Monthly Archives: April 2016

Compromised

COMPROMISED by Pen of the Damned’s Jon Olson

Three hours.

For three hours, I’ve been chasing the Swindler through deserted neighborhoods, past charred remains of houses and finally into the ruins of what once was an elementary school.

I’m still pissed at myself for missing my initial shot. If I had made it, I wouldn’t have had to chase it here.

And it wouldn’t have killed my hunting partners, Myers and Dixon.

The Swindler ran into the last classroom at the end of the hall on the right, its claws scurrying along the tiled floors. Crouching at the hallway’s only opening, I radio for some backup, hoping my squad isn’t too far away.

Down the hall, the Swindler begins growling and snarling, daring me to come in after it.

Even with my gun, these fuckers are tough to kill one on one. They have a mental power that acts as a defense mechanism, if you allow yourself…

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The Marionette

THE MARIONETTE by Pen of the Damned’s Magenta Nero

The child I loved hung me on the wall and didn’t look back. Doors slammed and the house settled into endless night. Then one day the handle twisted and rattled, and the door slowly creaked open. Footsteps crept on the dusty floorboards. A dark shadow moved around the room. We were terrified at first; was it a ghost? The house had been deserted for one week or maybe one hundred years; I never understood human time. In any case, it felt like an eternity since we had seen a child, an eternity of loneliness and silence and never being touched.

The dark shadow moved to the window and pulled back the tattered curtains. A burst of sunlight flooded the room.

It was a pretty thing with long blonde braids dressed in strange boyish attire. She stared around the room, amazed by the collection of old toys in the attic…

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Damned Echoes

DAMNED ECHOES by Pen of the Damned

Ahhh Damnlings, into our realm of darkness you have wandered once more. A realm where words twist on the wind, and morals gain no purchase…

In the collection of prose set forth before you, you will find each of the authors has been constrained to a measure of one hundred to one hundred fifty words; two of which must be borrowed from the nether’s uttering. But fear not, for the Damned wear our shackles well and true – we shrink from no challenge. Sit, read, perhaps ponder… which two of the five words on offer would you chose to sacrifice for a story worthy of the ink that drips from the Pen of the Damned?

Why a sacrifice? You will never hear them Echoed again!

DE01_Cloud


My Mind Screams
Jon Olson

My old fishing boat, the Extant, rocks unsteady beneath my feet. I struggle to catch my breath — difficult after stealing something else’s last. Blood runs down…

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White

WHITE by Pen of the Damned’s Joseph Pinto

They preferred the angry gnash of the storm over the silence.

Like nervous teeth, the panes chattered. The rafters creaked; dust floated down upon their heads.

The man—the man who had been taken in—spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll go. I’ll do it. If it wasn’t for your family, I’d still be out there. Or worse.”

No one answered. No one argued his point, either. Finally, the father spoke. “The shed is about twenty yards back. It’s unlocked.”

The man massaged his crooked chin. “Door swing in or out?”

The father believed it was a good question to ask; this man was sharp. Pride swelled within him. It had been harrowing, but his family had done good, risking their wellbeing to drag the man in from the outside. But a pit burned the father’s stomach. The man had gotten lucky once. Luck would not prevail a second time. “In.”

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Blood and Dirt

BLOOD AND DIRT by Pen of the Damned’s Zack Kullis

John stooped down and picked up a handful of the warm red dirt and let the fine material fall through his fingers as he hiked.  The land had always reminded him of blood.   It wasn’t the color – that would have been a cheap and easy connection.  No, it was much more profound than that.

Blood was life.  Blood also meant death.  It joined the two in an unbreakable companionship of opposites that few truly understood.  This land was the same way.  It was both life and death, and he appreciated the connection.  More importantly, he understood and contributed to that connection. 

His boots moved silently across the terrain, disturbing very little, but the damned pack animal wasn’t quite as respectful.  It scattered rocks and dirt as it plodded along behind him.  John stopped pulling the bridle and turned around.

“I don’t know why in the hell I picked…

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