“416”
By Adam Sifre
Copyright 2011 by Adam Sifre
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1 – Introduction By Adam Sifre
Chapter 2 - The Moon By William Macmillan Jones
Chapter 3 - Eternity By Lilian Kendrick
Chapter 4 - Succubus Kiss By Sharon Van Orman
Chapter 5 - Window By Diane Dickson
Chapter 6 -Flies By Adam Sifre
Chapter 7- Stoned By Diane Dickson
Chapter 8- The Green-eyed Monster By Stephanie King
Chapter 9- Eternal By Rose Wall
Chapter 10 - Immortal Beloved By Sharon Van Orman
Chapter 11 - Howl At The Moon By Paul Freeman
Chapter 12 - Proverbs 4 Verse 16 By Quenntis Ashby
Chapter 13- Baby Monitor By Gretchen Steen
Chapter 14 – The Runaway Elevator By Eva Menteuse
Chapter 15 - Ripley’s Headache By Raymond Terry
Chapter 16 - The Pursued By WiSpY
Chapter 17 - Death Always Collects By Jeremy Rodden
Chapter 18 - The Chair By TRM
Chapter 19 - The Dawn of A New Day For Ima Spatz By S.C. Thompson
Chapter 20 – 416 By EM Delaney
Chapter 21 - Diamonds By Sammy HK Smith
Chapter 22 - It Ended With A Bang By Michelle Basson
Chapter 23 - Zombies In New Orleans By David J. Muir
Chapter 24 - The Return By Kay Kauffman
Chapter 25 - Variation On A Theme, 11 By Will Macmillan Jones
Chapter 26 – Hellbait By Lisa Scullard
Chapter 27 – Aftermath By Gretchen Steen
Chapter 28 – Remembering By Richard Wentworth
Chapter 20 - It Started With A Kiss By Mark R Faulkner
Chapter 30 - Norse Zombie Vengeance By Paul Freeman
Chapter 31 - The Muffin Man By Rebecca Tester
Chapter 32 - The Picture By Will Macmillan Jones
Chapter 33 - A Snowball’s Chance By K.A. Smith
Chapter 34 - Salt Of The Earth By Ryan Holmes
Chapter 35 - Flight 2341, Belize to Dallas, TX By S.C. Thompson
Chapter 36 - Why I Don’t Like Dolls By WiSpy
Chapter 37 - The Grange By Lindsey J. Parsons
Chapter 38 – Revelations By Quenntis Ashby
Chapter 39 - It Started With A Kiss By Quenntis Ashby
Chapter 40 – Worms By William Holt
Chapter 41 - Witches, Demons and Magi, oh my By David J. Muir
Chapter 42 - Old Memories By Will Macmillan Jones
Chapter 43 - Feeding Time By Kira Morgana
Chapter 44 - Softly I Step By Adam Sifre
Chapter 45 - One Last Look By Diane Dickson
Chapter 46 - True Love By Mark R. Faulkner
Chapter 47 - Still Time By Quenntis Ashby
Chapter 48 – Pain By Lilian Kendrick
Chapter 49 - Billy And The Afternoon Visitor By WiSpY
Chapter 50 - Midnight Snack By Lilian Kendrick
Chapter 51 – Spiders By WiSpY
Chapter 52 - Handy Man By Living Challenged
Chapter 53 – INTERMISSION By Splinker
Chapter 54 - Last Man Standing By Richard Maitland
Chapter 55 - Lady Chatterley’s Zombie By Lisa Scullard
Chapter 56 - It’s In The Bag By Joe Kovacs
Chapter 57 – Unlucky By Gretchen Steen
Chapter 58 - The Crow Caws at Twilight By Cora Bennet
Chapter 59 – Memories By CMT Stibbe
Chapter 60 - Justice By EM Delaney
Chapter 61 - The Kiss of the Corvus By Cruse
Chapter 62 - Giz A Light ByTRM
Chapter 63 - An Oliver Twist By Mark Roman
Chapter 64 - A Glimpse Of Paradise By Almuth Wren
Chapter 65 – Dare By Alishia Duling
Chapter 66 - The Four Sixteen By LJ Rutledge
Chapter 67 - The Dare By Trista Herring & Natasha Morea
Chapter 68 - One Potato By Adam Sifre
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION
By Adam Sifre
Four Hundred Sixteen. That’s all it takes to tell a story. A scary story. At least here. Every tale of horror and suspense in this book is exactly 416 words long (you can spend your time counting or reading, that’s up to you). Every story was written by a member of Authonomy.com.
Stephen King takes 1,200 pages to tell a story. We did it in just one page. Sometimes we did it better.
From Arachnoids to Zombies, “416” has it all. The first fifty stories were all submitted as part of my weekly Flash Fiction Friday contest. Always a treat for the readers, this particular FFF was an outstanding success. We got a lot of “new” writers as well as the old standbys. Many wrote outside their comfort zone and they did it well.
So, now we have a collection of horror worthy to be on the shelves of whatever bookstores are still in business (another horror story in itself). Unfortunately, timing is everything and my Ouija board tells me that there is not enough time to get “416” on the shelves. That shouldn’t stop you from putting it on Kindle, however.
416 words is less than one page. But you won’t believe what we can fit into that small space. I know I didn’t, and I still believe in Obama.
When I first asked myself to edit this book, I thought “who wants to read a bunch of stories that aren’t even written by me. But after reading the submissions, I can almost see the logic of it. Besides, there are three stories that are by me, so everyone wins.
Now, here we sit. You, me, and sixty-something tales, tailor made to be read on a cold October night. Short, intense and eerie. You can take them in small doses or plow through with one eye shut and one open. It’s up to you.
Don’t be shy with feedback and comments. After all, a zombie can live on brains but a writer needs attention if he or she wants to thrive and survive.
Finally, if you think it’s easy, feel free to give it a try. Send me a 416 word horror story before October 30, 2011, and I’ll add it to this lovely tome. Thank you to Authonomy and Rachel Authonomy for inspiring all of us to rise to this challenge. Mr. King and Koontz have set the bar. You tell us if we cleared it.
And yes, this introduction is exactly 416 words.
CHAPTER 2
The Moon
By Will Macmillan Jones
It started in a bar, as do so many things. A dim-lit cellar bar, where the smoky jazz played by the house band drifted like the haze rising from the myriad of cigarettes. He had been coming to the bar for a couple of weeks, but had not made acquaintances there, not yet. Twice now, he had seen her across the room, her flowing blonde hair shimmering whilst the beguiling music played and the deep-voiced girl with the microphone sang slowly of love and loss, heartache and regret, and - yes - occasionally of passion and joy.
Suddenly, as the music swirled sensually around, she was beside him at the bar. Their eyes met, and held in a long, long look before he turned away to order another drink. Disturbed, shaken by the casual intensity of her gaze, he trembled as she lightly placed her hand over his.
“You seem to be alone,” she murmured in a velvet voice. He nodded. “So am I, tonight,” she said softly, then kissed him and took his hand in hers. Looking into her eyes his drink lay forgotten on the bar, as she pulled, with such tempting pressure, on his arm. Responding, he moved closer to her, smelt the subtle perfumes, entranced. As they moved away from the bar the bartender swept away the drink with a wry smile.
“Where can we go?” he asked a quiver in his voice.
She answered with a smile that shivered his soul, and slowly licked her lips. Then turned, as he watched – but not for long – as she swayed out through a door marked
‘PRIVATE’. Without hesitation, he followed. Through the door lay a set of steps, leading downwards. A warm, dim glow lit the stairs, and reflected from her golden hair.
His breathing became short now and he hurried forward, filled with anticipation and desire. Yet, he did not anticipate the figures that appeared behind him, and seizing him in their strong hands threw him across the cellar floor and onto the low altar that lay in the center of the cellar. Other, hooded ones took him, and bound him spread-eagled on the stone. Gently, they took his clothes, and left him naked on the stone. Wildly, he looked around as the hooded figures began to sway and move around the altar as they chanted in a strange tongue. His bowels loosened as she approached, crowned now with ivy, raising the sacrificial knife above her head, filled with anticipation and desire.
CHAPTER 3
Eternity
By Lilian Kendrick
“All alone?”
“Yes.” I am always alone.
“Dance?”
“Why not?” I have nothing to lose, why not have a little fun?
We danced to the frenzied beat of rock music. The track ended and a ballad started. He pulled me towards him for the slow number. To have strong arms around me felt good. I rested my head on his shoulder. He whispered promises in my ear. We kissed and then... nothing. I remember nothing else.
My wrists are hurting so I’ve stopped struggling against the bonds. They aren’t going to give way. It’s dark. I mean, pitch black. I can’t see anything at all and I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I’ve wracked my brain and all I can come up with is the dancing and the kiss.
I’m naked and cold and it’s damp in here. Maybe it’s a basement, or something? The noises are the worst part. Not loud noises, but subtle ones. Scratching, squeaking – stuff like that. I thought there might be rats. God! Please don’t let it be rats!
I think I’m alone. I called out a few times, but it seemed to aggravate the squeakers and I didn’t get an answer, anyway.
I must have fallen asleep again. It’s quiet now. How long have I been here? I tried to stand up, but I haven’t any strength in my legs. All I can do is roll sideways, and I don’t want to move too far when I can’t see where I’m going.
I’m so thirsty. My throat feels all cracked-up and dry, and I need to pee like you wouldn’t believe.
Surely someone has to come soon. But why should they? There’s no-one to miss me; no-one to notice I’ve gone. I try to catch my tears on my tongue to relieve the thirst, but they’re rolling in the wrong direction because I’m lying on my side. The sobbing hurts my throat more, but I can’t stop it. I must regain control; think of something that made me happy.
So I think about the kiss that started it all. His lips were warm and gentle on mine. His tongue flicked across the roof of my mouth and I wanted to devour him. He promised me... I can’t remember the promise, it didn’t matter then. His hands slid down my back as we danced and I was lost in the sweetness of the new sensations.
He will come and release me soon.
He promised me eternity.
CHAPTER 4
Succubus Kiss
By Sharon Van Ormen
He lay upon the bed. His frail chest rising and falling rapidly. It seemed strange to me that a man who had been responsible for taking so many lives would soon lose his.
On his nightstand sat a book. Malleus Maleficarum. “The Hammer of the Witches.”
The light of the moon shone in through the window placed high on the wall. I crossed my legs; the buckle on my shoe caught that cold light and gave it back.
That I loved him was never the question. That he loved me was also never cause for doubt. That he had me tried for witchcraft and summarily executed was equally factual. That I died. Well, therein lay the crux of our story.
I rose from the old rocker that had seen a constant presence for the past several months. It amused me to think what their reaction would be to find me sitting there. “They would likely use it for kindling. Throw it into the hungry flames just as I had been,” I said aloud not caring who heard, if anyone should care to hear.
“Wake up, Heinrich,” I whispered against his lips. It was my gift, this kiss. I knew it would rouse his mind just as it had his body when life had coursed vigorously through his veins.
His eyelids fluttered and I smiled. They opened. The grey film that had obscured his vision for so long cleared. I smiled again. It wasn’t a genuine smile. More a demonstration that I had teeth. He flinched when he saw me. The real me. The me that lived in this body. The me that had lived in the body he had had killed. The me that mothered his children through that body. And the mother that mourned when he had those children killed.
“Meridiana,” he croaked, his voice unused to speech.
I smiled again. “Yes, my love.” I pushed the frail white hair back from his forehead watching it turn the fine chestnut color that his youth had known. “So much began with a kiss,” I said as my lips caressed his again. This kiss was long and slow. I relished the feeling of the magic as it encircled him. His breath evened out. His heart remembering the rhythm of long ago settled into it like a well worn coat.
“What have you made of me?” he asked his voice now strong and confident.
“Incubus,” I said, my laughter echoing in the small cell while he screamed.
Chapter 5
Window
By Diane Dickson
The view from that window was her greatest pleasure. The slope of the fields fell to a copse with just the merest glint of water in the distance.
On summer evenings the water would be kissed with gold and the grass in the field flowed and rippled before the wind. The winter showed an anthracite spot gleaming on the far horizon a pewter disc shuddering with slivers of white as the weather moved on the ocean.
Jane would stand often before the glass and gaze out, a cup of coffee cradled in her hand or perhaps a glass of wine. She left the window undressed, why would you cover this bliss with swathes of fabric gathering dust or plastic slats slicing across the vista. Some nights when the moon was full she would be drawn from her bed to stand shivering in her nightdress mesmerized by the swaying trees and the moon describing a pathway over the ocean to be lost out of sight behind the wood.
She had been restless all this night, unsettled and on edge. Making hot chocolate she had gone to bed early and struggled to lose herself in a book but sleep hadn’t found her and so now in the early hours she was standing before the window searching for peace. The woods were deep in shadow and the tiny thumbnail of a moon was having little effect on the darkness.
Down in the farthest corner of the meadow a wraith began to rise calling her attention. A mist, a miasma was writhing in the tiny air movements. Peering through the gloom she wondered what lighted the vapour, not the moon and surely not the stars but an inner glow seemingly self generated.
It moved, slowly at first and then with gathering speed up the field towards the house. A developing nugget of fear clutched at her insides. With increasing haste the vapour covered the ground, nearer and nearer until it was close to the other side of the little wooden fence. She leaned to the casement and as she did so the haze crossed the fence and streaming onward now flew over the garden and the patio. Seeping and bleeding through the tiny gaps around the frame it entered the room. She stepped backed in fear, tears starting to her eyes. The mist enfolded her, it took her breath compressing her lungs forcing the oxygen from her body and turning her lips blue and stopping the beating of her heart.
CHAPTER 6
Flies
By Me! (Adam Sifre)
He looked calm. Contemplative, really. With his head turned slightly toward the back wall, everything looked more or less normal. Peaceful. If it weren't for a single fly lazily crawling over his eye-lid, Janet suspected that no one would have thought anything was amiss. Not that there was anyone else here. That might work against her, but it was too late to change the plan now. She cl
osed the door and went to wash up.
There was surprisingly little blood on her hands. Other than a few dark scratches on her forearms, she looked no worse for wear. Still, just to be safe she took a quick shower, paying special attention to her fingernails.
The whole thing had excited her immensely and she took a few extra, delicious minutes to pleasure herself in the shower. Thinking back, there was that first kiss, the night before their wedding, when she had taken him in her mouth on the kitchen floor, and tonight. Three heated moments, sexual diamonds scattered on a desert of neglect.
When she was done, she toweled off, put on a robe, and popped her head inside the room. He had company. Or rather, more company. Janet glanced at the windows, but they were both closed. Several flies now buzzed above his face, landing on open eyes, lips, and nostrils for a brief respite before taking off again. Frowning, she closed the door and went downstairs. She had intended to make herself a sandwich, but she couldn't seem to find her appetite. The dead husband didn’t offend her sensibilities. It was the flies, of course. Instead, she made her phone call.
“Hello, this is Mrs. Kane at 17 Winding Way,” she sobbed. “There’s been a terrible -- my husband!" In a choked, stage-shaky voice, she told the officer on the phone that she had been in the shower when she heard noises. Now her poor, sweet husband was dead, the front door was broken open and she was terrified someone else was still in the house. She was quite convincing. She hung up the phone and waited.
Everything was dead quiet, as it should be. God only knows why, but she felt compelled to pop her head in the room one last time and check on the body. As she opened the door she was greeted, and consumed, by the roar of buzzing.