The vampire stood dead still, just short of his old flame’s threshold.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked, glancing anxiously at the false dawn.
“No,” she said.
She didn’t wait to see him disintegrate on her doorstep, but went to the utility closet to get a broom.
John H. Dromey has a story in the anthology Chilling Horror Short Stories (Flame Tree Publishing, 2015).
Thirst consumed me, more desire, anticipation, than need.
“Last one,” I convinced myself, hastily ripping into the flesh. The red spatter on the wall? Unnoticed, darkening over time.
The odd sweetness finally danced along my tongue. Sated, I dropped the empty peel into the trash.
The season’s last blood orange.
Anastasia Pena loves crafts. And blood oranges. But not crafts using blood oranges. She creates the items that pop into her head and runs Anastasia’s Artifacts from South Texas. She also tries to put words on paper from time to time, somewhat successfully…
I believe in vampires. I never used to but then, one day, I filed for divorce. I saw my wife turn into a blood-sucking member of the undead, right before my eyes.
We have been divorced many years, yet she still phones me to ask for money.
Oh yes, vampires.
Barry O’Farrell had a 950-word sci-fi story published in the December issue of Cyclamens & Swords.
“I vant to suck your blood!”
“I’ll report you.”
“…Vut? Vut are you meanink?”
“I mean I’ll call the cops. Actually no, I’ll call a magazine and give them the scoop, first. You’re famous, right? I’ll get big bucks and your career will be over.”
“…And zey call ME bloodthirsty.”
Tim Sevenhuysen is the editor of FiftyWordStories.com.
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 While so far unpublished, she persists in creating stories that will please and entertain, and perseveres in submitting them.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.