Micro Fiction Horror
For the month of July, 2025, these are the 100-word horror stories that intrigue us most.
* Despoina by Alexander Baker
* Janie by Joy Florentine
* Punch by Kelly Moyer
* Shrouded Lane by Michael Collins
* Close the Door by Dale Parnell
* Overnight Case by Kevin Watson
* Doin' the Ocho by Moira Richardson
Despoina
by
Alexander Baker
The drought cracked the riverbed, revealing a cave sealed in bronze and lime. No bird flew nearby. No echo returned.
They dug. Found a shrine. Soon after?
The livestock went mad, bowed, and snapped their necks. Dogs tore into their entrails. Rats writhed and drowned, claws grasping air.
Local births were stillborn; infant spines curled like wreaths. The Eleusinian priestess bit off her tongue to stop the voices.
They tried in vain to seal it. Yet by dawn, all were gone.
Now, the hill pulses. It sweats. It aches. It writhes.
Something deep-rooted and ravenous is coming through.
Alexander “Al” Scott Pearce Baker is a naturalist, philosopher, poet, and painter based in Halifax. His work explores horror, myth, and metaphysics through the lens of the natural world.
Janie
by
Joy Florentine
When he awoke, his head was like a boulder crushing his neck. His sinuses were filled with fire, each hitching breath a shockwave through his chest. A presence shifted in the darkness. A familiar fragrance stung his nose. Overly sweet. Synthetic.
"Janie?!" he cried.
"You didn’t want to see me anymore," Janie whispered. Her acrylic nail traced a sharp path over his temple. His face exploded with pain as she dug her finger into his eye. Deep. Deeper. Deeper. Her nail scraped against the raw flesh of his empty socket, and he screamed, "So now we can be together again."
Joy Florentine is a Dutch-Indonesian writer and creative writing teacher at the International Writers’ Collective in Amsterdam. She dabbles in all genres but has a soft spot for dark fantasy and horror—despite being absolutely terrified of zombies. Her stories have appeared on Literally Stories, The Sirens Call, and Wicked Shadow Press, which you can read at www.joyflorentine.com.
Punch
by
Kelly Moyer
My wife, I’m proud to say, is known for her sangria. Each afternoon, the neighbors gather on our patio, eagerly awaiting the day’s meticulously prepared pitcher, graced with hand-cut slices of fresh fruit. I’ve heard them talk amongst themselves, trying to deduce her secret ingredient. It’s something viscous and slightly metallic that cuts the sweetness of the sugar, they say. I’d ask the cook, but he disappeared the afternoon of the summer solstice, when we began entertaining in earnest. If only the gardener could join us. A good guy, but my wife found him to be a bit too handsy.
Kelly Sauvage Moyer is an award-winning poet, photographer and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through the cobbled streets of New Orleans’s French Quarter as well as the mountains of western North Carolina. She is the author of four books, including Hushpuppy, a collection of short-form poetry, and Mother Pomegranate and Other Fairytales for Grown-Ups, both released by Nun Prophet Press. She is the editor of Failed Haiku.
Shrouded Lane
by
Michael Collins
The sounds of beach life and the café down the street faded into the background as two handsome late-night strollers turned into the lane between the houses and adjacent to the patio where I sat, Scotch in hand.
The shadows that tempted them to enter the lane shrouded me deeply, leaving me an unplanned and uncomfortable witness to their first fumbling embrace.
I expected descending zippers and nervous asides, but heard instead snaping bones, punctured skin, the younger man’s nails clawing my neighbor’s brick wall, his blood splattering the pavers, as the other calmly, efficiently, sucked out his life.
Michael is a playwright, with plays produced in numerous regional theaters; an actor, having appeared in over thirty productions in both community and professional theaters; and a poet, having been a contributing member of Second Saturday Poets in Wilmington, De for many years, and published in The Maryland Bards Poetry Review. Michael is one of the founding members of Improv on Rye, The FUNatics, and The Forgetful Squirrels, sketch and improvisational comedy troupes based in Cecil County in his theater space, The Funny Farm Theater. Others have a boat on the lake or trains in the basement, Michael has a theater in his barn.
Close the Door
by
Dale Parnell
“Thomas! I’ve told you a hundred times, close the door behind you when you go outside. Anyone could get into the house.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Thomas replied.
That night, as he was drifting off to sleep, Thomas felt a weight easing down onto the bottom of his bed, and the sound of wet, rasping breathing turned his skin ice-cold.
“Is someone there?” Thomas whispered.
“Yes,” a voice replied in the dark; joyless and cruel.
“Mum?” Thomas croaked.
The weight on the bed shifted, and Thomas heard footsteps pad closer.
“Not Mum,” the voice said, suddenly too close to Thomas’ face. “Anyone.”
Dale Parnell lives in Staffordshire, England, with his wife and their imaginary dog, Moriarty. He writes fiction, mainly fantasy, sci-fi and horror, along with the occasional poem, and is featured in over sixty excellent anthologies from a variety of independent publishers around the world. Dale has self-published three collections of short stories, and his debut science-fiction novel PYR, is available now. Dale is currently working on a follow-up to PYR, and his strangest wish is to find a copy of one his books for sale in a second-hand bookshop.
Overnight Case
by
Kevin Watson
I arrived at the hotel with my usual luggage.
“Can’t afford better than that battered suitcase?” the night manager sneered.
“The size is perfect,” I said, “for the valuables it contains.”
“Really?” the night manager said. “‘Valuables’?”
The hotel staff who contracted me are right to call this fellow a scoundrel, I thought, and went to my room.
For several hours, I lay awake. Before dawn, the night manager crept into the bedroom, as I had expected, and opened the suitcase. From within, a claw emerged and grabbed him.
After breakfast, I left the hotel with my somewhat heavier luggage.
Doin' the Ocho
by
Moira Richardson
“Eat Eight Chilley Dogs,” Hangry Hannibal’s garish carnival marquee proclaimed, “Win BIGGG Cashmoney Prize!!!”
As a traveling competitive eater, I was game, but after seven, I knew something was wrong.
“Hey,” I slurred, through a half-chewed mouthful, perspiration dripping down my burning forehead. No stranger to meat sweats, I knew this was different. “What’d ya put in these things?”
“Family secret,” the muscular chef said as the kitchen staff eyed me with interest.
But before I could ask more, the world swam black.
#
Watching his employees carry their newest victim, Chef Hannibal sharpened his blade. “Fatty man make best chili.”
Moira Richardson lives in a sleepy small town in Southwestern Pennsylvania with her partner and their three grumpy cats. Her short fiction has been published, or is forthcoming by Paper Butterfly, Sci-Fi Shorts, and Curated Micro Fiction.