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Spring Death Week 4 – Phobias

A guide to Pantsing_Edited

Hey all, welcome to week 4 of Spring Death month (Wait… week 4? And next week is… week 5? Of one month. Right….. Well less deadline pressure so I’ll take it!) and although I haven’t posted any short stories or excerpts, I’m still writing. There’s just a lot happening all around and I’m not getting enough sleep. I’m not complaining or giving excuses, just informing you that the writing is going despite challenges. Also, I’ve written the 5th of 10 stories so in the next 8 days I’ll have to write 5 more.

Theme

This week’s theme (I know it’s Thursday, this week is practically over haha) is Phobias. Things you’re afraid of… or rather things I’m afraid of. Not that I’m afraid of red roses but did you know that Anthophobia is the fear of flowers. Imagine with me the poem Seeping Scarlet Screams from my Tuesday Poetry thing.

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling because you can hear the quiet shuffle of vines against your wall. You’re sure they are moving but everyone insists it’s just the wind. Just the wind. Eventually fatigue drags you into the silent depths of sleep, dreamless quiet that encompasses your entire being. It blocks out the constant scratching sounds outside your window, the rasping of wood that seems to be coming from the inside. Until you awake to the shrill sound of crockery smashing onto the floor from beyond your shut door. Staring wide eyed at the ceiling, you wonder what has happened. Your mind tries to both persuade and dissuade you from investigating the sound.

Inner You 1: “It’s nothing. Just the wind.”

Inner You 2: “The wind inside the house? And can you hear that?”

Inner You 1: “It’s outside. Against the wall. That’s it. Just. Outside. We can go check. Open the door and check.”

Inner You 2: “It sounds closer. Outside the door. We should grab the tennis racquet? Maybe a pair of scissors too.”

Inner You 1: “Rubbish. It’s. Nothing. It’s nothing okay. Let’s just sleep until…”

The scratching noise is undoubtedly outside the door, then against the door, then past the door. You can hear the slithering scraping sounds. You imagine the thorns on the twisting emerald vines weaving their way to the bed. The riiiip of cloth you imagine to be your clothes strewn over the floor. You hope they hinder whatever it is. The sheet under you begins to shift slowly. The tearing sound rises from below the bed as more of the sheet slides out from you. By now you’re aware of what is climbing the side of the bed. You’re aware of the sound of your heart beating just below the ominous grating drawing closer. And then you feel the first set of pricks wrapping around your ankle like tiny teeth.

Dun dun dun *Cue music end ending credits


What phobias do you have? Have you ever had to battle against your particular phobia? How did you do it? How did you feel? What brought you to that situation? I would love to hear it.

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Seeping Scarlet Screams

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Slithering,

Slick,

Snaking vines scrape floorboards,

Scented petals

snap leafy pads softly through

scrawny hallways

sloppily laden shelves crash shrilly

as twisting shoots

and extended spikes

slink under shut doorway,

over ripping slippers,

socks, shirts

stitching torn

onto sheets

Along ankles arms appendages:

Serrated.

Seeping.

Scarlet.

Screams.


Carin Marais suggested I write a short story about Homicidal Red Roses and my last poem I wrote I’d wanted to turn into an alliterative poem. The two joined forces and Ta-Da!

Spring Death Week 3 – Updates

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Sooooo it’s the third week and I have written 4 of my ten stories. Falling behind, I know, but worry not! 6 stories in 11 days is totally possible guys. Trust me.

Spring Death Week 3 theme – Surreal

In the first week I addressed Serial Killers. In the second week I took on Supernatural/Paranormals. This week we look at the surreal, or as it has been so perfectly worded: having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream.

This means I’ve got free roam not limited to anything really because it’s plausible in a surreal sense without needing it to be explained in intricate detail *breathes*. I’m expecting really bizarre stories to flow out of this one.

Patreon Final Story Poll

In the last week of September, I will be running a week long poll to decide which of the ten short stories will be given a spiffy looking cover. So please drop by Monday 26 September to begin voting. It’s open to the public too which means if your story vote wins, you will get a copy of that particular story. Shiny cover and all. *ooooh. aaaaah.

August Dark Fantasy Reward (*Patreons only)

My artist just finished the August rendition of my short story. You will be getting that reward at the end of this month. Keep an eye out for that, I think you’ll definitely love it!

Thank you so much for your support!

Supernatural Paranormals Week

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It’s week 2 of Spring Death on the blog and it’s all about the supernatural and the paranormal. As a transitional short from last week’s Serial Killer week, here’s an excerpt on a supernatural serial killers:


Weh ma! Baba!” he exclaimed as the aged bodies of his reanimated parents stared blankly at nothing before them. He hadn’t noticed how cold the room had become until his breath escaped in an ephemeral plume. But it was a passing notion. His heart seemed to be beating in his ears, a light elation filling his lungs, crawling across his face into a grin that spread to his eyes. The two bodies on the bed turned sagging pale faces towards him, milky eyes unseeing, mouths drooped to reveal toothless gums and dry grey tongues.

“Ma?” he said to the closest body. The woman on the bed seemed to be more skin than anything else hanging down her skeletal frame. She raised stick-thin arms out towards him,

“My child.” A feathery murmur escaped from chapped lips, “Come.”

Excited, Siyabonga rushed to the woman and wrapped his arms around the cold, bare body.
“Oh ma! Ma!” he cried into the icy flabs. An earthy aroma rose from the body. He was barely aware of the strength in the arms as they clutched him tighter and tighter and tighter. The spell had worked. Traditional medicine had done what modern science never could – it brought his parents back from the dead. The sangoma was the real doctor not him. His thoughts were broken by a sharp pain in his side. He gasped for breath,

“Ma!” he choked as his arms pressed against his sides, his back folding in on itself as ribs crackled under the grip. He tried to scream but only a gurgled whisper escaped. He hadn’t even heard or noticed his father until a second embrace wrapped around them and clutched harder. The crackling bones sounded like splintering wood, the unyielding pain perforating his arms, twisting along his back, grinding into his chest. A guttural groan clawed out of his throat.

“My child. Thank you.” The voiced snaked into his mind. It was not his mother’s voice. It wasn’t even female. He tried to speak but the pain was too intense, black spots peppered his vision as his breath shortened into painful hics.


What happens next? Are they really his parents? Who has he brought back from the dead and what will they do next? *Cue music and final credits*

Patreon

To read the behind-the-scenes draft of my stories, you can become a Patreon from $1. As a Patreon, you are also able to send suggestions and ideas for your own personal creation; it doesn’t have to be related to my Spring Death theme.

Darker Than Black

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Silence pervades the hallowed sanctuary,

Downcast eyes stare from above,

Holy presence, divine love.

Thorns. Nails. Wooden burden.

Innocent Death – what a bargain.

Man on bent knee and clasped hands, unwary.

*

I grasp his neck, devotional beads against trachea,

“Forgive me father,” words spill

“But you have sinned.” the silence I fill

Choking gasps fluttering priestly robe

Thick fingers attempt to prick and probe

Long have I waited to instill this fear.

*

Head meets wooden pew with sickly crack.

Eyes roll back in their socket

I reach deep within my pocket

Zip locks for hands and feet

Head slips from the seat

I drag him off to a fate darker than black.


It’s horror month here at AScribe To Describe – This week is serial killers:

The goal for the month is to write ten, 3000 word short stories, one of which will receive a sparkling macabre cover and PDF version for your enjoyment.

Patreons, feel free to send suggestions, ideas, and what-nots for your own personal creation. It doesn’t even have to be related to my Spring Death theme.

Non-patreons, you have an opportunity to own an exclusively written short story of your creation to show off from just $1.

Poetry Contest over at The Tattooed Book Geek

September Goals: Spring Death

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It is the official first week of September, which means Spring has sprung here in the sunny southern hemisphere. As my sinuses get clogged worse than the M1 highway with a broken-down tuck in the middle lane, I’ve dedicated this month (and Patreon) to lurid tales sure to make you squirm. No red roses and blue violets tilting towards the sun’s rays here.

Goals

The goal for the month is to write ten, 3000 word short stories (30 000 words), that’s two-and-a-half shorts a week (we’ll make it three). One of these shorts will receive a sparkling macabre cover and PDF version for your enjoyment. More exciting stuff swirling to the surface later on in the month.

Cutthroats

This first week is dedicated to Serial Killers. The who, what, when, why, how of it all, twisted into razor sharp tales twisting through your gut in the dead of night. I haven’t delved into true horror in a while so I can only wonder what will manifest.

Patreon

Patreons, feel free to send suggestions, ideas, and what-nots for your own personal creation. It doesn’t even have to be related to my Spring Death theme.

Non-patreons, you have an opportunity to own an exclusively written short story of your creation to show off from just $1. *wink wink, nudge nudge*

Submissions

I will be submitting most of these stories for publishing, while others will be set aside for my personal as well as my Patreon anthology. Fun times ahead. If you love horrors, you’re going to be in for a treat. I apologize in advance for my non-horror readers; please bear with me for the month.

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