Tex, a cowboy set in his ways, died hard. He emptied both six-shooters into a vampire before losing the fight.
Old habits die hard, too: in life, Tex had been accustomed to drinking Long Necks. No surprise, after being turned he preferred getting his daily fix of blood from giraffes.
John H. Dromey has had short fiction published in Gumshoe Review, Plan B Magazine, Plasma Frequency Magazine, and elsewhere.
Bent by years of questing, the lady entered the crypt. She opened the coffin and swiftly slipped the pendant of Osiris around the vampire’s neck.
“Are you here to kill me, Willa?” he asked sadly.
She kissed him, then opened her spellbook.
“No, Stephen, I’m finally here to save you.”
M. Chronister is a long-time writer of all lengths of science fiction and fantasy. While so far unpublished, she persists in creating stories that will please and entertain, and perseveres in submitting them.
He loved Halloween and mingled unnoticed with other crazies dressed in outlandish costumes. He rested two nights saving himself for an all night party on Saturday where he drank too much.
As dawn broke he felt unwell and his body slowly disintegrated.
Unfortunately Dracula never really understood Daylight Saving Time.
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Editor: I was supposed to put this story up just after Halloween, but I forgot. I still think it’s funny and worth posting a month late, though!
One after another, Meg ignored all of the warning signs that her blind date might be trouble: his deathly-pale complexion; the creaky door to his castle and the heavy drapes that kept the so-called solarium dark as a dungeon; his Transylvanian accent; the lobster bib with her picture on it…
John H. Dromey has had flash fiction published in a number of print anthologies, as well as online at Liquid Imagination, three minute plastic, Thrillers, Killers ’n’ Chillers, and elsewhere.
Every night, Reginald tossed and turned in his bed, covering his ears with his pillow, but the slurping and sipping and smacking just wouldn’t stop.
He never said anything, though; the rent was too good to risk a conflict.
He eventually began to wonder about all the “Missing Pet” posters.
This story was based on a title suggested by @ugotpauld.
Fleeing my prison, driven by the hunger, I found my victim. I struck. His blood flowed. The hunger was satiated, but then: panic.
The body was stuck on my tusks, and my flippers were too short to remove it.
The zookeepers apprehended me, ending the reign of Chumley, Vampire Walrus.
Josh Anderson is an amateur filmmaker and writer from Lubbock, Texas.
First, she wrote, in big, bold letters, “Fred versus Charlie”. Then she drew two intersecting circles. Where the circles intersected, she wrote the word “Male”.
Really, that was all they had in common.
Fred was a werebear, and Charlie was a vampire. How would she choose?
She flipped a coin.
“If I ever turn into a vampire, will you kill me?”
“Sure thing, babe.”
“I wouldn’t want you to, you know. I’d want to bite you so you became a vampire, too.”
“I know, babe.”
“Then we’d become vampires together! We might really enjoy that.”
“You’re one already, aren’t you?”