Wicked Nights Horror Edition
Free Horror Reads Just For You
Excerpts Of Our Latest Horror
New Releases In Jan
Also releasing: To Err Is Human by Julie Lynn Hayes Salvation Books 4 and 5 by Stacey Thompson-Geer
Horror With Nicki J Markus Tell us about your story or novel. This short story is about a young woman who wakes to find herself alone in a strange house in the middle of the Australian Bush. She has no memory of how she came to be there. She decides to travel through the night to try and find help ... but will something or someone else find her first? How long have you been writing horror? This is actually my first time straying into Horror as I usually write more in the realm of Paranormal/Fantasy. I loved Horror in my teens but in my early twenties I went off it for a while - I went from being scared of nothing to being scared of everything. I blame this on the incredibly spooky Japanese original version of "The Ring". Now, a few years on, I am starting to rediscover the Horror genre and may try to do some further Horror writing in the future - though the two new pieces that I am currently working on are both Paranormal/Fantasy again.
What do you think makes a horror story great? For me a good Horror story is like a good Thriller you want to be surprised. I hate to turn the page already knowing who is going to die and what is going to happen. I want to be terrified and shocked and feel my pulse race. I like a carefully paced story that keeps you on the edge of your seat and doesn't reveal too much too early on. Gore or atmosphere â€“ which do you think are more important. Atmosphere wins every time for me. These days, in many Horror movies, gore seems to be the way of things but after a while I think it begins to fail to shock whereas an atmospheric piece can really draw you in and when you are that involved in the story and characters you feel their terror much more keenly. A great example is Susan Hill's "Woman in Black", which works well both in print and on stage. The atmosphere around Eel Marsh House is so well constructed that it really adds to the tension and the terror that the characters (and the reader) experience. Where can we find out more about you? To find out more about me and my writing, visit my author website: http://www.nickijmarkus.org.uk
Excerpt From Awaken To The Night She came to slowly. Her eyelids felt heavy and disobedient, clinging to sleep as she tried to pry them open. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She lay there, groggy and disoriented on the cold floor; splinters of dead wood digging painfully into her cheek. The air reeked of dampness, and with every breath she seemed to taste the decay in the back of her throat. She needed to move. The floorboards creaked menacingly, threatening to give way as she pushed herself up. Her legs felt like jelly and her pulse thudded in her ear. She leaned against the wall for a moment to keep her balance till she was sure her legs would support her. How did I get here? She searched her mind, struggling to recall something, anything, but she could not remember a single thing. I donâ€™t know my name. The sound of a wrenching sob startled her until she realized that it was her own. She sank back down to the floor, her tears coming faster now as she wrapped her arms across her chest, rocking slightly as she cried. The sudden brightness caught her by surprise, restoring her to her senses. She looked round and saw that there was a window behind her. She hadnâ€™t noticed it before in the darkness but now the clouds had passed away and she could see the bright circle of the moon, large and beacon-like in the starless sky. The glow flooded the room and she could finally see her surroundings more clearly.
Sexy and Scary All Wrapped up into one package. Get some scare with Raven Starr.
Coming in Jan. Check out her other releases at the Wicked Nights Website.
The Inhabitants K.M Flanders Chapter 1 The house stood tall and dilapidated, an uninviting three-story structure with rotted exterior staircases, peeling white paint, and weathered shingles. Its base was choked on all sides by overgrown weeds stretching toward the sky, and muddy potholes filled its small, unpaved parking lot. This was hardly the type of place where Nathan Overbrook had envisioned spending the next four years of his life, but it certainly beat the local college’s cubicle-like dormitory rooms. Having recently plunged to rock bottom, a second chance at life was something for which he felt extremely grateful…regardless of his residence. The house was subdivided into six apartment units, two per floor. The interior of a vacant second-floor apartment (unit four) was confined, although a great deal larger than the rooms for rent Nathan, his mother, and uncle had evaluated in the past two weeks. One of those rooms, a tiny addition attached to the side of an elderly couple’s home, was less than a quarter of the size of this unit, which featured a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. More important to Nathan was the prospect of having the unit all to himself for a relatively cheap monthly rate. “The neighbors like it pretty quiet here, so no parties or loud music,” the landlord said as they proceeded through the unit. “Your upstairs neighbor, Mr. Larose, is an avid organist, and I swear to you, that’s about the only noise you’ll hear in this place at night.”
“That won’t be a problem. Nate’s not into parties,” Nathan’s mother, Anne, replied. “Not anymore,” Nathan said under his breath. The unit was much narrower than it was wide, and Nathan felt as if he was touring the compartments of a submarine. The front entrance led into a kitchen that connected to a small bathroom, and further along, the bedroom opened into a moderately sized living room that featured two closets and a second entrance. The bedroom and living room were separated by a creaky, pale blue door that opened after an honest tug by the landlord. “Sometimes this darn thing gets stuck on the carpet, but a strong kid like yourself should manage,” the landlord said. “We had to take the locks off it after the last tenant kept getting herself trapped in this room. Nicest old lady, bless her soul, but she got herself into the toughest jams.” “She passed away?” inquired Mike, Nathan’s uncle. The landlord furrowed his thin gray eyebrows as if he’d been confused by the question. “Oh yes, died in her sleep almost a year ago. Thanks to the economy, we’ve only had three people look at this place until you folks came along.” Nathan and Mike exchanged disturbed glances while the landlord attempted to pry open an obstinate closet door in the living room. He was a frail man of about sixty years, and Nathan considered assisting him but determined that doing so would be more of an insult to his pride than a helpful act. “I must warn you, though,” the landlord continued without turning away from the closet. “This place is pretty old and the power goes out quite a bit.” It was becoming increasingly obvious to Nathan why the previous three prospective renters hadn’t chosen to rent unit four, but his interest remained. He had already been enrolled in fall semester classes at the nearby state college, and housing options in the area were limited.
I open my eyes to a regular looking kitchen. The first thing I notice is the searing pain in my left side. I was tied to a chair. When I move my hands, the wire I'm bound with cuts into my skin. The sharp pain make me think about what I'm doing. I slowly turn my head to the left to see a table covered with a white checkered table cloth. Laying on the table is a large butcher knife followed by what looks like a bone saw butchers use for cutting bones away from meat. I move my feet in instinct. They slide on plastic covering the floor under me. I take a deep breath and the smell makes me want to double over and throw up. It smells like rotting flesh and bone. I turn my head to the right trying to see down the long hall. I can hear the movement of someone working that way. Water running and whistling of the person that holds me held prisoner here. I move my hands, trying to break them free. Another searing cut as the flesh is torn from the wire even deeper. I hear footsteps coming up the hallway towards the normal looking prison I'm stuck in. When I look up, my gaze is met by a young woman. She can't be more than twenty one. She smiles at me as she walks to the nearby table. I hear metal clanging together as she moves knives around on the table. “What do you want?” I ask trying to figure out why I'm here. She doesn't say anything in return. I watch her pick up a handful of wire like I think is binding my hands. She stretches it out and pulls it taunt. I feel the panic rise up in my throat as she moves closer to me. “I can give you anything you want. All you have to do is let me go,” I plead. She pauses and smiles at me again, before kneeling in front of me. She pulls off my left shoe and sock. I fight her, but she has me tied up in a way where I can only move my foot a little. I hold my breath as she lowers the wire to a single toe and wraps it around it. She glances up at my face to see the terror in it before synching the wire down, causing the wire to cut though the skin of my pinky toe. I feel the searing pain and scream. She moves the wire just an inch at a time cutting flesh slowly and painfully.
I wish she would just cut through it already so the pain could stop, but she's enjoying the pain in my eyes and the hot blood that is running down my foot. The wire moves another inch and a little deeper into the flesh. Suddenly she stops moving the wire. I open my eyes and pray she is done with her torture. She waits only a minute before pulling the wire down my toe, ripping the flesh from bone. I scream as blood pours from the fleshless toe. She pauses, staring at me with uncaring eyes. I don't know what to do to make her stop. She stands and lays the wire on the table, picking up the large butcher knife instead. My eyes grow wide, afraid of what she has planned now. She watches my reaction and puts the knife back on the table. I watch her fingers run over all the different things she has on the table. Some I can't see from where I'm sitting. She picks up a small jar and glances at me. I watch and pull at my bindings. The wire cuts deeper, making a new streak of warm fluid run down my fingers. She kneels in front of me and picks up the flesh that was once a part of my toe and drops it in the jar of liquid. It fizzes around the skin and meat as it eats through it. The clear liquid is quickly turned to a pinkish color as all the flesh is dissolved in the jar. She places my other foot in a metal container and smiles before dumping the pink tinged liquid on my foot. I scream as it eats through the first layer of flesh. The acid travels through my foot like a boiling liquid. I pull at my bindings in reaction and my body tenses, but there is no way to stop the hot pain as it eats away my foot. I open my eyes only long enough to see the steam coming from the boiling of the acid and my flesh. She's watching me. Our eyes lock and the gaze is intense and hateful to the core. The smell of burning flesh imbeds itself to my nostrils. I know it's my own and that makes it worse. I want to throw up, but nothing will come out.
My heart beats faster as my brain tries to function through the pain. She stands, not removing my acid ate foot from the metal container. I try to breath, but air doesn't want to fill my lungs. I don't even watch her get her next tool of torture. My mind is fuzzy and pain is the only thing I seem to register. She gives me a shot and watches as my eyes become clear again. She sets the empty shot where I can read it. Adrenaline. She wants me to feel it all and not pass out even though that is all I want to do. I hear clanging of metal. Part of me doesn't care what she does now. Part of me just wants this to be over. I have to know why she's doing this to me. “Why are you doing this?” I manage through the pain. She doesn't answer, but looks to the wall on my right. I follow her gaze with a shaky move of my head. I see photos of families on the wall. None of them mean anything to me. I turn back to her. “What the fuck does that mean?” I almost manage to yell. She looks angry and picks up the bone saw I spotted earlier. I take in a shaky breath, but follow her movement. She walks behind me and releases my bound hands. I know I can't get away with two busted up feet, but I have a fleeting moment of what if. She pulls my right hand to the side and sits on a nearby chair I must not have noticed. She's watching my reaction as she shows me the saw. I stare at her. I know I'm going to die. All there is to look forward too now is the end of the pain. She sets the bone saw up at my elbow and stars to saw into my flesh. The first thing I noticed was the pain of tearing flesh. It is hot and slow. She works the saw slowly so I can feel every movement she makes. The warm blood runs down my arm and pools into a puddle on the plastic she has covering the floor. I grit my teeth, but it doesn't help, the pain overwhelms me and I scream. Tears fill my eyes. I can hear the flesh tear until she gets to the bone. She stops and watches me. I try to breath, but my lungs seem to not want to work.
She stops and watches me. I try to breath, but my lungs seem to not want to work. I wish she would just finish the job, but she is waiting. I don't know why, but I know she is. I open my eyes and stare back at her. She smiles before continuing her work through the bone of my arm. I feel the dark coming. I pray for it. I welcome the end to the pain. I feel slaps on my face as she fulls my arm away from my body. I scream again and feel the blood running like a river from my severed arm. I feel slaps again and open my eyes. She lays my limb on my lap for me to see. I scream and feel my body draining of life. She goes back to the table and picks up the wire she had started with. I'm in shock and can't stop screaming at the sight of my arm cut from my body. I feel the wire around my neck, but can't stop screaming. I just want it to be over. She tightens the wire and my screaming stops. I feel the wire cutting, sawing threw my neck as she tightens it. I close my eyes waiting for the end. I feel the warm blood as it starts to drain from my neck. It runs down my chest, soaking my clothing. I try to breath, but it's impossible once the blood fills my throat. I feel the dark coming. She whispers one thing in my ear before I die. “Your sins will never be forgiven, Jack.” *** She cleaned up the kitchen as the television played in the background. “The head of the famed mob boss Jack Morrison was found today in a box outside his New York penthouse. Officials still are not sure how he died and are not saying if it was a mob retaliation or not. Morrison was thought to have killed over a dozen families that opposed a new building project his company was working on.” She smiled and flipped off the television.
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