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Latest Stories

April 29, 2025
Fantasy Stories Chris Turner-Neal

The Gorgon’s Climb

I am the only one of us who calls it rape. Stheno, when she must mention it, says “our bad luck;” Medusa shrugs and says “gods don’t have to ask.” And I say but they should and she says but they don’t and Stheno says this attitude doesn’t help, and she’s…
April 29, 2025
Poetry Riya Gulati

Poem Sending A Strong Message To Avert Dowry Deaths

I am going to share a story which will tell you why one should never give dowry(?) It was a rainy day in the month of May, A twenty-four-year-old girl who had a heart of a pearl, And was her parent’s love- was unfortunately burnt on the stove! Six months ago,…
April 29, 2025
General Stories Jon Moray

And In Cursive Also

Korwin was wrapping up his duties at the Senior Living Facility, and his last stop was Sal, a ninety-five-year-old relic from the 1st half of the last century. Sal was listening to the ballgame on his AM/FM transistor radio he had owned for fifty years. "I…
April 29, 2025
Flash Fiction Riya Gulati

An Adventurous And Petrifying Visit To The Dreamland

It was a quiet December afternoon, the kind where snow settled like silence over the town of Fairydom. In this hushed world lived Leah, a gentle and thoughtful girl with a head full of dreams and a heart full of hope. One day, fate, or so it seemed, offered…
April 29, 2025
Horror Stories Steven Bruce

The Unwoven

Tom Matheson never believed in conspiracy theories. But after the layoffs, after Dana stopped returning his calls, after the noise of the world grew too loud, his life dissolved into a numbing routine of late nights and endless scrolling through anonymous…
April 29, 2025
Science Fiction Stories Ocelotlzin

The Last Voyage Of The Eternal Horizon

Space date 4.00.20.338.70 Log 5456.8974.2358-7 Location. Sagittarius Constellation Spaceship. “Eternal Horizon” Type. War spaceship Mission. Classified. Lt First Class Dorian Manteaus. Navigator “Colonel, we are receiving some bizarre signals in our radar…
April 29, 2025
Poetry Riya Gulati

Promoting Clean Sport And Fair Play

It’s a story of a world-class athlete, who trained day and night to fairly win and compete. He was invincible and unstoppable, And lead a disciplined life that was indeed irresistible. He would be seen 24*7 practicing in the field. Undeniably, it was assured…
April 29, 2025
General Stories Nelly Shulman

What Goes Around Comes Around

A crystal ball emanated a rainbow of colors, and Mr. Grenville winced. “Does it really work?” he asked dryly, “or do you just keep it here for the gullible visitors, like the rest of your magic act?” The young woman sprawled on the velvet couch—marked with…
April 10, 2025
Flash Fiction amishra

Code Black

"A horrific past is echoing again. Somewhere, a horrific truth had been buried and forgotten. A truth so vitriolic, that it would dissolve the guts of even a strong-minded, seasoned surgeon. Abhyuday Sharma had no clue about any of this before he joined New…
April 10, 2025
General Stories amishra

I Love The Way You Smile

Panjim, Goa, comes alive as the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Mandovi river. The narrow streets hum the rhythm of night at the characteristic laid-back tempo of the city. Tucked along a bustling lane near the riverfront sits The…
April 10, 2025
Flash Fiction yuan changming

Autumn Tiger

Walking back to my hotel from Yasi, where I had my three meals every day, I noticed several ads for rent, which caused me to reflect on my awkward situation. As her mother could be dying at home any time after two strokes in a run, Hua had moved to Shangyite…
April 10, 2025
General Stories Markus J

The Border Crossing

"Passports please" demanded the border guard, to the Western couple. They nervously handed over their lives. Two military men flanked the guard .Resting in their hands, machine guns, locked and loaded. Both men looked into space with a deadpan stare. Thinking…

I awoke with a strangled cry, startled to find him standing over me.

The Stalker, dressed all in black like always.

Sure, I’ve seen him before, but never up close. Watching me from a darkened doorway, peering through the slats of the dingy blinds in an abandoned house, sitting in the next car over on the subway, standing on the opposite curb as I waited for the Walk signal.

For the most part, I’ve gotten over being afraid. In the beginning, I was terrified. Double- and triple-bolting the doors, nailing the windows shut, willing to take my chances on burning up in a house fire as long as he couldn’t get me. I'd worry that he’d gotten in the house while I was out, check every nook and cranny, places he couldn’t possibly fit, my frenzied imagination granting him superhuman powers. Maybe he could shrink himself to the size of a mouse, wait for me to let my guard down, reassume his normal size and come after me as I soaked in the tub or watched TV.

I bought the gun a long time ago. I used to carry it everywhere, even around the house, but it’s lying in a drawer now, gathering dust. Who knows if it even works anymore? Do bullets have an expiration date like medicine and batteries? Guess it’s a little late to go Google it now.

You know what they say: after awhile you can get used to anything, even a hulking stranger all in black stalking your every move. Okay, nobody says the last part, but I’m saying it. I mean, I still have a life to live. Work, bills, parties, dates. Although my dating life’s not so great—it’s hard to be intimate with someone when there’s always someone else watching. I know people are into that, but for non-exhibitionist me, it puts a damper on things.

After awhile I started imagining that The Stalker was a guardian angel. On the whole, my life runs pretty smooth. Like even though I live in a not-so-great part of the city, I’ve never been mugged, not even in the dark subway tunnels late at night. Maybe The Stalker’s a good guy. Maybe everybody has one; they’re just too wrapped up in themselves to notice.

He isn’t looking so benevolent right about now, looming over me. How’d he even get in? Have I gotten so complacent that I forgot to bolt the door? Now I feel invincible, telling myself he’s protecting me? Does he stand watch every night, and I’ve just never woken up before?

In all these years, I’ve never seen his face. Even now, it’s too dark. He’s too dark. Maybe he doesn’t have a face, just blackness, like the Grim Reaper. I’ve never seen him with a sickle...surely that would’ve caught my eye. Maybe the sickle’s a myth, artistic license to make Death look more interesting. Maybe he hired some fancy advertising firm to spruce up his image.

I can just picture the brainstorming session for that gig.

It needs something. It’s so blah—I know! It needs some color.

But it’s Death. Death doesn’t do color.

I’ve got it! A sickle. He needs to have a sickle.

Then everyone else would just stare at each other, not knowing what a sickle was. Once they figured it out, the guy who came up with it would get huge kudos, a raise...wish I had something like that on my resume. Designed the official image of Death—that would have the job offers rolling in for sure.

Has he been watching me all this time, just waiting to punch my ticket? Surely Death has a pretty full schedule; he couldn’t afford to spend all his time on me, unless he has a staff of underlings on the payroll, like all the Santa Clauses at Christmas.

Maybe he pals around with Santa, picked up the idea over a round of golf. There is all that business about Santa being an anagram for Satan...maybe he’s part of the dark side, too.

I glanced over at the clock. 3:47. Time to get the show on the road or call it a night. Death or no Death, I’ve got work in a few hours.

“Get it over with, or let me go back to sleep already.” That didn’t come out nearly as forceful as I intended, voice hoarse and scratchy. Still, The Stalker turned and walked out with a rustling sound, like leaves scraping in the wind.

He closed the door behind him; I heard the sound of the lock sliding home.

I rolled over to go back to sleep, smiling, finally figuring it out:

All this time, he’s had the key.

 

END

 

 

Vela Damon grew up in the rural south and now resides in The Lone Star State. Her short stories and poems have appeared in 101 Words, Dark Dreams Podcast, Leaves of Ink, The Subterranean Quarterly and several other publications. She has work forthcoming in Hogglepot and Blackout City Podcast. Find her online at www.veladamon.com and www.facebook.com/veladamon

 

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