The Butterfly’s Revenge – A Short Horror Story


butterflies

(400 words)

Leah glances anxiously around the waiting room. Everyone looks so calm. How the hell can that be? The waiting room is dim, perhaps a dozen men and women of all ages sit, staring ahead as though unseeing. The door opens and a bright light behind him silhouettes the towering figure of Dr. Chansette, a huge cockroach, six feet high. His antennae wave. “Miss Leah Hope?”
Leah looks around. No one seems interested. She gets up, her guts knotting, but knowing she has no choice. Following Dr. Chansette, she proceeds along a shiny white corridor. He turns and waves a leg. “Please, come through to the dissection room.”
Feeling fearful, Leah follows him into an operating theatre. The room is full of strange, throbbing machinery and lights flicker on wall panels. In the centre of the room, under blazing spotlights, is an operating table, surrounded by banks of electronic equipment.
“Greetings, Miss Hope. I am Mr. Cuttemup, I’ll be doing your procedure today.”
Leah turns to face an enormous butterfly. She sees shimmering emerald and ruby tones in his wings. Trying to stay calm, she says, “Is … is this really necessary. Can’t I … can’t I just go home?”
Mr. Cuttemup flutters his wings and laughs, holding up a long scalpel blade which scatters light from the iridescent lamps above. “No, I’m sorry, we have to see … what you’re made of!”
Two giant earwigs, dressed in green theatre gowns, take Leah’s elbows and lead her towards the operating table. “Don’t worry, it’ll be painless,” says one, smiling and waving her glistening antennae.
Leah finds herself fastened down to the operating table and looks up at the brilliant spotlights above her, giving white spots before her eyes. Suddenly she has a frightening thought. “Wait a minute, what about the anaesthetic, where’s the anaesthetist?”
“Ah, that won’t be necessary.” Mr. Cuttemup unbuttons Leah’s blouse, then pulls out the scalpel. “Nurse, prepare the patient please.”
The earwig-nurses exchange glances, then one leans forward and yanks Leah’s bra up, exposing her large pale breasts.
Leah suddenly becomes calm. Of course, this is a nightmare. She’ll wake up in a minute!
Dr. Cuttemup’s scalpel stabs into her chest, right between her breasts, and carves a two-foot wound down to her groin, as she realises that the earwigs were lying – the pain is beyond belief – and yes, this is a nightmare, but it’s no dream.

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If Two Witches Were Watching.. (400 word version)


real-witch-picture


(400 words)

Aspects of the cottage were unusual to say the least. A large white, winged-devil gargoyle hung to the left of a handwritten sign – Haunted Cottage. Julie and I exchanged glances.
“Welcome, you found the place then!” A short woman in her sixties with a mop of long, incongruously-black hair answered the door. “I’m Mary. Come in.”
Julie and I had answered an advertisement for a saddle, for my stepdaughter’s first horse. We passed through a tack room into a large conservatory.
“Please sit. I’ll make some tea.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine, we can’t stay long.” Julie smiled and toyed with her blonde hair.
“Oh, I insist,” replied Mary. Before we could say anything she’d disappeared.
Julie and I looked around. A large ‘Green Man’ planter hung high on the one solid wall and peach-coloured cushions graced cane furniture.
Soon Mary was back. “The tea won’t be long. Now I must tell you, I have two witches.”
“Sorry?”
“Two witches, in spirit. They live here. They get up to all kinds of tricks!”
“Oh.” Julie tried to keep a straight face.
I was far less skeptical. “Like what?”
“Oh, they stole my slippers and put them in an old coat. Come, I’ll show you!”
She led us into the cottage, a network of small immaculate rooms, full of antique furniture and effects. Stuffed foxes glowered from glass cages and witches, from small dolls to waist-high figures, were everywhere.
Back in the conservatory, having seen the coat and slippers, and having succeeded in getting Mary’s mind back on the purpose of our visit long enough to purchase the saddle, I finished my tea. “Well, thanks Mary, it sounds like it’s never a dull moment around here!”
She sat up suddenly. “Did you hear that? Thunder. There’s going to be a storm.”
“Oh well, we’d best be going.” I felt in my pocket for the car key but it was empty. “Hang on, where’s my car key?”
There was a flash of lightning and rain rattled on the windows. I ran to the car with my jacket over my head. “It’s OK, I left it in the ignition!” I shouted.
That lady was crazy,” said Julie, snuggling up to me in bed. Her skin was warm and comforting.

“Yeah, maybe, but when we were first sitting down I seem to remember the car key was pressing against my leg…”



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Please note this was first published as a 200 word story. If you’d like to read that version please click HERE.

The Fabled Fox


fox-hunting-436738
(400 words)
Persistence had paid off. The lady in the purple coat had shadowed the hunt many times without success, but today she came upon the hounds, surrounding a fox, the huntsmen yet to arrive. A window of opportunity!
The fox was cornered, although the foxhounds seemed curiously indifferent. The L.I.T.P.C. rushed towards them. Conveniently, a colleague with a video camera followed close by, filming her as she ran to confront the dogs. Described on a Facebook page as ‘bravely fighting off a pack of vicious hounds’, the dogs obediently made way for her, allowing her to scoop the fox up, and with her videoing companion in tow, she ran down the road, the hounds showing little interest in pursuing her. The daring rescue was complete!
“Handsome fox, I couldn’t let you be killed by those nasty vicious dogs,” she said.
“Thank you dear lady, you are most kind,” said the fox opening his long jaws, showing rows of pointed teeth.
“I was with friends at a dinner party recently,” she said, panting a bit as she ran. The fox pricked his ears up.
“One said a fox had dug under her fence and killed every one of her chickens!”
“Oh, that wasn’t me madam,” said the fox, his yellow eyes glinting.
“You won’t bite me, will you Mr. Fox?”
“No madam, why would I?”
Her little legs continued scurrying along the road. She felt hot and breathless and the fox felt unexpectedly heavy. She hadn’t planned ahead and wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. “Another friend said a fox had bitten the heads off all her ducks in the night! You won’t bite me, Mr. Fox?”
“No madam!” The fox put his head on one side, winked an eye and wagged his bushy tail. “You can release me now madam, the dogs are upwind and I know where I can go to earth.”
The L.I.T.P.C. lowered the fox down, glad to be relieved of the burden. Just then the fox turned and bit her hand.
Owww! That really hurt!” Blood was pouring from a lacerated finger. “Mr. Fox, you said you wouldn’t bite. I saved you from certain death!”
The fox laughed. “If I’d wanted to, I could have bitten your finger clean off!”
The L.I.T.P.C. dropped the fox, sobbing. “Go Mr. Fox, bad Mr. Fox, go! But why did you bite?”
“Because I’m a fox,” said the fox.

Don’t forget to check out some of the other stories on my blog. There are over 100! 

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A Saucerful of Bullshit


ufo

(400 words)

“Control of the media. That’s what’s going on!” Frank’s pale blue eyes were staring, his face flushed, and his mop of ginger hair tousled. “I’m telling you what I saw. There were a couple of hundred others, at least. They saw it too!”
“Calm down darling, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. It’s just….”
I had to admit Frank had been less than truthful when we were courting. He’d told a few ‘porkies’ then, ‘bigging himself up’ to impress me. Still, that was ten years ago. Now he’d come home in a state, claiming he’d seen a UFO land in Regent’s Park – for heaven’s sake! There was nothing about it on TV.
Suddenly a report had come on about a gas leak in nearby Regents Park Road. An anxious young woman with two small children was being interviewed.
“It was about two o’clock and just as we were getting near to the zoo there was a really strong smell of gas. A policeman said the zoo was closed and we must turn around.”
The reporter, a cocky and unpleasant man, knelt down, pushing a microphone into a little girl’s face. “Were you disappointed you couldn’t see the animals?”
A long pause ensued. “Yes.” She shook her head, looking confused. There was another long pause. The reporter stood up, his cockiness dented. “And now back to the studio.”
Frank zapped the TV off in disgust.
“There’s nothing about any UFO on Facebook or Twitter,” I said, at my laptop.
“There’s nothing about any bloody gas leak either!”
Hmm, he had a point! “Didn’t anyone take photos or text their friends?”
“No, there was some kind of … force field. Nothing worked.”
I turned the TV on again. There was a distant shot of a row of gas and police vehicles. Then talk of the park being closed tomorrow for filming. Something to do with Stephen Spielberg.
The phone rang. Frank snatched it up. “Colin, thank god, I hoped you might have been there…no, I never saw any aliens…put them in a police van? What did they look like?…bloody hell! Look, have a word with Sandra, she’s having a hard time believing me.”
He passed the phone over.
“Hello, Colin…hello…hello…is anyone there?..” I handed it back. “The line’s gone dead.”
The doorbell rang. We stood stock still. “Should we answer it?” we both whispered in unison…

Don’t forget to check out some of the other stories on my blog. There are over 100! 

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If you are interested in joining a fortnightly 300 word story group please contact me and I’ll send details.