Dominic laid back on his chair, finally sated. All around him, his banquet guests were slowly dying, their veins torn open, their crimson lifeblood flowing freely on the immaculate white marble tabletop.

The guard shone her lantern on Moher’s pale face and her eyes went wide in shock. “Thief!”, she cried, and turned to run, presumably to alarm the rest of the patrolmen. Moher was faster, however. The pommel

Getting past the night guard patrols was the easy part. The vault, in truth, was little more than a glorified warehouse owned by the Artificers’ Union. For weathered professionals like Ceil and Moher,

"So, can it be done?" asked the preacher. "Everything can be done", replied the Guildmaster, his voice a smooth and ghastly alto. "For the right price, of course."

"So, if I get this right", said the captain, "you're asking me to betray my phyle, my city, and all I've stood for all these years." "I am offering you a unique business

I sincerely hope nobody ever reads this. It is not by choice that I write, but by some compellence. I would rather take my own life. Hell, I will probably do soon enough, if I find the willpower. Any fate

“It says right here you’re a child”, the village alderman told her. “You don’t look like no child to me.” “Not a child”, she tried to explain, her patience quickly evaporating. “A childe. A noble on a

Image Source Somewhere far above, the clocktower rang the eleventh hour. That was the Hour of Rest, when all members of the clan closed their minds and let the dead enjoy their rest. Dœrth smiled a wicked

Another For The Mushroom Patch There's a certain sense of peace and comfort down here in the boilerworks, if you don't mind the heat and humidity. No proper, self-respecting Victorian would ever soil their

(Image is of actress Laura Bell Bundy, found here.) When Crime DOES Pay "Ma'am, can you please step out of the vehicle? This is a mandatory routine inspection." Gail gave the heavyset border

This is my entry for the #chronocrypto-dystopian Flash Dystopian Fiction 500 Contest. The Things I Do For Gertie "Meat is murder." The woman is staring daggers at me and my pastrami sandwich.

Boiling, blackened flesh drips off my body, melding with the cinders of the Forefathers, forming the blessed ichor from which I shall reshape myself in Their image. Pain is present, of course, and so is

Thursday Is Migraine Day He shows up every Thursday at 9 a.m. sharp, like goddamn clockwork. He saunters right into the building without so much as a greeting. He looks like a trenchcoat-clad Bela Lugosi,

From an early age, think up stories is what I love to do the most. Daring adventures, solemn dramas, bone-chilling mysteries - and even the occasional cheesy romance. In an attempt to flex my writing muscles,