Tagged: Short Story

Trembling With Fear 12-3-23

Hello, children of the dark. How’s your week been? Mine has been so crazy busy and overwhelming that I absolutely, honest-to-god nearly forgot to put together this week’s issue. The boss likes to have these mid-week so he has plenty of time to do his thing and schedule it all in. This week? I’m sitting at my desk at 1pm on Saturday afternoon, prepping Sunday’s edition. Whoops. Sorry, Stuart!

With that in mind, let’s just jump straight in with this week’s dark and speculative TWF menu. Our short story offering from Alyson Faye sees a young woman find her forever-soulmate. Then we’ve got three fabulous tasty morsels for dessert:

  • Robert Allen Lupton will make all the writers groan with this one, 
  • Jordan Kocevski is rushing to escape from something, and 
  • Ron Capshaw writes this one in tribute to the late, great Shirley Jackson.

Finally, we’ve been getting an absolute influx of subs to our 🎄Christmas special🎄. The deadline for submissions to this one is the end of this week, so get ‘em in quick. TWF special editions editor Shalini is going through the (frankly) huge amount of stories we’ve received, but you’ll likely hear from her much closer to the date of publication as to whether you’ve been successful.

Now, it’s over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Hey all! I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. This is the LAST WEEK of my current class. On top of that, I’ve got a huge project at work. After this week, our focus will be getting Shadowed Realms contracted, formatted and out into the world. 
 
 
Don’t forget – Trembling With Fear Volume 6 is out in the world, and if you’ve picked up a copy, we’d love a review! Next year, we may be looking to expand past just the Amazon platform. If we do that, what stores would you like to purchase your books from?

ATTENTION YOUTUBE WATCHERS: We’ve had some great responses so far but are open to more ideas – What type of content would you like to see us feature? Please reach out to [email protected]! We’ll be really working on expanding the channel late this year and early into next.

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree on places that aren’t Twitter, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

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

(more…)

Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5

  1. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 1
  2. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2
  3. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3
  4. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4
  5. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5
  6. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 6 Scheduled for December 9, 2023

 

 

Parasites: Part Five

 

Leila stared at the convent from the sidewalk. It looked straight out of a medieval manuscript—all sharp edges, crosses, and stained glass windows. A statue of the Virgin Mary prayed on the wildflower-dotted lawn.

The business card flipped between her fingers as Leila thought about going in. The convent looked a lot more professional than her actual destination.

The address on the card pointed toward a squat, ramshackle house across the street. Its windows were barely hanging on, and there wasn’t a religious symbol in sight. In fact, it looked like the kind of place young girls went into and didn’t come back out.

“Can I help you?”

Leila lashed out at the voice, hitting a gray-haired guy in a threadbare business suit right in the gut. He grunted, but didn’t budge as pain radiated up her arm.

“My apologies for startling you.”

Leila yanked her throbbing hand back. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Uh… sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

In reality, she wasn’t sorry at all, and wished he’d move on. But a small, still civilized part of her wanted this to be a normal conversation with another normal human being.

“Understandable. Especially if you’re desperate enough to seek me out.”

She stared at him with a frown.

He motioned at the card still clutched in her hand. “That’s my business card. Matthew Newcomb.” He held out a hand, then retracted after an awkward moment of silence. “I only give those out to my closest acquaintances. They only give them out to those in the greatest need.”

“Oh, great.”

This is stupid, the civilized voice said. It played over and over in Leila’s mind as Matthew looked her over.

Satisfied with whatever he saw, he motioned toward the ramshackle house. “Care to tell me your troubles?”

Leila glanced in its direction, pretty sure the house had grown darker since she last looked. “Can we talk here?”

Matthew chuckled, an affable sound that did nothing to calm the prickling of Leila’s skin. “If you want. Let’s start with what’s happened recently in your life. What makes you think you need an exorcist?”

“I don’t.” Leila blurted the words out, then backpedaled at his skeptical expression. “I mean, I’m not sure I do. A lady came to me and gave me this card.”

“Why?”

“Some accidents have happened where I work.”

“Go on.”

“They’ve all… happened near me, and—” Leila swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “One was to someone I care about.”

“Describe the accidents to me.”

That was the last thing she wanted to do, yet the words poured out of her mouth in grisly detail. A feeling of being detached, a passenger in her own body, came on in full force. The corners of her mouth twitched as she neared the end, as if she was about to smile.

Leila forced her mouth down, clamping her jaw shut mid-word.

Matthew stared at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Have you been having nightmares?”

The middle-aged lady’s words echoed back in Leila’s mind. Have you been having nightmares, Ms. Roberts? She glared at Matthew. A bit of vagueness was to be expected from anything related to religion, but this was getting ridiculous. “Why? What’s so important about bad dreams?”

“It helps—”

“Yes.” Anger boiled up, burning away the last vestiges of discomfort at the situation. She’d started the week partying with her best friend, and since her life had all gone to hell. Now she stood on a strange sidewalk next to a strange man while her friend bled out in a hospital. None of it made sense, and she was sick of it.

“I’ve had a few nightmares,” she said through clenched teeth. “Nasty ones. Ones I could swear were real, yet couldn’t possibly be. Do you want me to describe them to you as well? Maybe they’ll haunt you as much as me. Did I tell you my friend is dying? Why the hell am I here, and not with her?”

“Because you need my help. Your soul knows it, whether you do or not.”

Leila scoffed. “My soul? Are you going to preach? Is that what I came out here for, a sermon?”

An image flashed through her mind. Matthew, stretched across the pavement, with his ribs split open. The copper scent of blood filled the air, along with a deep earthen tang. A bulbous headed creature, barely reminiscent of a newborn, dug into the open chest cavity and giggled.

Leila choked, gagged, then vomited the remains of her lunch into the street.

Matthew reached out to touch her shoulder.

She shied away, her hand dropping to her stomach, where the sharp pain had quickened in tempo. “Can a baby be possessed?” she asked. Desperation creeped in thick. “Before it’s born?”

He hesitated. “I’ve never seen it.”

Leila coughed out a short laugh. “So that’s a maybe. What about eleven?”

“I don’t—”

Leila yelled, doubling over as the pain in her abdomen turned sharper. This time, she didn’t have the strength to move when he wrapped an arm around her.

A woman’s voice she didn’t recognize called out from the direction of the convent.

Matthew called back. Leila tried to focus on their words, anything to distract herself from the searing agony spreading across her mid-section.

A long, thin knife.

Creatures with needle-sharp teeth.

She heaved.

Motion. Matthew scooped her up, folding her in his arms. A bulge in her abdomen. Leila cried out as the agony sprouted more blades. The bulge grew, pushing out from under her shirt. The surface of her skin rippled, contorted, as something writhed to be free. A hand pressed from the inside, tiny fingers etched in her flesh.

“Don’t worry, now,” Matthew said in a strained voice. “We’ll take care of you.”

He yelled something about a book and a circle, but the words lost meaning. Leila screamed as the blades pierced out and down. Whatever was inside wanted out. Shadows covered her vision as they entered the church. A loud boom and rattling. A shock of cold on her back as Matthew laid her on hard ground.

Leila screamed again and kicked, bashing her head against something hard. A numbness spread, blessed relief as wet poured down on top of her, soaking into her skin and pooling underneath.

The relief was short-lived.

Fire burned it away as her insides twisted, turned inside out. A wail, not her own, cried out. High, piercing.

The agony faded to dull throbbing.

A high-vaulted ceiling hung over her, a prism of colors dancing across stone walls from stained glass windows. Leila lay on her back in a puddle of cool and warm, gasping for breath.

Rhythmic murmuring came from all sides. She forced her shaking limbs under her and pulled herself up into a sitting position. A holy water basin lay upturned beside her, its contents spilled on the marble floor where it mixed with crimson.

Leila’s breath caught as another wail echoed off the convent walls, answered by a boom of thunder which shook the stained glass.

Nuns surrounded her in a circle. Praying, hands clasped at their chests and mouths. One sat at her feet, habit sleeves red.

Don’t look. That small voice, long ignored. Leila ignored it once more.

She looked past her bare legs, pants awkwardly pulled to her ankles, to the pile of flesh, blood, and holy water between her legs. An infant thrashed, gray wrinkled skin contrasting with the red covering it. Large, rheumy eyes stared at her. It sucked in another breath, opening its mouth wide to reveal rows of shark-like teeth.

“No, no, no.” Leila tried to scramble back. Her hand slipped in the mess, laying her on her back once more. Pain bloomed in her skull, but she didn’t care. She had to get away from this thing.

The nun with blood on her sleeves moved up beside her and pushed down on her chest.

“Let me go, damn it!” Leila swung a fist, hitting the nun in the shoulder. She didn’t get a second chance. Two more nuns appeared, pinning her arms to the floor.

She fought, but it was pointless. She was too damn tired, too weak to dislodge the women. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

The chanted prayers got louder. The sky answered. A peal of thunder shook the church as if God himself hammered at the ceiling.

“Our God in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Matthew’s voice at her feet. Leila tried to look, but the bloody nun blocked her view.

“Thy children call upon thee in their hour of need.”

More hammers from on high. Rain pelted the roof, melding with the ever-increasing volume from the chants and prayers, creating a cacophony that vibrated in her bones. Leila gritted her teeth, wishing she could block out the noise, but the pounding of her heart would have given her no respite, anyway. She choked out a sob and screamed.

“Have mercy on this innocent soul,” Matthew continued. “Cast out the demon. Remove it, and cast it into the bottomless pit.”

Glass shattered as another hammer fell. Multi-colored shards rained down outside the circle of nuns. Then, silence.

Black clouds dissipated outside of the broken windows, giving way to a sunny day in seconds. Two of the nuns holding Leila down moved away. One stopped, removing the outer layer of her habit and draping it over Leila’s lower body. The last nun wrapped her arm around Leila’s shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position. 

She felt numb, drained, teetering on the edge of an abyss that refused to claim her.

Matthew stood in front of her, dangling a cross pendant over the baby he cradled in his other arm. He looked at Leila and smiled. “The exorcism worked. It’s a boy.” He leaned over and offered the naked child to her.

Bile rose in the back of her throat. “No.”

Trembling With Fear 11-26-23

Hello, children of the dark. Over on the other side of the pond from me today, as I write this, it’s your day of gratitude. We don’t do that whole thing over here, nor where I grew up, and truth be told I’m far too awkwardly British to express emotion in that way. Still, let me take this moment to say I am thankful to Stuart for continuing to run (and fund!) this here site, to my TWF predecessor Stephanie Ellis for vouching for me taking over from her last year, and to you, dear children of the dark, for continue to show up every week to read and celebrate some of the best emerging writers in dark speculative fiction. We may not have many of the big and famous names, but we have a strong and vibrant community of writers who do this because they love it and they want to share. I love that we can provide a platform from which to emerge into the darkness, kicking and screaming and trying to make voices heard. Thank you, all of you. (And if you want to show your own thanks to Stuart, consider becoming a Patreon—it really does make a difference to us!)

Now, before I need to go and shower off all this emotion, let’s move to this week’s edition where Rodney G Hatfield is dealing with an influx of strange critters. Then we’ve got three fabulous tasty morsels:

  • Nika Anuk relives some childhood scaries, 
  • Lionel Ray Green just wants some attention, and 
  • Alan Moskowitz has ghost troubles.

Special congrats to Nika—she tells me this is the first time she’s been published in English, her second language!

And just finally (in case you missed it), here’s a quick recap on the new processes at TWF Towers:

  • Drabbles, serials, and unholy trinities are still open all the damn time, and we still have an insatiable need for them
  • Short story submissions will only be open in 2-week seasonal windows, and you can find those details on our submissions page; next one opens on 1 January
  • Special editions submissions are still open in their own seasonal windows, and again the details are on the submissions page

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

I know this mainly applies to those who live in the United States and I apologize for our audience from around the globe as I’m a bit focused here… As we embark upon the week of Thanksgiving, a time brimming with stories of gratitude and gatherings, let’s remember the unique magic we, as writers, hold in our hands—the power to craft worlds and weave futures. This isn’t a week primarily known for writing; however, Thanksgiving week can still be a significant time for writers in this genre, as it provides a unique backdrop for storytelling and may inspire themes of community, gratitude, and fantastical elements related to the season. So, try and blend one of these themes into your work this week and may your stories be as rich and fulfilling as the Thanksgiving feast. Happy writing!
 
Don’t forget – Trembling With Fear Volume 6 is out in the world, and if you’ve picked up a copy, we’d love a review! Next year, we may be looking to expand past just the Amazon platform. If we do that, what stores would you like to purchase your books from?

ATTENTION YOUTUBE WATCHERS: We’ve had some great responses so far but are open to more ideas – What type of content would you like to see us feature? Please reach out to [email protected]! We’ll be really working on expanding the channel late this year and early into next.

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree on places that aren’t Twitter, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

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

(more…)

Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4

  1. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 1
  2. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2
  3. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3
  4. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4
  5. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5
  6. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 6 Scheduled for December 9, 2023

 

 

Parasites: Part Four

 

An e-mail pinged on Leila’s phone way too early the next morning. Although the boss had given them the previous day off, he still had a business to run. Today would be business as usual. With nothing more than her nightmares and a secret she barely believed herself as an excuse, she showed up.

Her mind wasn’t having it, though. It stuck in a whirlpool of anxiety, bounding between the insanity at the office, her disturbing dreams, and the parasites growing inside her.

The previous day had shaken her so badly, she’d forgotten about them. At least, until she’d got up for work and vomited all over the place. A pill had beaten the nausea back down. It had not stopped the strange ache in her abdomen.

She couldn’t carry eleven kids. Hell, she didn’t want one kid. Yet, thanks to the phantom feel of a knife in her innards, she couldn’t bring herself to step foot in the clinic again.

A couple of co-workers walked by Leila’s cubicle, talking in excitement.

A creak, a crack, and a yell of pain as something large and dark fell from the ceiling and on to the passersby. Blood splattered against the outside of Leila’s workspace, a few stray drops landing on her face.

Déjà vu came and stayed. A haze settled over her mind as the first-aid kit, getting low on supplies, was pulled free once more. Sirens. Gasps and screams. A gaping hole in the ceiling where a chunk of metal beam mysteriously broke free and fell, cutting a groove down a co-worker’s arm. She couldn’t even remember the password to her computer. She was beginning to think it didn’t matter.

“Leila Roberts, right?”

Leila jumped, then flushed. The EMTs had taken the victim to the hospital a while ago. Without Kat around to talk her down, she’d stayed staring at the hole above her. She hadn’t seen anyone approach. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The speaker, a heavy-set older woman dressed in attire far too formal for the office, smiled. “You’re friends with Katharine, aren’t you?”

“Katharine?” Leila struggled far more than she should have to connect the dots. “Oh… Kat. Yes, I am.”

“A good girl. She helps me with my garden sometimes.”

Leila blinked, at a loss for words. Kat had talked about helping her ‘elderly’ neighbor before, but the woman in front of her didn’t look more than middle-aged. Besides, she wasn’t sure what the lady wanted from her.

“Is she not here today?”

Ah, that was it. “No. She had a doctor’s appointment.” Leila squashed down the sudden memory of her own missed appointment as a sharp pain jolted across her torso.

“I see. A lot of those lately, isn’t there?”

“Excuse me?”

“You were there for all three accidents, weren’t you?”

Leila narrowed her eyes as she tried to discern what the woman was getting at.

“Have you been having nightmares, Ms. Roberts?”

“No.”

The words came out on reflex. Whoever this woman was, she was making her more uncomfortable by the second. All Leila wanted was for her to leave.

The woman smiled again. This time, it seemed almost predatory.

Leila’s skin crawled.

“Sometimes our actions can lead to unexpected consequences,” the lady continued, seemingly oblivious to Leila’s unease. “They let in things we don’t quite understand. Things better left alone.”

“I’d like you to leave.”

A growl entered Leila’s voice as a flushing heat turned discomfort into anger. A small part of her wondered why she was angry. That part burned away in an instant.

“Of course. But, if you need help, help you can’t get in other places, please call my friend.” 

The woman pulled a business card from her pocket and offered it to Leila over the partition. Leila moved without thinking, jumping from her seat to slap the woman’s hand away. Her mind filled with white-hot fury. Who was this woman to tell her what she needed?

The woman’s eyes flashed, her mouth dropping into a frown for a second before reversing into a strained grin. “Think about it, Ms. Roberts. I don’t think either of us wants Katharine to come to harm, now do we?” 

She turned on her heel and rushed away.

Leila’s chest seized. Did the woman know something she didn’t? Was Kat in danger? She had been near all the injured, but that had to be a coincidence, didn’t it?

Her eyes locked onto the small, gold-trimmed business card that had fluttered to the floor. Her hand shook as she picked it up. Matthew Newcomb, it read. Professional exorcist.

Leila laughed. A ridiculous looking red pentagram, little horns sticking out the top point of the star, adorned the center of the card. The woman was either a comedian with the best poker face in the world, or completely insane. Leila would be about as likely to go to her ‘friend’ as back to the clinic.

She dropped it into the wastebasket under her desk and turned back to her work, intent on losing herself in the mundane. She’d had precious little of that recently.

It worked as well as it could with the stabbing in her torso. After popping two painkillers, she even dozed.

Leila dreamed of the ceiling collapsing. A grinning, bulbous-headed creature grinned out at her from the remains. It laughed, a raspy noise which scratched along Leila’s skin, as blood seeped from under the wreckage. It scrambled away, only to drag Royce, a deep crimson hole punched in his stomach, in front of her. Then came Anne with a hole carved into the upper right side of her chest. The remains of a lung pulsated within. 

Electricity shot down Leila’s limbs as the creature laid a third body out in front of her like a cat with dead birds. Hair pulled up, clothes the same as the last time Leila had seen her. Blood seeped from her mouth, ears, and under her eyelids. 

Kat. 

Leila tried to scream as the creature giggled.

Her phone rang, jolting her out of sleep.

Leila’s hand shook as she picked up the receiver, the feeling of ice water traveling down her spine.

“Hello?”

“Leila, thank goodness you answered.”

The high-pitched voice ricocheted around Leila’s head for a moment before she placed it. Kat’s mom. She hadn’t spoken to her in years, despite only living an hour away. Not since Kat got her own place. Leila couldn’t fathom what she wanted now. “Mrs. Meyer, how are you?”

“Kat’s dying.” Her voice cracked.

The trickle of ice became a torrent, seizing Leila’s muscles and stealing her breath. “I… I talked to her last night. She was fine.”

Fine. Leila’s mind echoed. This was all just a mistake.

“The doctor says she’s bleeding internally. She collapsed during her appointment. They don’t know why or how long she’ll last….”

Mrs. Meyer’s voice rambled on, each word choked out until she sobbed. “You two are inseparable… she’ll want you nearby when….”

“Of course, Mrs. Meyer.” 

The words came out of Leila’s mouth, but she had no connection to them. They sounded cold, distant. A small part of her screamed to pay attention. Most of her wanted to hide from the truth.

She listened to the second.

“What hospital?”

Mrs. Meyer told her. The information flowed through Leila’s thoughts without sticking. The line went dead.

Leila glanced at the edge of a business card, a horned pentagram in the center, peeking out from over the top of the wastebasket.

Trembling With Fear 11-19-23

Hello, children of the dark. 

Thanks for your understanding and patience with the short story changes; this gig is mainly walking a tricky tightrope, and it’s always nice when I shout into the void and it seems like it’s been heard!

In case you missed it, here’s a quick recap on the new processes at TWF Towers:

  • Drabbles, serials, and unholy trinities are still open all the damn time, and we still have an insatiable need for them
  • Short story submissions will only be open in 2-week seasonal windows, and you can find those details on our submissions page; next one opens on 1 January
  • Special editions submissions are still open in their own seasonal windows, and again the details are on the submissions page

Any short stories submitted to us outside of these new seasonal windows will be returned unread; we will NOT be keeping them on file for you. You’ll need to resubmit, if you are still interested in doing so, when we announce that we’re reopen. Make sure you’re following Horror Tree (and me!) on social media for announcements.

As for everything in the queue, we’re working our way through them. Both Stuart and I have had the real world intrude on our available time quite massively, but we’re doing our best to get things on track. 

Personally, I am bloody exhausted—but also excited to see the UK Ghost Story Festival will be back in February! Expect announcements of guests in the next few weeks…

Now to this week’s edition and Cassandra Daucus, a regular drabbler in these pages, has expanded her world to bring us a short story set in the underground world of pesky pixies. Then we come back to street level for three delicious quick bites:

  • Nikki Stanier is climbing down, 
  • Francesco Levato needs stitches, and 
  • Dawn Colclasure discovers the dangers of reading.

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Last week I had a delightful time at my cousin’s wedding. While I said I wouldn’t have much time to get stuff done, this weekend is the exact opposite! I’m ahead in school and so I have hours earmarked for finishing off my part of Shadowed Realms and reading through our backlog of TWF stories. And, fingers crossed, if I can get all of the reading done I have a million things to finish up on my To-Do list. We’ll see how it goes but I’m finally feeling like I’m catching up on life again. It’s only been a year and a half of craziness. 
 
Don’t forget – Trembling With Fear Volume 6 is out in the world, and if you’ve picked up a copy, we’d love a review! Next year, we may be looking to expand past just the Amazon platform. If we do that, what stores would you like to purchase your books from?

ATTENTION YOUTUBE WATCHERS: We’ve had some great responses so far but are open to more ideas – What type of content would you like to see us feature? Please reach out to [email protected]! We’ll be really working on expanding the channel late this year and early into next.

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree on places that aren’t Twitter, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

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

(more…)

Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3

  1. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 1
  2. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2
  3. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3
  4. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4
  5. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5
  6. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 6 Scheduled for December 9, 2023

 

 

Parasites: Part Three

 

If Anne’s piece of lung had distracted Leila, Royce stabbing himself with a pencil de-railed her brain completely, so it was good the boss let them all go home, even if it was probably to avoid any more on-site crises. 

Leila got back to her apartment, mind on auto-pilot, and now sat on her bed, staring numbly at a wall. A knock at her door nearly made her jump out of her skin. Her phone buzzed a moment later.

Kat’s text popped up on the screen. Hey, let me in!

Leila obliged, more on routine than anything else.

Kat brushed by her, staring as Leila closed and locked the door once more.

“How are you holding up?” Kat asked.

Unsure of what to say, Leila stared back. At least she hadn’t ended up in the hospital, she supposed.

Kat sighed and motioned toward the couch. “Sit.”

When Leila didn’t respond fast enough, Kat gripped her arm and lead her to a seat, lightly pushing her down onto a cushion before settling in herself. 

“Look, I know we didn’t know Ann or Royce super well, but we’ve still worked together for years. It’s not easy seeing anyone hurt, let alone someone you sit next to. If you want to talk, or cry, or just sit in silence together, I’m here.”

Leila frowned at her friend and chewed her lip. Seeing her co-workers hurt bothered her, yet that wasn’t what bothered her the most. The blood, the flesh, the wound on Royce’s stomach. It all reminded her so much of the dream. What was wrong with her when a dream bothered her more than the wellbeing of another person?

Kat took Leila’s silence as her choice, and snuggled closer, throwing an arm over Leila’s shoulders. “Anne’s fine, by the way. I stopped by the hospital before I came. The doctors couldn’t figure out what happened, and neither could she. They’re keeping her overnight. Just in case.”

“What about Royce?” Leila asked, finally finding her voice.

“Alive. Not sure beyond that. They have him on suicide watch, and since I’m not family, I’m not allowed near him.”

“It’s so strange.”

Leila was referring to more than the office events, but Kat didn’t know the difference.

“I know, right? Royce’s like the most stable guy on the floor. Unflappable. Somehow manages to be okay with desk work day in and day out. So, why?”

Leila shrugged as a heavy fatigue descended over her, stealing what little thought she had regained. Darkness rushed in before she could respond.

#

Leather wrapped around Leila’s wrists, strapping her arms down to a cold, white table.

Four bare, sterile walls surrounded her. They stood barely far enough away to contain the table and two people in hazmat suits. One person, sitting directly at the foot of the table, towered over the second, who sat to the left.

“Just try to breathe, Ms. Roberts,” the tall one said in a raspy voice. “It will be over before you know it.” 

The rasp turned into a grinding inhale as they took a long, thin knife from somewhere unseen. The knife lowered. Realization rushed down Leila’s spine like lava.

“No!” She bucked, yet barely moved. Thick straps she could have sworn weren’t there before covered her waist and ankles, pinning her in place. A lamb to slaughter.

“Just relax, Ms. Roberts,” the short one hissed through their mask.

Agony erupted from deep within, spreading up as the knife penetrated further and further. 

Leila’s mind collapsed as liquid, hot and sticky, flooded down her legs, hitting the floor with the sound of thick rain.

A scream echoed in her ears, dulled in the searing pain.

#

“Leila. Leila! Wake up, for God’s sake.”

Leila jerked upright, feeling like she’d swallowed glass. Her skin still tingled where the straps had been. Her innards roiled and burned.

“Christ, Leila. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Her mind whirled as Leila looked at Kat, trying to piece together what had happened. She was back on her couch, next to her best friend. No people in hazmat suits. No long, thin knives. She shivered. “What did I do?” she asked.

“What…?” Kat stared at her wide-eyed. “Screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors, is all. Wouldn’t surprise me if the cops show up soon. Everyone else in the building probably thinks you’ve been murdered.”

That explained the broken glass feeling in her throat. Leila shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. No one around here cares what happens in someone else’s apartment.”

“If you say so. What the hell were you dreaming about?”

Leila’s thoughts skittered around the answer, already more than willing to leave the nightmare to rot in her subconscious. “I….”

Her answer stalled as the fading horror connected with a very real memory. Her chest tightened. “Kat, what time is it?”

Kat glanced at her phone. “Nearly midnight. Honestly, I’m glad you woke up, even if I wish it had been a little less harsh. You passed out on my shoulder, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Not like I have anywhere to be. I’m getting pretty tired myself, though, and this couch isn’t quite as comfortable for me as it is for you.”

Kat’s words passed by Leila, heard, but barely understood. The appointment. The procedure. She’d missed it. Yet, as a piece of her latest nightmare came creeping back, she found she wasn’t so bothered after all.

Trembling With Fear 11-12-23

Hello, children of the dark. You know how we’re all told to do big, scary things every now and then? Well, last week I did a big, scary thing I never thought I would do ever again: I started working full time, in an office, in the Big Bad City. Before you get too worried for my sanity, I can confirm it’s a temporary arrangement while one of my freelance clients recruits for a new permanent team leader (and, heck, I needed the money). It has, however, reminded me of a few things:

  • Commuting into London is still hell, but actually this one isn’t too bad as the tube ride is relatively quick
  • Oxford Circus in the lead-up to Christmas is worse than hell, especially later in the week, and especially when there are tourists around, but at least the lights are pretty
  • I actually quite like being in an office around other people?!
  • I can do hard shit when I put my mind to it

And speaking of hard shit, a reminder of the Big Scary Decision we made/announced last week: we’ve made changes to our submissions process for short stories only. If you have submitted a short story since we reopened just a couple of months ago, rest assured we have your piece and it’s with the team for review. Please also remember that we all do this in a volunteering capacity, and we have A LOT to get through, so it will take us some time to respond. Patience, please! If you do seek publication elsewhere and your story is accepted before we get a chance to respond, please let us know so we can pull the story from consideration. We don’t take reprints. 

A recap of how to submit to TWF:

  • Drabbles, serials, and unholy trinities are still open all the damn time, and we still have an insatiable need for them
  • Short story submissions will only be open in 2-week seasonal windows, and you can find those details on our submissions page; next one opens on 1 January
  • Special editions submissions are still open in their own seasonal windows, and again the details are on the submissions page

Any short stories submitted to us outside of these new seasonal windows will be returned unread; we will NOT be keeping them on file for you. You’ll need to resubmit, if you are still interested in doing so, when we announce that we’re reopen. Make sure you’re following Horror Tree on all the socials!

As I said last week, I’m sorry we have to be such hard-asses about this, but we can only afford to publish one short story every week—and at the current rate of submissions, it will take us years to get through everything we have. I hope you understand why we are making this change. We want to protect your great work while making sure we can keep up with spotlighting the best of you.

Let’s turn away from hard-asses and towards the darkest corners, and this week’s edition has Addison Smith needs to keep quiet amidst the debris. That is followed by three delicious quick bites:

  • Sarah Elliott needs a defibrillator, 
  • LN Hunter needs a reboot, and 
  • RJ Meldrum needs a routine.

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Okay. So. This weekend I can guarantee you that I’ve gotten nothing ‘productive’ done with having preparing for and taking a midterm for my current MBA class and actually getting some fun in. (The Marvels is fantastic if you’re a Marvel movie fan and have been keeping up with the TV shows. On top of that, one of my cousins got married so that was another two days of festivities.) I did get ‘some’ reading for Shadowed Realms done as we’re currently widdling away stories that we love because there are just so many good ones. Honestly, we had enough “Yes” responses initially to fill two volumes, just not the funds for it. So. We’re getting there. Slowly (painfully slowly) but surely.
 
Don’t forget – Trembling With Fear Volume 6 is out in the world, and if you’ve picked up a copy, we’d love a review! Next year, we may be looking to expand past just the Amazon platform. If we do that, what stores would you like to purchase your books from?

ATTENTION YOUTUBE WATCHERS: We’ve had some great responses so far but are open to more ideas – What type of content would you like to see us feature? Please reach out to [email protected]! We’ll be really working on expanding the channel late this year and early into next.

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree on places that aren’t Twitter, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

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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Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2

  1. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 1
  2. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2
  3. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3
  4. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4
  5. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5
  6. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 6 Scheduled for December 9, 2023

 

 

Parasites: Part Two

 

Leila dragged herself to work the next morning with hair unbrushed and clothes rumpled. No one batted an eye. Everyone looked half-dead on Mondays, especially before their third cup of coffee. 

Currently, Leila stood in the break room, pouring way too much sugar into her first cup of the day. The nightmare replayed in her head. She could still feel the creature’s slimy, chubby hand rubbing against her skin. The eyes, big and innocent, clashing with the mouthful of teeth and flesh. Leila shivered. It was just her subconscious freaking out. It had to be. After her evening procedure, it would all be over.

Someone bumped her on the shoulder. She jumped, splashing hot coffee all over her hands. The mug slipped from her grasp as she yelped, burning pain flushing across her fingers. It hit the marble countertop and bounced off.

“God!” Anne caught the mug, tossed it in the sink next to Leila, and turned on the faucet. She grabbed Leila’s hands and shoved them under the cool water. “Jesus, Leila. I’m so sorry.” She rubbed Leila’s hands with hers, which only made them sting more.

“It’s fine,” Leila said as she pulled her hands free.

“Fine? I just gave you third-degree burns.”

Third? No. Look.” Leila held up her red, but otherwise intact, hands. “Scalded, at best. I shouldn’t be zoning out at work.”

Anne leaned in to inspect Leila, the scowl of concentration on her face deeper than usual. “You sure you don’t want some burn cream for that? Might as well get some use out of that dusty first-aid kit.”

“I’m fine. In fact, I think I’m just going to get back to work.”

Leila turned to go. Anne reached out, more protests on her lips. The words caught. Leila’s eyes grew wide as Anne’s face turned purple.

“Anne?”

Anne’s hands flew to her throat, her mouth opening and closing in silence. 

Behind Leila, someone yelled. She watched, frozen to the spot, as quiet, reserved Dan rushed forward. He wrapped his arms around Anne and squeezed.

A thick, purple and red glob flew from Anne’s mouth. It hit the floor with a splat. The edge of the mass looked jagged, as if many tiny, sharp teeth had torn it free.

For the first time in Leila’s three years of working a boring desk job in a boring cubicle, an ambulance was called. By the time the EMTs arrived, Anne swore she was fine, and hadn’t the slightest idea how she had gotten the ‘thing’, as she put it, lodged in her throat. Of course, the boss would have none of it, so off she went for a full check-up.

Leila went back to her organized, sterile, white cubicle and attempted to work. All she did was stare at her computer screen while images of torn flesh danced through her mind.

“Messed up, huh?”

Leila stifled another yelp. She really needed to calm down.

Kat frowned at her from over the white wall dividing their identically rectangular work spaces, her frizzy hair doing a good job of escaping her ponytail. “Mark said it literally looked like Anne coughed up a piece of lung.” She grimaced. “Talk about in bad taste. I hope she’ll be all right, and she’s not contagious. Wouldn’t that be great? I can see the headlines now — ‘data monkeys ground zero for new plague!’”

Leila forced a thin smile. Mark wasn’t the only one with poor taste, but she’d known Kat long enough to realize she wasn’t trying to be insensitive to Anne. She was just trying to distract her friend. Kat always seemed to know when she felt off. “Yeah. Even with getting the day off, I think I’ll pass on coughing up chunks.”

“Oh, speaking of which,” Kat’s eyes lit up. “You don’t know how much I hurled after Saturday night.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“What about you?”

Both of them paused. 

Kat’s face scrunched up. “Not the hurling. The guy. How’d it go with that guy you were dancing with? Did you even get his name before he whisked you off for some extra fun? Actually, who cares. How was he in bed? He seemed pretty awesome on the dance floor.”

Leila’s mind stuttered, stalled. Guy? As usual, she and Kat had visited a local night club Saturday night. She remembered the loud music pulsating in her bones. The lights flashing, the acidic smell of sweat and booze. Too much booze. The details were hazy at best. Any guy she might have met melted into the faceless crowd in her memory.

“Leila?” Kat raised an eyebrow as she studied Leila.

“I… don’t remember.”

“What he was like?”

“The guy.”

“Oh.” Kat’s expression soured. “Did he drug you? Because if he did, so help me, I’ll hunt him down and cut off his junk.”

“I… no. I don’t think so. We only drink things we order each other, right? So how would he?”

“You got pretty drunk, Leila. Maybe he… you know what, it doesn’t matter. I was an idiot for letting you go off on your own.”

“I’m not your kid, Kat.”

“No, I’m your wingman, and a piss poor one at that.” She clenched her teeth. “You think—”

A loud thunk followed by a gurgling cry from the cubicle in front of Leila cut off whatever Kat was about to say. She leaned over to look. Her face blanched. “Holy hell!”

She disappeared into her own cubicle. The sound of the landline phone at her desk being pulled from its cradle echoed back.

Bile rose in the back of Leila’s throat. Her body felt leaden, her eyes glued to the divider. She started to shake as Kat’s voice filtered through the wall. “The guy in front of us, I think he’s just stabbed himself.”