Horror Stories of 100 Words
For the month of July 2026, these are the stories that intrigue us most.
* Sleeping Dogs Lie by Floyd Largent
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* Ticks by Bernardo Villela
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* The Butterfly Garden by Adele Liles
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* The Last Tip by Farin Martinez
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* Weight Loss Guaranteed by Evan Baughfman
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* Mud Pies by B.G. Smith
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* Feral Winds by Jessie Leigh Zotto
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* Basement Cellar by Al Scott Pearce Baker
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* Night Hike by Hallie Oakwood
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* Curiosity by Jacek Wilkos
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* Unconcerned by Lucy Carr Icard
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* Breakup by K.J. Watson
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* To Remain Locked by Tina Wingham
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* Pre-Emptive Capture by Kamran Connelly
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​* Don't Ever Hire a Cut-Rate Clown by Dayla Haynes
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* Portrait of an Artist Undone by Cynthia Pitman
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Sleeping Dogs Lie
by
Floyd Largent
Alma stepped into the border crossing carrying Jojo, handing the guard the paperwork required to bring a dog from Mexico into the USA.
When she looked up, another guard was pointing his pistol at her. “Wake him up,” he growled.
“¿Que?”
“That’s the third sleeping dog you’ve brought through this week. Wake. Him. Up.”
“Um… ¿no comprendo?”
“¡Dame el perro!”
She did, and he ripped open the sutures in poor Jojo’s tummy. Two plastic-wrapped white bricks fell out.
All Alma could do was raise her hands in surrender, thinking, Thank goodness I don’t carry sleeping kids across the border anymore.
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Floyd is a former archaeologist who never woke a sleeping god or unearthed an ancient evil (alas). Currently a full-time writer and editor, in the past year he's published or had accepted for publication six poems and 30+ short stories, in venues including Altered Reality, Bewildering Stories, Bullet Points, Beast Under the Bed anthology, Chewers, Dream Theory Media, Exquisite Death, Freedom Fiction Journal, Masticadores International, Suburban Witchcraft, 5-7-5 Haiku Journal, and more.
Ticks
by
Bernardo Villela
I found them behind my knee, in my ear, hair; on the nape of my neck. I swept them off my pillow and my shirt. No amount of repellant kept the ticks at bay. Eventually, my hands unconsciously swept my body for them. I flicked away phantom ticks more often than I found the genuine article. I pulled out my hair searching for them. My fear hurt me more than the ticks could.
“Enough’s enough,” I said.
Desolate, I resigned myself to them and laid myself down in the ground-dwelling ivy. If they wanted me, they could have me.
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Bernardo Villela (he/him/his) has short fiction included in periodicals such as LatineLit, Penumbra Online and Horror Tree and in anthologies such as We Deserve to Exist, Enchanted Entrapments and There's More of Us Than You Know. He’s had original poetry published by Phantom Kangaroo, Straylight, and Raven’s Quoth Press and translation published by AzonaL and Red Fern Review. You can find some of his other works here: https://linktr.ee/bernardovillela.
The Butterfly Garden
by
Adele Liles
Everyone said Mrs. Price never left her house, but her garden bloomed in impossible abundance. We slipped through the rusted gate at midnight, laughing until a swarm of butterflies rose in a shimmering hush around us in the moonlight. Sickly sweet air invaded my nostrils.
Motionless figures stood among the flowers, tracking us with terrified eyes. Beneath their skin, delicate veins spread and stretched toward their shoulders. Fragile wings, not yet free. I froze as the door slowly creaked open. Mrs. Price smiled at me. “Beauty takes patience. And living canvases.”
Now I’m the showpiece of her silent, ever-growing garden.
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Adele has been a high school English and Creative Writing teacher for 26 years. She has two YA contemporary suspense novels with Wild Ink Publishing. She's a member of SCBWI, a Fiction Potluck finalist, a Pushcart Prize nominee, and has short stories and poems published in several anthologies. She lives with her husband in Virginia, where she can be found writing, reading thriller novels, or watching a ridiculous amount of reality television.
The Last Tip
by
Farin Martinez
Boris jolts awake, choking on God knows what. One hefty cough ejects a wad of paper from his swollen throat. Boris flicks on the bedside lamp and retrieves the wet lump from his pillow, which reeks with sweat. Wiping sour spittle from his chin, he unravels the muck to discover it’s not paper, it’s money. A hundred-dollar bill. Using his thumbs to stretch out the C-note, Boris sees there’s something written on it in red ink. Holding it to the light, he reads, “Next time you toss a Benjamin at a dead whore, make sure she’s actually dead. Xoxo.”
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Farin Martinez is a writer and yoga teacher in Fresno, California, navigating the delightful chaos of parenting two teenagers while chasing ultramarathon podiums and an MFA in Creative Writing at Cedar Crest College. A former journalist who traded headlines for more haunted heartlines, she now splits her time between memoir and dark fiction. Her work has been published in Acentos Review and Cleaver. You can find more about her work and current projects on Instagram @farinmartinez.writes.
Weight Loss Guaranteed
by
Evan Baughfman
Gordon collected obscure VHS titles. His latest find? Purchased at an estate sale. A cassette labeled with masking tape and red ink: Weight Loss Guaranteed.
Popping the tape into his VCR, Gordon wondered which C-list ’80’s celebrity would be sharing their outdated aerobics routine. But on-screen was a shirtless man of below-average build. He wore a nylon stocking mask. Held a blade.
“Watch,” said the instructor. “Follow.”
The man stabbed and sliced across his pudgy middle, intestines spilling.
Gordon’s belly screamed. He, too, gripped a butcher’s knife—When had he visited the kitchen?—and his own guts spooled to the floor.
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Evan is a member of the Horror Writers Association. His work can be found in anthologies by Radical Books, WonderBird Press, and Inkd Publishing. His own books include: The Emaciated Man, Vanishing of the 7th Grade, Bad for Your Teeth, Try Not to Die in a Dark Fairy Tale, and the short story collection, Mauls of the Wild. More info about him and his writing is available at amazon.com/author/evanbaughfman
Mud Pies
by
B.G. Smith
After the flood, our daughter sat in the backyard making mud pies. She kneaded the clay into perfect circles and placed them in a straight line on a table.
When she finished, she collected the leftovers and made another batch.
From the kitchen, my husband spoke first: “She’s having fun.”
I smiled. “When did you buy her that table?”
“I thought you did?” He asked.
My skin crawled. It wasn’t a table.
Heart racing, I ran outside.
Maisie looked up, smiling. “I’m almost done, Mommy.”
Our house sat next to Union Cemetery.
The coffin lid was covered in mud pies.
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B.G. Smith's work has been highly commended in the National Flash Fiction Day Micro Fiction Competition (2026) and published in 101 Words, Quotidian Bagatelle, ScribesMICRO, WATG Press, Dark Moments, Trembling With Fear, and over a dozen other literary journals. After retiring from a 24-year career in federal law enforcement, he writes micro and flash fiction exploring the darker corners of human experience. His horror stories examine how ordinary moments can turn sinister, focusing on the fears that lurk beneath suburban normalcy.
Feral Winds
by
Jessie Leigh Zotto
The feral winds descended upon a busy day at the beach. The multitudes infested the white sands, jostling in the surf. Shouts and laughter drowned the shushing of waves.
The air shimmered as an atmospheric shriek akin to an unhinged god drove the throng to its knees, clutching bleeding ears.
No sand stirred as the updraft caught the crowds and tumbled the mass skyward like a ball of ants. Above the clouds, tears became ice, the land a tiny map below.
The wind stopped. In the silence, the people looked at one another, wide-eyed. Then, as one, they fell.
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Born on Halloween, Jessie is a lifelong lover of all things scary whether dangling a thousand feet up a cliff or watching a horror movie marathon. She writes trails to help exercise the demons that infest her mind, blending the chaos of real life with the surreal.
Basement Cellar
by
Al Scott Pearce Baker
A rainstorm combed the spruce outside my house with wet black fingers. At midnight, the phone rang.
“Have you checked the cellar?”
A stranger’s voice. Thin. Courteous.
I laughed and hung up.
The calls returned every hour.
“Have you checked the cellar?”
By dawn, irritation had ripened into dread. I carried a flashlight downstairs.
The stone walls sweated. Pale mushrooms crowded the corners. In their midst stood the telephone.
It rang.
The receiver was slick with white filaments.
I answered.
From upstairs, in my own voice, warm with relief:
“Good. Now come back up. I’ve been waiting.”
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Alexander “Al” Scott Pearce Baker is a Nova Scotia–based naturalist and writer. His academic research, poetry, and short fiction explore the depths of the natural world, as well as the intersections of horror, philosophy, and mythology.
Night Hike
by
Hallie Oakwood
After hours of hiking, they still couldn’t find their way out of the woods; all the trails looked the same. They were walking in circles.
“We must have taken a wrong trail,” Jo said. Dusk brought poor visibility. No phone signal; their batteries were low. There was no one around.
“We should retrace our steps,” she said, legs weary. They crunched twigs and ducked under low branches as her heart sank; they were more lost than ever. Finally, she saw the silhouette of a person in the distance, with four large dogs. Jo laughed with relief.
They should have run.
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Hallie Oakwood is an art teacher and writer. Her work has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, Fairfield Scribes, Micromance Magazine, 101 Words, The Wise Owl and others.
Curiosity
by
Jacek Wilkos
Tim wandered through an abandoned hospital with a flashlight and a smartphone. Everyone said it was haunted, but he didn't believe such nonsense and wanted to prove it, filming everything.
"Hey ghosts. Come out, come out, wherever you are." He shouted, looking around the devastated operating room.
Something moved on the instrument table, and Tim felt soaring pain in his left side that spread throughout the abdomen. His intestines spilled out through the laceration. Tim slumped to the floor. Lying like a ragdoll, he watched letters appear on the wall, written in his own blood.
"CURIOSITY KILLS MORE THAN CATS."
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Jacek Wilkos is an engineer from Poland. He lives with his wife and two daughters in a beautiful city of Cracow. He is addicted to buying books, he loves black coffee, listening to ambient music and long walks while listening to audiobooks. First he published his fiction in Polish online magazines, and in 2019 he started to translate his writing to English, and so far it was published in numerous anthologies by Black Hare Press, Black Ink Fiction, Alien Buddha Press, Eerie River Publishing, Insignia Stories, Reanimated Writers Press, Iron Faerie Publishing, KJK publishing, CultureCult, Wicked Shadow Press, Clarendon House Publications. You can find more about his writing at: https://www.facebook.com/Jacek.W.Wilkos/
Unconcerned
by
Lucy Carr Icard
I carried the tart in one hand; it was covered with gelatinous fruit. The strawberries bled on the slices of kiwi. The air was still, and the crickets screamed across the hue of the wheat field. My guests chattered. They laughed, they told and retold stories; complacent, comfortable, and a little too hot despite the parasol over their heads. I placed the tart on the table; the strawberries quivered. I reached for the plates and a knife. The sun shimmered across its blade. How easy it would be to plunge the sheath into the back of my brother-in-law’s neck.
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Lucy Carr Icard is an MFA student at Southern New Hampshire University. Her short story, “A Circle of Solitude,” was published by The Penmen Review in December 2025, and “A Good Boy” by October Hill Magazine. Lucy’s work is strongly influenced by her 35 years in France, her childhood in Maine, and her zealous imagination.
Breakup
by
K.J. Watson
“This isn’t working,” my partner Jess told me. “You’re lazy and mean. Please get out of my house.”
“No way,” I said.
Jess left for her job at a florist’s.
Later, the doorbell rang. I found a bunch of flowers outside.
Jess is saying sorry, I thought, and put the flowers in a vase of water. The blooms immediately emitted a sulfurous fog that enshrouded me. I passed out.
I vaguely remember someone in a mask dragging me out to the street. When I fully recovered, I found a florist’s card pinned to my shirt. It read: “Don’t come back.”
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K. J. Watson’s stories and poems have appeared on the radio; in comics, magazines and anthologies; and online.
To Remain Locked
by
Tina Wingham
After my grandfather’s passing, I was presented with a small silver key with the number 6 painted on one side.
No instructions, no clues, just a generic padlock key.
I searched for that padlock, through cobwebs in the shed, and piles of mouse droppings in the attic. Nothing.
Exhausted, I collapsed on my grandfather's bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, when I saw a flash of silver, a small padlock attached to the wall.
I opened it, and a dusty skeleton fell out, crumbling at my feet.
What did it all mean? But more importantly, why was it labeled number 6?
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Tina is an Australian horror and dark fiction author known for her emotionally charged storytelling and unsettling, atmospheric worlds. She has always been drawn to the shadows of human nature, which she explores in her books from fear, grief, survival and the fragile line between reality and nightmare. Her work blends psychological tension with vivid, cinematic detail, inviting my readers to feel every heartbeat, every breath, and every flicker of dread. She has a number of short stories published across many websites, magazines and anthologies. Full details are on her website www.tinawingham.com
Pre-Emptive Capture
by
Kamran Connelly
Every year, for the past ten, the neighbourhood loses people. No rhyme, no reason. Children and adults alike just vanish during the night.
Sometimes clothes are found, torn and tattered. Sometimes bones. Snapped and splintered, leaving evidence of a painful departure, or a savage post-mortem desecration. But most just disappear without a trace.
But this year I’ll be ready.
I built a cage, too sturdy to be compromised, and buried it, ten feet underground.
When those kinds of nights arrive again, I’ll go to the cage and lock myself in tight, deep underground. Before the moonlight gets a chance to change me.
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Kam’s short story DEATH BED INC has been accepted for publication by Twisted Dreams Press. Features in Hollowpoint Press’ inaugural issue of the “300 Project” & Wolfsinger Publications anthology “Voices for the Voiceless.” And is currently shopping around his debut novel, The Extinction Process. And his Vampire novella BLOOD BANK is published online at The Horror Tree, Trembling with Fear. Flash Phantoms, WitCraft, and T. Saunders publishing for his works of fiction. Has poetry featured in three anthologies, a novella featured in the Paul Cave Prize for literature.
Don't Ever Hire a Cut-Rate Clown
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Dayla Haynes
He arrives at noon: 250 pounds, painted-on scowl, and come on! A bulge in his pants? Clowns shouldn’t have hard-ons at nine-year-olds’ birthday parti—
Wait, what?
“Up on the table, lady,” he snarls. “Face-down.”
The kids crack up, and I think, okay, it’s a joke, but these zip cuffs are real, and the clown’s got a boner. And wait—is that a gun?
He climbs up behind me. Sweat drips from his face onto my spine.
The kids howl with laughter: Hey, Zack, your mom’s in the clown show!
I feel the clown’s gun at my neck.
“Showtime, bitch,” he whispers.
Dayla Haynes was born in the Mojave Desert. She is a past finalist for the Glimmer Train Family Matters Award and the New Letters Literary Award, and her work was selected for the 2021 Wigleaf Top 50 Longlist. Her stories and poems have appeared in Flash Fiction Online, Pindeldyboz, and elsewhere. Currently, she lives in South Carolina.
Portrait of an Artist Undone
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Cynthia Pitman
At first, I painted over it. But I could see it peering at me through the new paint. Then I tried turpentine. But even though smeared, it still looked at me – right into my eyes. Acetone, mineral spirits – hell, I even tried gasoline. None prevailed. So I took up my palette knife and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. I thought that would do it. But after I wiped the paint splatter from my eyes, I saw I was wrong. It looked at me and smiled.
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Cynthia Pitman, author of The White Room, Blood Orange, Breathe, and Broken, has been published in Amethyst Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Literary Yard, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem finalist), Saw Palm: Florida Literature and Art (Pushcart Prize nominee), and other journals and anthologies.