Son of Fenrir

jonolsonauthor:

THE SON OF FENRIR by Pen of the Damned’s Jon Olson

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

His left arm hung from its socket, the blood running from deep gashes down its length, dripping off his fingers in a steady stream and collecting in a pool on the ground next to his foot. Hunched over, tired, with labored breathing, he still held his axe tightly in his right hand. Blonde hair, caked in dirt, sweat and blood, hung in front of his hardened face covering blue eyes that had yet to concede defeat.

With a Viking’s defiance, Anders Randalson looked into the eyes of his opponent.

Wolf like and taller than the average man, the creature was made in the very image of Fenrir.

The beast was not without its own battle scars. A deep cut ran from its right ear down the face, narrowly missing its right eye and ending at the snout; its torso decorated with lacerations and contusions.

“You have fought bravely, Norseman,”…

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THE SMALL ONE

jonolsonauthor:

THE SMALL ONE by Joseph Pinto

Originally posted on Author Joseph Pinto's Horror (and things not so horrible) Blog:

File Jul 10, 12 31 19 PM

THE SMALL ONE

It was a quick visit. I didn’t even realize I needed one but
obviously you knew better. That’s the thing about signs;
they appear when not requested, revealed when your eyes
are blind. Your phantom touch allowed me to feel my gravity
weighing me down. Then you were gone, swallowed by an
expanse of blue sky, leaving me the small one in your wake.

~Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

Wolf_rule_pinto_bg

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War Criminal

jonolsonauthor:

WAR CRIMINAL by Pen of the Damned’s Tyr Kieran

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

The calm evening teemed with latent purpose. Warm lights glowed in the windows of surrounding suburban homes as families finished their supper and settled down in front of their televisions for the night’s sitcoms and news casts. Nothing moved outside, but the gentle scraping-tumble of fallen leaves along the curb.

Nothing moved, but much was watching. More than a dozen pairs of eyes peered from the shadows of cold cars and unlatched sheds, all focused on the same house.

Inside, a wrinkled man stood under the yellow light of a bathroom sconce. He selected a couple pills from the medicine cabinet and downed them with an oversized swallow of scotch. With a trembling hand, he wiped the overflow from his chin. Deep creases, darkened by time and things that cannot be unseen, underscored his faded blue eyes. Averting his own gaze, he frowned and tossed the glass into the…

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Burning Soil

jonolsonauthor:

BURNING SOIL by Pen of the Damned’s Nina D’Arcangela

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

The ground below your delicately formed feet begins to shift, sending you tumbling to within a breath’s width of the insanity you know awaits you should you ever truly fall;  you struggle to maintain your hold – a hold that for eons has treated you so kindly, so reverently, so graciously. You suckle and gasp for that earlier delight that still echos through your now destroyed body.  This gaping new view of the emptiness you see around you leaves you wondering which part of this horror-scape is to be accepted as a horror of your own making, and which part is far too horrible to be allowed existence any longer.  How does one go about choosing their individual horror without having a previous grasp of their own tenuous reality? A reality stroked so gently; consumed so fully; torn to pieces in such an eloquent display of cruelty… naive, silly girl…

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Midnight Rum

jonolsonauthor:

MIDNIGHT RUN by Pen of the Damned’s Blaze McRob

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

A dark night. Clouds and no moon. No wonder he almost falls over the tombstones. Has nothing to do with the fact he’s flying high, caught in the loving embrace of the alcohol numbing his senses.

“Lights,” he mutters. “They need lights in here at night!”

The absurdity hits him. Who needs to see in here? The dead? No one else should be here. But he is. This is the perfect place to drink his ill-gotten hooch.

He was one drunken bastard before he even went down the alleyway behind the liquor store, but he was aware enough to notice old Harold, the evening counterman, standing at the far end of the building, having a smoke and trying to cop a feel from Lucille, the town’s resident hooker.

That left the store unattended. All those bottles screaming out to him, insisting he give them a good home. Ed listened to…

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“The Carnival 13″ and Authors Writing for Scares That Care!

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THE CARNIVAL 13 and Authors Writing for Scares That Care!

Originally posted on Our Darkest Fears:

Click to purchase. All sales go to Scares That Care. Click to purchase. All sales go to Scares That Care.

Two summers ago, I worked with a group of thirteen amazing authors to put together a book with the goal of raising money for Scares That Care. Here is their mission from their website:

“Scares That Care is an approved 501(c)(3) who fights the REAL MONSTERS of childhood illness, burns and breast cancer by helping families that are experiencing these extraordinary hardships cope with the financial burden.

Our non-profit organization provides money, toys and other items to help sick children. We have two other programs consisting of “Scares For Pairs,” where we help women fighting breast cancer and partnered with horror icon Kane Hodder for the “I Helped Kane” program, where we provide assistance to those children who have suffered serious burn injuries.

We are a 100% VOLUNTEER organization in order to maximize our supporters donations to those who…

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Helplessly Above It All

jonolsonauthor:

My story HELPLESSLY ABOVE IT ALL is up this week at Pen of the Damned

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

I’m fourteen days, three hours and twenty seconds into the mission. So far the spacecraft has performed flawlessly, surpassing all expectations. It’s been rather comfortable as the capsule was designed with more room for the occupant than previous spacecraft.

When I was selected to be the commander of this mission, my wife got the biggest kick out of watching me jump around our little apartment with a big shit eating grin on my face. She said that…

…she said… why am I even bothering to mention her?

She’s dead.

So is everybody else.

I should never have taken this assignment. Prior to the launch, the administrators had told me to say a proper goodbye to her as tensions were high with our rivals across the pond. The risk of nuclear exchange was at its greatest, even more so than during the Cuban crisis.

I didn’t take it seriously.

The…

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