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  FORGOTTEN ONES

  Copyright © 2020 Eerie River Publishing

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, events, organizations and

  incidents are either part of the author’s imagination or

  are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any

  manner, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission by the author(s) and or publisher.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7770410-2-1

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-7770410-0-7

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-7770410-3-8

  Edited by Alanna Robertson-Webb

  Cover design by Michelle River

  Book Formatting by Michelle River

  Title page art by Aina Tolero

  When you are finished reading this collection of

  stories please take a moment and review it on Amazon, Goodreads, and/or BookBub.

  AVAILABLE NOW FROM

  EERIE RIVER PUBLISHING

  Storming Area 51: Horror At the Gate

  Don’t Look: 12 Stories of Bite Sized Horror

  COMING SOON: 2020

  It Calls From The Forest

  It Calls From The Forest: Volume II

  It Calls From The Sky

  It Calls From The Sea

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all our families and friends. Those that have stood beside us, and often behind us while we type away, bringing us coffee and listening to us talk about our characters as if they were real; because they are.

  Thank you for believing in us.

  FOREWORD

  We want to take a moment and thank you for purchasing this book, for supporting Eerie River Publishing and for experiencing the talented authors we've featured.

  The collection you are about to dive into is comprised of over two hundred drabbles, which were created by over ninety authors from around the globe.

  These seemingly simple, exactly one hundred word stories will transport you to a time beyond memory, a place where old gods ruled and creatures of myth walked among us. They will darken your soul and titillate your senses.

  Be warned, for the stories within these pages are not for the faint of heart or the easily triggered. Some will find them horrifying in nature, while others will find them comforting. For these are drabbles of a different kind.

  May you be forever entertained,

  Eerie River Publishing

  The Conjuring

  S. C. Morgan

  Zebeth traced the markings, all jagged lines and symbols, in a circle on the floor. Smoke wafted up in a haze, swirling in a vortex over the markings.

  Feeling its presence she watched the orb of light pulse as it grew larger. Streaks of energy swirled through the air, giving way to a dark, boiling cloud.

  A misshapen face emerged, staring back at her.

  “What would you wish of me, sorceress?”

  Drawing a dagger from its sheath Zebeth stared at the djinn. She exhaled as she pulled the blade across her hand, drawing blood.

  “I would have revenge.”

  www.facebook.com/SCMorganAuthor/

  Twitter: @ScmorganAuthor

  What Blasphemy?

  Bryan Dyke

  The wraps go on tight over my throat, the stench of natron and myrrh invading my nose. The hyena-faced priest looks down at me and smiles.

  Behind him, the god stands. Chaos crawling. He is a robe of inky shadow, adorned with a smiling golden mask. Not unlike Anubis, but far more wicked. Older. This is not real. More wraps bind me tight. Now the final passes, the thick bandages cover my mouth and eyes.

  Not real.

  My sweat freezes, but my heart pounds like the deep drums of Stygia.

  “Seal the tomb,” the metallic voice orders.

  Azathoth

  K.T. Tate

  It was flutes that woke us, high and lilting in the frigid silence. The shadow, dark and not quite human, passed over each tent, drawing us out. Dazed, we stumbled onto the icy plateau. Eldritch light bathed us, pouring from a fracture in the heavens. The sky, cobwebbed cracks crossing over our world, revealing its form.

  Some of us screamed, others clawed at their eyes, but in the end we all danced to the maddening flutes. That atrocity from beyond reality looked down on us with idiot eyes, unfocused. The tundra stained with blood, just the first of many sacrifices.

  https://eldritch-hollow.com/

  The Moon Will Rise

  Robin Braid

  Lashed to the towering witch stone the girl's red hair hung black in the moonlight, shadowing her eyes from the faceless forms that circled. The wind fell away, the woods grew silent, and before her a hooded figure mumbled incantations in a tongue seldom heard across the centuries.

  A hand was raised, a bright blade flashing swiftly as it cut deep. The girl made no sound. Her head dropped, and the earth beneath her feet grew darker still. Through twisted branches the moon flared brightly, illuminating a ragged shape at the edge of the clearing.

  “Behold children, she has risen.”

  www.twitter.com/robinbraid

  Sleep Tight

  Sarah Matthews

  “I can’t go to sleep, I’m scared,” said the boy.

  “I’ve already checked under your bed and in your closet. I promise you, there’s no monsters,” said his mother.

  “But, Mommy…” cried the boy.

  “No ‘buts’! Now go to b…” The mother’s words were cut short as an inky figure fell upon her from above, claws and teeth slashing. The mother let out a scream that ended in a gurgle. The boy dove under his blankets, holding his breath as thudding footsteps lurched towards his bed.

  “You forgot to check the ceiling,” snarled the Boogeyman, yanking back the covers.

  Twitter @superbfinch

  Search for History

  Chris Bannor

  The boy in his arms babbled and cried, but he didn’t look behind them. All he could do was keep moving.

  He had come searching for history, but had found something far worse. He used to believe that for every myth, every story, there was an origin that was not so fantastical. He had come to find those truths and share them with the world.

  What he found was far worse than the legends, because the truth was grotesque and horrid. The stories, as they were printed, were real.

  So he raced, clutching his son, failing to outrun the Erlking.

  Facebook: @chrisbannorauthor

  www.ChrisBannor.com

  Chosen

  Joshua E. Borgmann

  For millennia her employers, arcane priests with their chanting, hidden covens, dusty grimoires, and blood sacrifices, had failed. Yet she, a nerd with a keyboard, had succeeded with only lines of code. Now her skin rippled from unnamable creeping frequencies emanating from infected electronic devices, her sanity caved from what she unleashed.

  Tentacles reaching from screens, masses staring into distorted space, her employers’ eyes dribbling down their cheeks. In the swirling chaos on the horizon mountainous forms appeared, feeding her images of abomination. Cities would become twisted, inside out, and upside down.

  They kept whispering, “This is for you, Mother.”

  Hackles

  Mark Anthony Smith

  I can scarcely read the scrawl as a bony claw falls heavily on my shoulder. The unknown breath stinks of rotting fish, its grip tightens as I stumble with the invocation. The words are ancient, and the dark is getting darker. My mouth is dry.

  I feel terror rising in my chest.

  If I don't read then the ancient, scaly thing will impale me on its talons. If
I carry on I'll give rise to other monstrosities, perhaps even more persuasive and terrible.

  I pause, that hairy muzzle pressing into the back of my neck. I feel my hackles rise.

  Twitter: @MarkAnthonySm16

  Facebook: Mark Anthony Smith- Author

  Sleek Nellie

  Sarah Matthews

  Roman wasn’t afraid as he entered Sleek Nellie’s Grotto.

  Not when the door he’d entered through vanished behind him, and not when he heard the splash of Sleek Nellie sliding into the water and swimming towards him.

  When she leapt from the water and stood before him Roman wasn’t afraid. Not of her scaly skin and dripping green hair, not of her clawed hands, not of her rows of serrated teeth.

  What about when Sleek Nellie swiped at him, ripping the skin from his body? When she bit into him like a freshly peeled, juicy apple?

  Then Roman was afraid.

  Twitter @superbfinch

  Nidstang

  Tor-Anders Ulven

  At first I just laughed. I mean, it was so extremely bizarre. A stuffed horse’s head erected on a pole. But then I noticed the blood in the snow. As I moved closer the stench of death filled my nostrils. The poor creatures’ skin was pulled down, revealing rotting flesh underneath.

  “Nidstang!” my neighbor Harald yelled. “A curse upon you and your house!”

  It was just a neighbor’s quarrel, a little dispute over a tree. Now I can hardly move. My skin’s covered in black, oozing wounds. My wife stopped moving hours ago, the foul liquid filling her lungs.

  Nidstang.

  https://www.facebook.com/hyperobscure/

  https://www.reddit.com/user/hyperobscura

  The Nahanni

  L.P. Hernandez

  In the far north the sun shines, always or never. Giants once roamed this valley, the Natives say, and left behind a trail of headless warriors. They abandoned the fresh water, the plentiful game, taking only their legends and a fear of tall trees. For generations they hovered on the outskirts of the valley, longing for the riches within.

  Slowly the Natives return to their ancestral land, finding no evidence of giants.

  The Nahanni is peaceful, on the surface.

  Beneath, in the blackest soil, a long hibernation ends, and a furious appetite is stirring.

  The valley will tremble once more.

  www.lphernandez.com

  Hunger

  Regina Kenney

  I rose from below to grasp human ankles and drag them down. Hungry for flesh, I performed spins, breaking water in sprays, turning until blood stained the water.

  How I loved the stories of my great scales, my lovely teeth, and the strength of my clutch. My terrible name was whispered between passing strangers.

  Then men talked too much and visitors ceased. Forced to suck on slugs for decades, I grew weak.

  Today a splash came. Towards the light, I saw two wriggling legs.

  How many years have gone by? Enough to forget. Enough to swim in my waters again.

  Twitter: @Regina_Kenney

  Instagram: @Regina_Kenney

  Book Wyrm

  Kimberly Rei

  The library was creepy at night. Jen called it peaceful, but Elijah hated the evening shift, especially in the winter when it got so dark so fast.

  He was making his final round, putting off the Reserved Room. He had told Jen there was whispering in there. She laughed at him, as always.

  Fear jammed his throat as he turned the latch. Head, then shoulders, slipped past the door.

  Jen wasn’t there to hear his strangled scream as long claws yanked Elijah off his feet. She didn’t hear the crunch of a different sort of librarian enjoying a snack break.

  http://tales.studiorei.org/

  Lucy’s Friend

  Joel R. Hunt

  “Imaginary friends are perfectly normal at Lucy’s age.”

  “Even if they’re not human?”

  “You mean it’s an animal?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Harris looked to one another. They unfolded one of Lucy’s drawings, full of angry, black scrawls and jagged teeth.

  “She calls it Ialdagorth the Devourer. She talks about it in her sleep, saying that it’s approaching, gaining power. Her drawings are, well, getting bigger.”

  “Bigger than this?”

  Mr. Harris gestured to the window. Peering outside, Dr. Parker saw Lucy hard at work with her crayons. She had engulfed the entire street in a black, hungry maw, open and waiting.

  https://twitter.com/JoelRHunt1

  https://www.reddit.com/r/JRHEvilInc/

  Broken Board

  Michelle River

  The planchette burned like hot coals against my fingertips. Unable to move I watched, frozen in fear, as soul-tearing screams were wretched from Alanna’s lungs. Her bones snapped, ligaments popping painfully. Her body contorted in front of me, the old ouija board cracking.

  A shadow oozed from the broken board, the ink pooling away from the letters and seeping towards her like smoke from a smudging stick. Panic consumed me as she made a final gasp, her body falling limply to the floor.

  The shadow turned to me.

  “Thank you.”

  Thick tendrils of smoke grasped me, the shadow consuming me.

  www.facebook.com/michelleriverauthor/

  www.twitter.com/MRiver_Writes

  Allfather

  Elin Olausson

  They took her to the Rock on the thirty-third day of the Hunger, once people had started dying. Her bare feet were dragged through the snow. Around her the men chanted, low humming voices calling His name.

  At the Rock they lifted the furs from her, pushing her onto her back. Their faces were gaunt and wild, their mouths moving as one. The chanting grew louder, and a new voice joined them.

  An ancient voice, deep as the sea, whispering Galdr. His shadow towered over them all, his one eye on her as the knife was lifted.

  Odin, Odin, Odin.

  www.elinolausson.com

  Twitter: @elin_writes

  The Carcosa Masquerade

  Sarah Matthews

  The costumed courtiers bowed before The King in Yellow.

  “Unmask,” he commanded.

  “Your Majesty, I wear no mask,” said a courtier. The crowd gasped.

  The King descended from his throne, the tatters of his saffron robes flapping in the night breeze.

  “We all wear masks,” he said.

  He stretched out razor sharp talons, digging into the courtier’s face, severing skin from muscle. The courtier let out a laugh like a scream, or a scream like a laugh, it was impossible to tell.

  “Now the rest of you: unmask!” roared The King.

  The court rang with the sound of rending flesh.

  Twitter @superbfinch.

  Life Changes

  N.M. Brown

  Our Timothy is in a bit of an awkward phase. He's shorter than others his age, and suffers from deformations. Yet he's extraordinarily intelligent, an old soul.

  A boy rang our doorbell on Timothy's thirteenth birthday, one who looked identical to my son but without defects.

  "Mother, it's me!" He squeaked.

  Timothy charged upon seeing him, plunging my fabric scissors into the boy's neck.

  As the sweat runs down my back from digging this grave, even as I recall how his eyes changed to black just before the attack, I must remember that I'm his Mother.

  I love him.

  Petra

  Wendy Cheairs

  The children curled together, fattened over the months leading to the stars aligning and becoming prepared for the ritual. They knew nothing, innocent to the end. They followed the priestess willingly towards the stone area, the hard dirt circled up to the great portal. The world needed the pool refilled, allowing the goddess to remain protecting the people. Each child lined the outer circle waiting their turn, opening their arms to the knife’s edge. Blood spilled into the empty pool, the pool of the goddess. Al-Uzza smiled upon her peopl
e, accepting the blood to fertilize the land and those within.

  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorWendyCheairs/

  https://indigowriter.com/

  The Kelpie

  T.J. Lea

  I watched as a fool stepped closer to the water’s edge, responding to the calls of a beautiful woman in distress. She begged, cried, called his name as the watery trap enclosed around him. When he grabbed her slimy palms, his fate was sealed. Her smile twisting with her form, humanity fading as the mane sprung forth, watery tendrils gripping his skin so tight it ripped flesh from bone. As his eyes met the malformed face, white orbs and an inhuman grin the last thing he will witness, I feel elation that the Kelpie shall feed well on this night.

  www.facebook.com/tjayleawriter

  Twitter: @tjaylea

  Sacrifice

  Callum Pearce

  His name was Sacrifice. Born and raised to bleed on the altar, destined to open a path to the underworld. As blood poured from his wrists, onto the painted symbols below, he could hear demons scraping through the earth. He heard them coming closer, making a route to this world for the mistress of darkness.