Tag Archives: chris zombieking

Halloween Horror Fiction

So I sez (last minute, of course), “Let’s do some Halloween fiction! Everybody write a short story and I’ll post it on my blog.”

Kelly sez, “What’s the criteria for a short story?”

Sez I, “It has to be short.”

Marina sez, “And a story.”

“About what shall I write?” Kelly asked (she is early in the process of being corrupted as a fiction writer).

“Um, cannibal fairies,” sez I. “And a duck.” (I believe fiction writers should be thoroughly corrupted with no hope of turning back) “Make it a love story.”

Then the ever so charming artist, Chris Zombieking, sez, “Cannibal fairies? A duck? I can do that.”

So Marina and I (already thoroughly corrupted) took up the challenge as well, though we cheated and included neither cannibal fairies nor ducks in our stories. They are, however, short and stories.

(Hey, don’t look askance at me about the above mostly-true and pretty much factual conversation. You all keep asking where writers get their ideas. So there you go)



   The Red Band

   by Kelly Shew

“I cannot believe they stuck me with you, of all faeries!” Fatina threw up her hands as she fluttered in the air. “Even Arcus the Dunderhead would be better than you!”

Nibale flew up to meet her. “It’s not like I’m happy about this either! Do you think I have nothing better to do than drag around a Papinae on this mission? I hope you can keep up, because I will not be held accountable for your failures!”

Both faeries hung suspended in air as they glared at each other. The Grand High Faerie Council had decreed a hunter from each tribe would be assigned the task of locating a rogue faerie who was ignoring the Age Restriction.

A thousand years ago, the Council determined that, if allowed to continue hunting unchecked, faeries would soon eat themselves out of existence. Were younger faeries easier to catch? Absolutely. They weren’t old enough to have learned any survival tricks. They were needed to continue the line. What would the faeries do when they ran out of food? It was decreed that faeries could not hunt anyone under seven seasons in age. (to read the rest of this story, click here)


As said before, Marina has neither cannibal fairies nor ducks in her creepy little tale. Nor does it have Halloween.

“Hmn?” sez I.

Marina sez, “Christmas is more horrifying than Halloween.”

Good enough for me. Read on…

Xmas House of Horrors

by Marina Bridges

The church parking lot lights winked at Tim through the lens of his excited breath in the unusually cold Southern air. He slammed the car door and slung his full backpack over his shoulder.

“Tim, honey, stay with me,” his mother called as he plunged into the sea of parked cars.

“We are already late, Mom!” Tim shouted, leaving his mother to unstrap baby Jennifer from her car seat. Tim didn’t like to think of what fun he’d already missed while his mother had been stuffing Jennifer into her new snow suit. Jennifer had pooped her diaper half way through, which had forced Mom to reverse the process before starting it all over again. Having to haul a baby around slowed everything. It was more than a twelve year old could bear.

Tim arrived at the front gate. A rickety old privacy fence looked as if it had been stolen from five or six different back yards. A ticket booth was set up beside the gate.

Tim couldn’t see through the fence. He could hear people laughing and shrieking at the wonders inside. He could hear music and see flashes of light in the air. The ratty sign over the ticket booth sparkled with promise. “Spirit of Giving Christmas Carnival” was splashed in faded red paint across yellow canvas. (to continue reading this story, click here)


For your edification, here is exactly where I got the idea for the following story. I read a tweet on Twitter: “I sold my soul to the Devil. He got a shitty deal!” To which I thought, hmn…


The Devil His Due

by Jaye W Manus

 “This is an as is deal, right? No take backs? No do-overs?”

Bub curled his lips in Smile Number Four— the Winner. Every morning, after his workout, but before his shower, he practiced in front of a mirror his repertoire of smiles. He had sixteen. He hadn’t become the Big Boss’s top producer by neglecting details. “Are we having second thoughts, my dear? You don’t have to sign. You do have free will.”

The waitress looked between Bub and the contract printed in blood-red ornate calligraphy on golden parchment. “Just making sure. I don’t want you coming back and saying I cheated you or anything.”

“Once you sign, the deal is done. No take backs.”

“Yay!”  She took the proffered Mont Blanc fountain pen and signed her name. Instead of a dot, she drew a heart over the ‘i’ in Brandi. She handed back the pen.

“So that’s it, Bub? You have my soul and I get my heart’s desire? Do I need to do anything else?”

“You’ve done quite enough, my dear.” He slid the pen into his shirt pocket and gave her Smile Number Thirteen— Wicked. He rolled the scroll. It was warm to the touch and gave off a faint scent of brimstone. He tied a neat bow in its securing red ribbon. “Good day.” (to continue reading this story, click here)


Ms Becky Joy will have us know that no collection of Halloween stories is complete unless it includes a tale suitable for reading aloud to children. I will agree.

The Story of Hall-o-ween

by Becky Joy

It happened in the hall, the same type of hall that is in your house. It was after midnight, cold outside, but it was just as cold inside. But only in the hall. The only sound was the ticking of the clock… Except… There was no clock… Not in the hall. Movement! From what? Was it a who or what used to be a who? Up the hall. Down the hall. Bump. Silence. Tick. Tock. Bump! “Oh!” I screamed. It echoed off the walls in the hall. “I ween that you were something to fear, with long fangs and the thirst for blood. Instead, you are my hamster, Jay, left in your plastic ball. I forgot to put you back in your cage.”


See more of Chris’s wonderful artwork over on -brainzzz or GTFO-. But don’t steal him. Marina and I got dibs.


Halloween Fun from Kelly Shew & Chris Zombieking

Shuffling, moaning
This is taking forever
I wanna eat brains

I smell you hiding
I can’t wait to eat your brains
Dammit, where’s my foot?

The river runs red
The revolution begins!
The undead are here

They run for their lives
The trap ahead has been laid
Little do they know

Around the corner
With guns, chainsaws and knives
Silly, weak humans

Look at them cower
Little children in the night
This won’t hurt a bit

Oh, you are tasty!
Irish, with a hint of Thai?
Or is it Chinese?

Oh, I am so full
I can’t eat another bite
What is for dessert?

Thus starts Chapter Two
Full of misery and pain
Will the humans live?

A new day begins
The sun’s rays light the carnage
Of the night before

Bodies all around
Blood and guts and brains and goo
Littering the street

Survivors come out
Of their safe hiding places
In ones and in twos

Crying and confused
Looking around in a daze
What the hell happened?

We have to fight back
We must save our families
I don’t want to die!

The meeting is loud
Not a lot is getting done
No one can agree

Do we run away
Do we stay and kill them all
Who here has a gun

Finally, a plan
Move the children and old folks
Everyone else, fight

Night is coming soon
Say your goodbyes while you can
Tonight we fight back

Darkness has fallen
Moaning sounds are nearer now
The dead are hungry

A group of people
Fire bright against the dark
Will they live or die

It’s all they think of
The need to feast consumes them
They’re coming for you

They may not be fast
But there is no stopping them
They will hunt you down

Hear them shuffling
Dragging their feet on the ground
Running is futile

Everywhere you look
Everywhere you try to hide
You are not safe there

Your life is theirs now
Give up all your hopes and dreams
They no longer count

You can try to run
Tomorrow, you’ll be dinner
You cannot escape

Here come the live ones
Strong and proud and determined
With their eyes blazing

They carry weapons
Chainsaws, guns and machetes
Like those could stop us

We will have our feast
We cannot wait anymore!
Soon there will be blood

Fear is in their eyes
These silly, little humans
Why do they resist

This one is too scared
To put up much of a fight
She smells delicious

She struggles a bit
Blood moves faster in her veins
Oh, this will be good

Soft flesh of the neck
That tears apart so nicely
Fresh blood flows freely

Her struggles weaken
She collapses on the ground
Skin is in his teeth

He rips chunks of flesh
Off her now lifeless body
Others have her scent

The others have come
Clustered around her body
Fighting for the scraps

It’s time to move on
She has nothing left to give
Good thing there are more

Now the fear is real
And the humans start to run
They’ll die if they stay

The wave of zombies
Moves forward across the town
There are none left alive

Zombies multiply
Spreading across the country
Humans have no chance

A few hide away
Secret underground bunkers
But their time will come

Huddled together
They are few and far between
And we are hungry

We have caught your scent
You should come and play with us
We won’t hurt you…much

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little horror story, told in haiku style, by Kelly Shew, with illustrations by Chris Zombieking. See more of Chris’s fabulous work over on his blog, –-brainzzz or GTFO. All work is copyright protected, so if you’d like to permission to repost any of the material, please leave me a note in the comments and I’ll pass the word to the artists. Thanks!

Zombie Art by Chris Zombieking

I asked fellow blogger and zombie freak if I could borrow one of his images for my weekly chapter of my zombie novel in progress (you can read it here by clicking on Dead Crazy in the header menu). He generously said yes.

This painting caught my eye because of the haunting emptiness of the eyes. Chris had taken the original painting then did some digital magic tinkering and ended up with an image even creepier than the original.

To see more of Chris’s artwork, pop over to his -brainzzz or GTFO – blog and look around. Some images will chill you, others will make you laugh. If you’re a mom like me, you can tsk tsk over what he did to his poor fingers.



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