Tag Archives: horror

The night the WiFi went down…


They told us it could never happen…that there were redundancies built on top of redundancies. I can still their faces – gaunt, pale and deprived of stimuli, staggering down the dark streets in their sweatpants murmuring about brains and click-bait.



Written for: Twittering Tales


Filed under Uncategorized

Philandering 101…


“Always check into a hotel with a light fitting strong enough to swing off. Ensure that the windows are sufficiently thin that, in the unlikely event of running at full sprint from an angry husband, you can penetrate said pane whilst remaining conscious. Never higher than the first floor, and always with bushes below to deaden the fall where your car keys await wrapped in a towel to protect your modesty as you make good your escape.”

“And presumably: Not being tricked into meeting the aforementioned husband in a secluded setting would be near the top of the list?”


100 Words

Written for: Friday Fictioneers


Filed under Flash fiction

Pipe-Dream My Ass…


Tragedy struck today at The Science Expo. This photo captured the terrifying moment when Dr. Karen Roe, inventor of an invisibility serum, sat down on Hal Froom, founder of Shrinkray.com. A publicist for the famously roguish womaniser stated ‘It’s the way he would’ve wanted to go.’


Written for: Twittering Tales


Filed under Flash fiction

Henpecked Incorporated…


With Faithful Jenny deliberately scuttled there was no going back. The rip-tides in the bay were well renowned, and the lack of a body would be easily explainable.

He outstretched his arms and let go of everything – his materialistic trophy wife, the kids who hated him, the stock portfolio, the endless competing with other alphas – all expelled in a single glorious belch of freedom.

Hidden behind a rocky outcrop he encountered two other men – one standing in the mangled wreckage of a hang glider, the other kneeling by a bloated cadaver. He greeted them with nervous exhilaration and gave a false name as he’d been instructed. They reciprocated.

‘The likeness is uncanny,’ he commented, gesturing towards the cadaver.

”I paid extra. It’s a little macabre stealing from a morgue, but it’s not like anyone was murdered!’

A speedboat was moored at the tip of the archipelago. With a fair wind they’d be in Gibraltar by morning where a vagabond utopia awaited…


164 Words

Written for: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers


Filed under Flash fiction

It sees us…we become snacks!

The scene of the travesty was a run-down, ramshackle gym on the outskirts of town. Little did the slightly overweight, balding man know, but on that day, on that street, cruel fate had no intention of allowing his fitness regime to continue.

The session began as normal, a light run. He got into his stride and quickly zoned out all around him, but then into his peripheral vision came a ghastly apparition with foreboding trailing in its wakes. Beneath the thick cake of foundation and lipstick he suspected that it was female in origin…yes…the presence of hazardously unrestrained breasts confirmed his conjecture. An overly elaborate hairstyle was held in place by an ocean of product, and her form was bedecked head to toe in designer gear.

‘You don’t belong here,’ the other patrons seemed to whisper; bonding in their joint disapproval. ‘Ours is a simple place of exercise. Take your posing ways elsewhere.’

Arrogantly she ignored my / his / their demands, stepped onto a running machine adjacent to the balding man and set off at a vigorous sprint. It quickly became apparent that she was not going to be able to sustain such a pace. Her already rosy cheeks glowed bright red, and within a minute or so thick sweaty black mascara began running into her eyes.

‘This is odd,’ the balding man thought, ‘Surely she will stop, clean herself up and regain her sight?’

No, it appeared as though she was going to brazen it out.

Moments later she had morphed from fashionista into a clown with panda-esque tendencies. A quick swipe and smudge across the face gave her the mask of Zorro which then, with the inclusion of lipstick stained teeth, warped and distended into the voracious snarling sneer of a cold-blooded killer.

Without the industry-standard parachute harness brassiere demanded under such circumstances the clown-thing’s breasts now became weapons. The balding man ducked and dived. Through floor to ceiling mirrors he saw that all eyes were fixed upon the hideous transformation.

Into the mix came a rasping, hocking gargle. Every few strides brought forth a ‘Hoekgrr…Hoekgrr’ sound.

Our hilarity turned to panic. What if she collapses? The paramedics are going to think we did this to her. There’s no other rationale explanation.

By now the balding man was surging at full pelt. In his heightened state of fear he couldn’t understand how the heaving, lolloping, semi-blind monster was managing to keep up with him.


When the ordeal finally came to an end it squinted at a pedometer and grimaced in satisfaction. The balding man returned home and discovered that he had lost more weight than usual.

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