Trembling With Fear 12-1-24
Greetings, children of the dark. I’m in denial. I refuse to believe today is the 1st of December. This year cannot almost be over. I haven’t done anything! I’ve wallowed in the dark too much! What happened to all of those plans I made?!?! If you’re in the same position – and/or you’re still too full of Thanksgiving food to be able to move – let me invite you to escape into some darkly speculative fiction.
If you fancy penning some of your own, our Christmas special is open for subs for about another week – make sure your story is absolutely, 100% verifiably tied to the season, please! Not just that it’s a bit cold. And we always, always need more drabbles – not seasonal, though those are welcome; just general dark drabbles always, please. Make them dark but also make them speculative: less of the true crime as we’re unlikely to accept those unless a supernatural beast did it.
For now, though, it’s time for our weekly fare. This week’s main course is of the zombie insect variety, courtesy of Mike Scofield. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:
- Corinne Pollard’s scientific experiments,
- John M’s string-pulling, and
- P.D. McKone’s staring contest.
Over to you, Stuart.
Join me in thanking our upcoming site sponsor for the next month! Please check out Josh Schlossberg’s ‘Where The Shadows Are Shown’!
“A Horror Short Story Collection by Josh Schlossberg
A hiker stumbles on a gruesome species undiscovered by science… An injury triggers an appalling new ability… A domestic pet holds a household in thrall… A human monster finally meets his match… Crimes against nature birth an abomination…
These and fifteen more tales make up WHERE THE SHADOWS ARE SHOWN, a short story collection by Josh Schlossberg (author of CHARWOOD and MALINAE), who guides you on a trek through the shadowy realms of biological and folk horror, supernatural and weird fiction.
So, lace up your boots, fill your water bottle, and put fresh batteries in the flashlight, because there’s not a chance in hell you’re getting back before dark.”
Support our sponsor and pick up Where The Shadows Are Shown today on Amazon!
Be sure to order a copy today!
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Hi all!
As I mentioned last week, we’re steadily working on our late-to-be-released Trembling With Fear Year 7. The cover has been selected, the compilation is in the works, and hopefully, we’ll have it out REAL SOON! (Note: I didn’t put a date in there.) I’m also hoping to get back to the new layout soon as well. With it being the holiday season, everything has gone a bit nuts. Also, we’re talking through changes to the newsletter for formatting, visuals, etc. I know a few have had issues with its size, so we’re hoping to have that resolved shortly.
Fingers crossed!
On a personal note, I’ve recently had one short story shortlisted and was able to write another from scratch. Also, I’ve printed up a copy of my WIP novella to do some redlining edits before it goes off to an actual editor and/or a press if I’m really feeling feisty!
Now, for the standards:
- Thank you so much to everyone who has become a Patreon for Horror Tree. We honestly couldn’t make it without you all!
- Please, order a copy of Shadowed Realms on Amazon, we’d love for you to check it out!
- Be sure to follow us on both BlueSky and Threads!
Mike Scofield
Mike Scofield has been publishing stories since the late ’90s and has stories in the current issues of Underside Stories and The Piker Press, with two pending in other magazines.
A Bug Bite, by Mike Scofield
While Steve happily tallied his charges – twenty-seven, his best day yet! – a bug landed on his hand and bit him.
“Ow!”
He shook it away.
“Damn!”
But the pain was slight. He rubbed it away. Just a bug bite. And it was forgotten when the boat docked.
First off, he pointed up the stone steps. “Let’s gather on the lawn.”
When everyone was present and facing him, he began.
“Boldt Castle construction began in 1900. Three hundred craftsmen worked here until 1904…”
He surveyed the group. Glazed eyes so soon!
“…when an urgent message was received from New York City to halt construction.”
The group, as one, turned to the left and began walking.
“Excuse me! We’ll actually begin the tour in the opposite direction.”
No one stopped or turned or acknowledged him. They kept walking.
“EXCUSE ME!” got the same result.
Steve jogged up to the lead walker. “Please stop.”
The woman ignored him, never breaking stride, and along with the man behind her, brushed past him. Steve stepped in front of the man following but had to quickly back-pedal as he wasn’t breaking stride either.
What the hell?
He stepped back to assess the passing line of people.
“Did you plan this?” he surveyed the group from front to back. “Is this some kind of JOKE?”
He ran to the front again as the line kept moving.
“You have to STOP!”
He grabbed the woman’s hands and held her back gently. But her feet kept moving, the next man collided with them and the three fell into a twisted pile. The line swerved around them and kept moving.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!”
Steve pushed away from the two and stood, staring, as they wordlessly got up and rejoined the line.
It had reached the base of the tallest tower, its unfinished one-hundred-foot hulk clawing the sky with jagged stone fingers.
“THAT’S OFF LIMITS!”
But the line crept up into its dark stairway like a huge caterpillar. Steve raced to it and took the steps two at a time. When he passed the lead man he whirled and caught him. Steve fell backward, taking a stair painfully in the back but holding on, the man’s legs churning. The next man, a heavyweight, fell on them both…
“OW!”
… cracking Steve’s head against stone and producing a pop at his left ankle.
“AHHH!”
The line swerved, continuing on. The heavyweight lurched up and joined it. The man no longer in Steve’s arms clambered over him, driving a knee into his jaw.
Fetal against cool rock now, Steve was aware of the shuffling line at his back. It would have to halt soon. There was only a small circle of stone floor up there. They could not all fit…
A muffled thud. Then another.
When he realized what was happening, Steve rolled to his back and reached for the ankle of the nearest marcher but intense pain knifed through him and he recoiled.
“You have to stop!” he shouted at them. “You have to STOP!”
But the last one climbed past.
Steve lay there, incredulous, listening to them hit the ground.
He found his cell and called the boat.
“Serge! I’m up in the north tower. The group… They all jumped!”
“What?”
“Call for help! It’s a mass SUICIDE!”
“Somebody JUMPED?”
“They ALL did! Call for help!”
“I just don’t… I’m sending Rick and Bose.”
“CALL!”
“Yeah.”
Steve carefully stood on one leg. He hopped up one step after another until he was at the top…
A nightmare!
They were down there. Prone, twisted, facing in all directions.
He heard feet slapping the stairs. Bose, with Rick right behind, gained the top and rushed up to Steve.
“What happened?”
Steve pointed down through the opening in the unfinished parapet wall.
“They all just… jumped! I tried to stop… they walked right over me!”
But the crewmen’s animated eyes dimmed. They swung away and faced the open air. In three steps Bose plummeted out of sight.
“JESUS!”
thud
Steve reached for Rick’s arm but missed.
thud
He slid down the wall and sat, stunned, trying to fathom what was happening. People encountered him and became lemmings?
When he heard sirens out on the water he got back to his feet. His cell rang. As he swiped it he noticed a dark spot on his hand. It was the bite. But now it was the size of a quarter and inky black.
“Steve! Did Rick and Bose get to you?”
“Yeah! Yeah! They jumped TOO!”
“Jesus! What are you TALKING about? Where are you?”
“I’m still on the tower. But don’t come up here!”
“I just… I got to tell these responders where to go!”
“The base of the tower. West side. I’ll stay here.”
“I’m coming over.”
“But not up here!”
“Yeah. SHIT! Just BE there!”
Steve leaned heavily against the wall and watched the area below where Serge should appear. He fingered the black sting. It was numb and raised like a blister. He had sensation in the skin around it but not the black part itself.
Serge burst into the clearing below and halted, his hands at his temples as he took in the scene.
Steve’s hand throbbed. As he looked, a crack appeared in the center of the sting and the dark skin parted…
A bug climbed out and buzzed away. He followed its trajectory – like a bullet’s – straight down to Serge. It struck him in the neck and stayed put.
Serge slapped it away.
“That’s what happened to me!” Steve cried. “It must be the bug!”
Serge looked up at him. Made a gesture of incomprehension, looked at the carnage before him, repeated the gesture.
Steve grew excited. “You didn’t go ZOMBIE when you heard me!”
“What IS this…” Serge shouted, rubbing his neck. “How can people just…”
Steve straightened, took three painless steps and walked off the tower.
Ingestion
Doctor Vesper ordered me to his office prior to the experiment’s first attempt at replicating parasitic alien eggs. I assumed last-minute changes or jitters, but I was way off base.
“Where’s my dessert?”
I blinked at him while my mind caught up.
“You ate it, sir.”
He snapped, his eyes burning laser red. “No, it’s still in the fridge, you stupid apprentice.”
I hurried to the appliance as worry bubbled in my stomach. The chocolate spheres that I meant to give lay untouched.
My wide eyes settled on the container on his desk with its label half-dangling off. Sample One.
Corinne Pollard
Corinne Pollard is a disabled UK horror and dark fantasy writer, published in Black Hare Press, Carnage House Publishing, Three Cousins Publishing, The Ravens Quoth Press, Raven Tale Publishing, A Coup of Owls Press, and The Stygian Lepus. Corinne writes reviews and the weekly newsletter for The Horror Tree. Follow her dark world on Twitter, Threads, and Instagram: @CorinnePWriter
Puppeteer
Snip.
The first string now dangles from my hand. The rest pull tightly from the darkness above, hooked into my body.
Snip.
The scissors cut the next. My elbow. The string falls. My arm goes limp.
I should stop. I should quit now, apologize, and everything will be okay. Follow the dances. Follow the plan from wherever the strings end. It has always worked before.
Snip.
The strings at my knees. My legs buckle.
What if the others are right, and we need to follow? What if I can’t dance alone?
The scissors enclose the string on my head.
Snip.
John M
John M is an author living in Indianapolis, Indiana with his ‘roommate’ and the ghosts of his past.You can find him on Instagram @Johnny_the_martian
The Figure on the Stare
I didn’t notice it the first time it blinked. Things blinked all the time. But when it blinked a second time, and then a third, I couldn’t help but notice it.
Then I noticed that it blinked when I looked at it. I began to experiment with the causality; was I making it blink by looking, or was I looking in response to it blinking?
I closed my eyes and turned my face toward it, then opened them.
It blinked.
I closed my eyes again, and reopened them.
It blinked.
I closed my eyes, and opened only one.
It winked.
P.D. McKone
P.D. McKone is a retired educator who continues to teach through writing and repair cafés. He lives in Waterloo with his spouse and an indeterminate number of cats.
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Lauren McMenemy wears many hats: Editor-in-Chief at Trembling With Fear for horrortree.com; PR and marketing for the British Fantasy Society; founder of the Society of Ink Slingers; curator of the Writing the Occult virtual events. With 25+ years as a professional writer across journalism, marketing, and communications, Lauren also works as a coach and mentor to writers looking to achieve goals, get accountability, or get support with their marketing efforts. She writes gothic and folk horror stories for her own amusement, and is currently working on a novel set in the world of the Victorian occult. You’ll find Lauren haunting south London, where she lives with her Doctor Who-obsessed husband, the ghost of their aged black house rabbit, and the entity that lives in the walls.
