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Dancing #53

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I refused to believe what my eyes saw. That gone was her ample frame, her long blonde hair, those astonishingly beautiful blue eyes. That in their place were rotting rags thrown over a griddle of bone and rotting flesh, hair hanging in sparse clumps from a skull that bore more maggots than skin, that her eyeless sockets turned this way and that in wretched, devilish, sightlessness. Skeletal fingers sought me, flailing blindly in the air.
I turned and ran, somehow finding myself at the doorway of the tavern, fearfully seeking my friend, terrified of what my eyes would show me.

5 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Christopher 7 months ago

    I'm thinking his friend may be lost for good. He should cut his losses and get the hell out of there!

  • avatar

    Christopher 7 months ago

    This definitely has the intention you were going for, the classic horror of old. It's kind of reminiscent of H.P. Lovecraft, which is the only classic horror writer I'm familiar with other than Edgar Allan Poe. I do like the early sci-fi writers like Jules Verne and HG Wells and a few that came later like Robert Heinlein and Ray Bradbury.

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn 6 months ago

    I think Thicko is getting the message now lol.
    Thanks for your last comment Christopher, I'm glad you think so. I'm with you on those authors - I enjoy Lovecraft and Poe and moreso Heinlein and Bradbury (Bradbury especially, he's an amazing writer).. Algernon Blackwood is well worth dipping into, too :)

  • avatar

    Neville Hunt 6 months ago

    Needless to,say, I don’t know any of those authors, philistine that I am, but it is a beautifully written humdinger of a story Drew.

  • avatar

    Drew Martyn 6 months ago

    Thank you kind sir. I'm pleased you're enjoying it :)

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