning that’s keeping me on my toes! Also, it is really taking up ALL of my time as it is a lot more work than the other courses that I’ve taken so far. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, we’re orchestrating our server’s grand migration to its new digital residence. Rest assured, we’re on track to have a move date finally decided upon by this time next week!

On another equally exciting front, our yearly anthology, a veritable treasure trove of gripping narratives, is steadily nearing completion. Soon, it’ll be ready to leap off the press and into your eager hands. I think. I hope. 

Now, here’s a gentle nudge for all you brilliant authors out there! Don’t forget to submit your best work to our ‘Shadowed Realms: The 2022 Indie Dark Fiction Anthology’. The deadline is creeping up as we approach the end of the month. For newcomers, this anthology aims to showcase the crème de la crème of dark fiction, ranging from 1,000 to 9,000 words, published in semi-pro and token-paying markets in 2022. Yes. This is a REPRINT anthology and is a wonderful opportunity to earn 1 cent per word for your reprinted work. We can’t wait to delve into your dark, compelling tales!

If you’d like to extend your support to the site, we’d be thrilled to welcome your contributions through Ko-Fi or Patreon. Your generosity keeps us fueled and fired up to bring you the very best.

I hope that you all had an enjoyable weekend, and an enjoyable read of dark fiction savor during your downtime!

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Trembling With Fear 5-14-23

Hello, children of the dark. This week’s edition is coming to you from a rather dated hotel somewhere in the west of England. Despite the broken ankle et al, I’ve been on a bit of a road trip this week with the other half. It was not a good idea to go on holiday right now, but it was also the best idea in the world. There’s something about the English seaside when a storm comes rolling in…

We’re out and about this week of all weeks because we had wanted to be at that marvellous festival of pop superstardom that is Eurovision, but thankfully we decided against trying our luck with tickets. Instead, we got as far away as we could, down in my husband’s ancestral homelands. ‘Tis wild and woolly in Cornwall at this time of year, and I love it. Partly because it reminds me of my own home, with the beachy vibes of South Australia, but also because it’s so steeped in myth and folklore. Everywhere you turn, there could be a ghost or a pisky (what they call pixies in these parts), just waiting to change your life. 

There’s also the marvellous Museum of Witchcraft and Magic in the tiny coastal village of Boscastle, which we visited today, the day I’m writing this. It was my second trip to the museum and I love this collection. It’s highly recommended if you happen to be in this part of the world – though it takes a lot of travelling to get here, if you don’t live very locally!

While you’re on your way, or contemplating your route, take a look at our trembling offerings for this week. In our short story, Paul R. Panossian stares into the watery darkness. This is followed by three delicious quick bites:

  • R.A. Goli is playing in the wrong place at the wrong time,
  • Victoria Huntley finds more than she should among shadows, and
  • Alan Moskowitz deals with an unwelcome garden visitor.

And a few reminders before I let you go: 

  • We love a drabble. Please send them to us! 
  • We also love three drabbles, connected by some form of thread. We call these Unholy Trinities, and our specials editor Shalini Bethala would love to see some more in the inbox.
  • Ditto serials. Have you got a longer story that could logically be serialised into four parts? Check out our submissions page for details, then send ‘em in to Shalini.
  • Finally, we still have submissions open for Shadowed Realms, the new Horror Tree anthology covering the non-pro markets. Details over here.

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Whew. What a week. We’re still progressing through everything; nothing is quite in place yet. However, progress is being made! 

Make sure to submit to our Shadowed Realms: The 2022 Indie Dark Fiction Anthology! Time is coming to a close. For those unfamiliar with the anthology, in it, we’re looking for the best 1,000-9,000 word dark fiction published in semipro and token-paying markets in 2022! This reprint anthology will be paying 1 cent per word, and we’re very excited to start taking a look at your work!

For those looking to support the site, we’re always open Ko-Fi donations and always have our Patreon going.

As always, I hope you had a great weekend.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Unholy Trinity: Bullies by Alan Moskowitz

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.

 

Customer Service

 

The cashier called, “Next” and as I stepped forward the woman behind me moved ahead of me. 

“Hey! I’m next!”

The cashier, a privileged self-absorbed teenager no doubt, ignored me as she rang up the woman’s items.

“I’m talking to you missy!” No response.  

I raised my voice, “I want to see your manager! I’ll make sure you’re fired!” Still she ignored me. 

“Answer me or I’ll call the cops! I’ll sue!” Nothing.

I screamed, “You dumb kid! What are you, deaf?  Or just brain-dead?” 

The cashier called, “Next!”   The man behind me moved through me.

“Hey.  I was next!”

 

Bully

 

Jake came home late, smelling of beer, perfume and sweat – again.  Clara was waiting, carelessly cradling his treasured shotgun.  

Before he could start cursing she loudly recited in a guttural imitation, “Why can’t you look like your sister-in-law? If you lost weight you wouldn’t sweat like a pig. If I cheat on you, it’s your fault!”  

She chambered a shell – clack.  

He turned pale, “I don’t mean those things.  I love you.”

She smiled good-naturedly, “Careful with my gun, everyone knows you’re so clumsy you could blow your own stupid brains out.”  

Boom!

Jake’s passing was declared accidental.

 

A Day in the Park

 

Danny tossed the Frisby and Daisy, his Chihuahua, scampered after it. 

Tim, Danny’s ninth-grade nemesis walking his Cane Corso, Thanos, called out, “You call that tiny thing a real dog?” Danny declared, “Daisy’s real, and special. She can do special things.”

  “Yeah? Can she pick you up?” Tim shoved Danny to the ground. Daisy barked angrily. “Ooh. I’m scared!” Tim mocked.

Daisy made eye contact with Thanos. Thanos shook his head, then snarled. “Your dog’s dead meat,” Tim gloated. Thanos suddenly lunged at Tim, eyes red with fury, fangs bared.

Tim ran screaming from the park

“Told you she’s special.”

 

Alan Moskowitz

Recently un-retired from screen and TV writing, Alan also creates short genre fiction for fun and sanity. He loves feedback.

Trembling With Fear 5-7-23

Hello, children of the dark. It’s going to be short this week, because I am mourning my balance. Not that I ever had any. Clumsy me managed to fall down the *entire staircase* at home last week, just as you were reading your weekly dose of darkness from TWF. Seven hours in A&E (E.R. for our American friends) later, it turns out I have a broken ankle, as well as a broken foot bone and a severely bruised knee (and ego). I’ve been stuck on the couch 24/7 ever since. 

Everyone says to me: “Hey! What a great opportunity for creative reflection and getting some writing done!” Truth is, this just adds pressure, making me think of all the things I’m not doing that I “should” be. Truth is, my focus right now is on healing, at least to a point where my ankle isn’t the size of Jupiter and throbbing madly. 

But I’m always here for you, children of the dark. Let’s get on with this week’s offerings.

In our short story, Donna JW Munro sees dead people. This is followed by three delicious quick bites:

  • Steven Holding goes on a helluva trip,
  • Hannah Foster investigates a supernatural serial killer, and
  • David Turnbull does some puppy training.

Over to you, Stuart.



Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Progress is slowly being made on the next set of ‘Trembling With Fear’ print books, and the website move to the new host is in the works. We were going to try and launch the new layout in conjunction with the new host but I don’t believe that is going to happen. More info on that soon! 

Last week, we added a link to our Shadowed Realms: The 2022 Indie Dark Fiction Anthology under ‘Trembling With Fear’ in our menu above. For those unfamiliar with the anthology, in it, we’re looking for the best 1,000-9,000 word dark fiction published in semipro and token-paying markets in 2022! This reprint anthology will be paying 1 cent per word, and we’re very excited to start taking a look at your work!

For those looking to support the site, we’re always open Ko-Fi donations and always have our Patreon going.

As always, I hope you had a great weekend.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Unholy Trinity: Whispers, Signs and Signals by Kevin M. Folliard

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.

 

Whispers

 

“After midnight, Grandpa can speak, but only in whispers,” Grandma explained. “I can’t stay awake so late at my age, but he’ll adore prattling on with you, dear.”

That night, Ella whispered to her grandfather who had died long before she was born.

“Are you there, Grandpa?”

A hushed word, little more than a breath, sliced the darkness: “Yes.”

“Are you proud of me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

“Are you happy being dead?”

“Almost.”

“What would make you happy?”

“Grandma’s heart medicine.”

The orange bottle sat on the counter.

“Empty the pills down the drain, so Grandma can keep me company.”

 

Signs

 

Father Coughlin turned off the hall light, and the apparition reappeared, the color of moonbeams, the form of his inquisitive former charge. Forever fourteen. Scarred by bullying peers and a thoughtless father who’d shipped him to boarding school.

They’d found Henry, slack limbs swaying, face swollen blue, belt scrunching the beam in his dormitory. Father Coughlin preached that Henry had been condemned to hell for his act.

Yet each night, his ghost smiled and gave the “OK” sign, as if to say, You’re wrong. I’m fine.

And each night, Father locked his office, sipped brandy, and worried about his wrongness.

 

Signals

 

Jace waited hours, while Mom explored a forgotten truck stop. “Could be canned goods,” she’d said. “Could be biters. Probably both. If it’s safe, I’ll signal.”

The sun set, and still no flare.

Against Mom’s orders, he followed.

Three decayed attackers lay defeated at her boots. Blood spurted from her neck wound. She lurched forward. Soulless eyes locked with Jace’s, triggering a spark of recognition. Mom uncapped the flare and brushed it against the fireworks display from that doomed summer.

Brilliant flashes of color erupted behind her.

Jace’s scream drowned in thunderous cracks that signaled undead hordes from every direction.

 

 

Kevin M. Folliard

Kevin M. Folliard is a Chicagoland writer whose fiction has been collected by The Horror Tree, The Dread Machine, Demain Publishing, Dark Owl Publishing, and more. His recent publications include his horror anthology The Misery King?s Closet, his YA fantasy adventure novel Grayson North: Frost-Keeper of the Windy City, and his 2022 dinosaur adventure novel Carnivore Keepers. Kevin currently resides in the western suburbs of Chicago, IL, where he enjoys his day job in academia and membership in the La Grange Writers Group.

 

You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Amazon, Goodreads or on his website.

Unholy Trinity: Burn In…, Fire, and The Real Evil by Kellee Kranendonk

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.

 

Burn in…

 

Tied to a post. Flames ignited in straw beneath me. Placid faces in the crowd. Some jeer, throw obscene gestures at me. They believe I deserve to be roasted alive.

Fire licks up my legs, sears my flesh. My thin cotton dress catches. The blaze encases me, eating skin and meat off my bones. A fiery face appears, looks me in the eye. A leering grin appears. He beckons me as the crowd cheers. I will not go to Hell, I try to scream. But my soul has left my body and I realize that’s not where he’s taking me.

 

Fire

 

Her charred body lies there, still smoking, totally ignored. I cannot mourn for if I do they will kill me too. But if I do not… will she be angry?

The last one to remain, I walk quickly away. Before I reach home, scorching hands wrap themselves around my head, cover my eyes, burn away eyelids. I know it’s her. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, even a dead one.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

It’s not enough. Licks of fire jump into being, destroying the home we worked so hard for. I cannot close my eyes against it.

 

The Real Evil

 

They’re lined up on the bridge, thirteen of them, each vile woman as guilty as a whore. Evil lives within their blackened souls, corrupted by Satan himself. They’re gagged and bound as they deserve. Shoved in the water, they will drown only if they are innocent. None will. The power that resides in me will not allow it. They are all impure. I wait, pleased that I myself discovered these ones. They will rise to the surface and come to shore soon, I’m certain of it. They don’t. But I cannot be wrong. No regrets. Satan has claimed his own.

 

 

Kellee Kranendonk

Kellee Kranendonk has spent a lifetime writing. According to her late grandfather she was born with a pen in one hand and paper in the other. She’s certain that these days he would have claimed she was born clutching a laptop.

She’s had over a hundred published stories, poems and non-fiction pieces. Her work has received honourable mentions, been shortlisted; she’s been a spotlight author and some of her pieces were to appear in a school book project, though that didn’t pan out. Kellee has been an editor, has managed online writing groups, and one of her stories appeared in a best selling anthology. She lives in a brand-new merged municipality in New Brunswick, Canada with her family and a variety of animals. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.