Black Widow


Black Widow by Pen of the Damned’s Magenta Nero

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

The street is alive with festivities but my house is sombre and silent. The neighbourhood knows I am a widow in mourning, that I want to be left in peace, but that doesn’t prevent those roaming little brats from ringing my bell.

“Trick or Treat!” they shout, over and over again until I finally come to the door. In my black hooded cloak I look the part. No harm in playing along. I let out a deep evil laugh, throw handfuls of candy at them then slam the door as they plunge into a frenzy. I hope that is the last of them; it is close to midnight and I have work to do. The veil is thin.

I almost nodded off as I sat through your funeral; the monotonous voice of the priest was like a soothing lullaby. It is typical that you choose to be buried in…

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Zack Kullis, #horror #author of ‘Smite The Damned’ & ‘Realm Crossing’ #COFFINHOP @ZKullis @CoffinHop @Sotet_Angyal


Zack Kullis, author of ‘Smite the Damned’ and ‘Realm Crossing’

Originally posted on Spreading the Writer's Word:

Welcome to Coffin Hop on Spreading the Writer’s Word!

Every EIGHT hours for the next EIGHT days I’m gonna switch it up and offer you something horrifically scrumptious from a different author!
The 12:30 am and 8:30 am posts will feature two novels or novellas per author; the 4:30pm post will be a $0.99 cent short sprinkled in for fun!
Deets on how and what you can win are at the bottom of each post. And anywhere you see the words Coffin Hopin the post, you can click to visit the other fab hoppers!
Let’s see who’s the Reaper’s eyeballin’ in this post, shall we?


Featured Author: Zack Kullis

ZackKullis_SmiteTheDamnedSmite The Damned

When Keith Da Silva finally confronts the circumstances surrounding his mother’s death, his eyes are opened to the darkness that is waging an ancient war against humanity. Keith is physically confronted by demonic forces, shattering his view of…

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Kept Secrets


Kept Secrets by Craig McGray

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

Darkness devoured every ounce of light.

Opening her eyes, Beth’s mind spun, groping for traction as to where she was and how she’d gotten there. The air, musty and thick, made breathing difficult and she wheezed with each panting breath. Her hands and feet were bound, her sense of balance distorted.

She screamed, but the words caught in her throat, trapped behind a wad of fabric shoved into her mouth. Beth scanned the void for a hint of anything that might bring details to her surroundings.

Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked open, ushering in a sliver of light, only to slam shut seconds later. Her chest heaved and rivulets of tears streamed down her cheeks when a familiar sound came to her. The clacking of boot heels on wooden floors echoed like cannons as they made their way closer.

Beth’s pulse echoed in her ears. An orange…

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Welcome to Purple Hope!


Welcome to Purple Hope!

Originally posted on Purple Hope:

Hello! My name is Joseph A. Pinto and welcome to Purple Hope!

George Henry Lewes once said, “The only cure for grief is action.”

And he was right. Grief is different things to different people, even down to the manner in which we come to terms with it. No right or wrong ways exist to our process; more importantly, perhaps, is the path we eventually choose.

I found myself along that road several months after my father passed from pancreatic cancer in 2007. It was an excruciatingly painful time, but I did settle upon my own cure. I wrote a book in tribute to my father, a fantasy tale that took his real world and transformed it into myth. In turn I did something else – I offered a message of hope and of unity to be shared with others in a similar situation such as…

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Iniquity’s Marathon


INIQUITY’S MARATHON by Pen of the Damned’s Leslie Moon

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

Separate, the chasm widens
where you were
you are not now
and there is none left to save you
your guts are pierced
like a bloated sow


Once you walked
on wild flower fields
pink and reds
beckoned to your touch
beauty climbed upon a vine then
the world was kind
and often just


Now your fingers
reek of sulfur
your face removed
in acid wash
your foul lips
drip lies deceitful
wicked words are stolen, lost


Once you walked
on wild flower fields
pink and reds
beckoned to your touch
beauty climbed upon a vine then
the world was kind
and often just


Mischief is now your maker
poison your new best friend
the black adder is the taker
of lust you need not pretend
crush her eggs beneath your heel
the viper rises from its nest
each work day
violence is breeding
this is evil’s…

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Shooting Stars


SHOOTING STARS by Thomas Brown

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

I smell the burning varnish used to coat the stalls long before I first notice that the stables are ablaze. My initial thought is that someone is having a bonfire. I sometimes light bonfires myself, when the pile of broken fence slats and posts behind the tack room grows too great. Those fires smell of burning varnish too. The chemical tang of solvent fills my throat.

After several minutes of the smell, I am drawn from the kitchen, where I was cooking myself dinner, to the conservatory. I cannot remember how I came to be standing in the kitchen, or what I was cooking, but that must have been what I was doing. It is then, as I move towards the glass, that I see the distant glow of flames in the darkness. My chest tightens, but I do not move. I can do nothing except stare, transfixed, at the…

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Lucia of the Gargoyles



Originally posted on Magenta Nero:

Lucia had just turned thirteen years old. A year marked by the spotting of blood and budding of tender breasts. It was the year her visions began. One afternoon she was sitting on the swing in the backyard. Deep in thought, swaying in slow arcs, she dragged her toes in the dirt, back and forth. That is when the first one appeared. It came hurling towards her, plump legs cocked up, claws aimed at her face. Huge black eyes glared at her, a long forked tongue lashed from it’s fat little beak. A screech echoed in the air. She fell backwards, hitting the ground painfully.
Later, sitting in the kitchen with an ice pack to her head, she couldn’t explain to her mother what had happened or what it was she had seen. Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing but there were inexplicable scratches on her face.
After that…

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