《Lovecraftian Micro Fiction》 Domovoi - Winner, 2019 My parents gave me the house, calling it a wedding gift, but I knew better. They were moving a great weight from their shoulders to mine. Now the Domovoi were my responsibility. Of course my new husband did not believe. He laughed when I put out the milk and cookies every night, and every morning asked if I had eaten them. Yet never did he question how I cleaned the entire house every night without him seeing. Then one night our newborn daughter disappeared from her crib. As the police searched I noticed the plate and bowl were not on the floor. I asked my husband, and he admitted eating the cookies himself before going to bed. There were no such things as Domovoi, he scolded. The police could not find my baby, nor sign of foul play. When I mentioned the Domovoi, I felt their suspicion turn to me. Yet they could prove nothing. They left but my anger festered. I planned my revenge. The next night I left out the milk and cookies, this time adding a pinch of rat poison and splash of antifreeze for sweetness. Then I left the food in the kitchen and retired to bed. I could not sleep, my husband¡¯s snores keeping me awake. When I heard the commotion in the kitchen, I leapt up, anxious to see what damage I had done. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Both creatures lay on the floor amid broken glass and dented pans. They had flailed in pain but now lay motionless. Their glowing, baleful red eyes were dimming and froth poured from their tiny, tooth filled mouths. Runnels had been scratched into the linoleum by their spasming claws. I took up a kitchen knife and showed them the blade. Then I had my retribution, cutting away their arms and then their legs, and when the light had left their eyes entirely I dismantled the remains until nothing was left but a pile of meat. Then I fried them in a skillet and ate them. Afterward I laid on the floor, ready to die from my own poison. But I did not die. Instead I vomited everything inside me and more until I lay beside a pile of gore the size of a human being. It was all such a mess, and I hated messes. So I removed the filth. I chewed, licked, and slurped until all was gone. Then I pieced together the glassware with my saliva, pounded out the dented pans with my claws, and cleared away the scratches with my breath. When I finished, the kitchen was spotless. Pleased, I crawled into the attic for sleep, leaving my husband in the bed alone. I could never be with him again, but I was going to make sure he was safe and happy in his home for as long as he cared for me. All I required was a little milk and a few cookies. My Son - Winner, 2020 After years of my wife and I bargaining with any god that might listen, my child had finally arrived. Yet when I saw him, mewling like an angry cat in the doctor¡¯s hands, I had a moment of revulsion. A slime and blood covered lump of flesh, it was hard to see him as human. Was it just an illusion brought by stress and exhaustion? I rubbed my eyes. When I looked again all I saw was the pink, button nose and small, unfocused eyes of acrying baby. ¡°How does he look?¡± my wife asked, voice still shaking from labor. ¡°Like our little boy,¡± I said, pushing away my misgivings. Years later I sat with my son at the breakfast table. ¡°See that?¡± he asked, pointing at the flecks of cereal floating in the milk of his spoon. ¡°What is it?¡± I replied, humoring him. ¡°That is a word we cannot speak,¡± he said as if stating a universal truth. I looked in the spoon, the cereal having broken apart to make squiggles in the milk like some ancient script. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°What an imagination he has,¡± my wife said laughingly. Yet despite her tone, her eyes watched for my reaction. Confused, I said nothing. That night I could not sleep. When I closed my eyes I saw those lines dancing behind my eyelids like fireflies in the dark. I thought that if I looked long enough I could understand what it said. Then I heard my son¡¯s voice down the hall, mumbling to himself as he sometimes did when he could not sleep. My wife still slumbered beside me, so I threw off the covers to go and comfort him. Opening the door to his room, however, I was confronted by a quivering mass on the bed, it¡¯s mottled surface shimmering in patterns that cast dancing shadows onto the ceiling. Memories of his birth returned to me; a formless glob of putrescence. Then the form congealed back into my son, pajamas and all. ¡°Sorry, daddy. I thought you were mommy.¡± I panicked, all thought fleeing from me but the need for escape. I ran out of the house. Crossing the porch, I felt something grab at my ankle, sending me tumbling down the stairs. My body thumped upon each bricked step. When I landed I could not move, all feeling gone but a wetness beneath my cheek, warm and damp. On the landing above I saw the silhouettes of my family. My wife looked down at me with cold calculation. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± she said. ¡°Make sure he knows what to do.¡± My son came down to kneel beside my broken body. ¡°Daddy, can you hear me? When you see them, you need to say the word. If you don¡¯t they¡¯ll take me back.¡± With the veil of life lifting from my eyes, I knew what to say. And of course I would say it. I¡¯d do anything for my son. Generations - Submission, 2021 My family was cursed. All the men died early, none living beyond their sixties. My father was no exception. I watched the tow truck dump the remains of his car into the dust of the driveway. One wheel was askew, windows shattered, roof crumpled. The airbags had been deployed, leaving a fine white dust over everything but for the seat where my father had been driving. He was missing for two days before his car was found upside down in a ravine. The coroner¡¯s report was inconclusive. His injuries had not been fatal. Oddly, the police report showed no skid marks on the road. He had missed the turn and driven over the edge without hesitation. Perhaps it had been a heart attack, dead before he hit bottom. After two days of decomposition it was impossible to know for certain. I had the car delivered here out of morbid curiosity. When the tow truck left, I looked inside for clues the police may have missed. The backseat was filled with glass shards, paperwork from a loose briefcase scattered about. Like my thoughts, it was a mess. Is this my fate, dead in a ditch or drowned in a bathtub like my grandfather? It made me never want children just to end the cycle. I turned to the trunk. Bent out of shape, it was jammed, refusing to open. Getting a large screwdriver, I pried at it using a lip of metal as leverage. The trunk popped open releasing a stale, fetid odor. Lifting, I felt resistance, then the door pulled out of my hand and slammed shut again. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Confused, I tried once more. It opened a hand¡¯s width but no further. I stooped to look through the gap to see what had snagged it. Something inside shifted, an undulating darkness. Startled, I jumped back. Had an animal gotten into the car? After two days in a ravine, perhaps a raccoon had made a home of it. I banged on the trunk hoping to cow the creature into submission before trying again. This time it opened with ease. I never had a chance to see what was inside. A dark flowing mass leapt out and wrapped around my head, blocking my vision. When I tried to cry out the thing shoved its way into my mouth, cutting off my voice. I clawed at it, but it was slippery, hands tearing through viscous slime. Flailing, I fell to the ground and rolled trying to release the creature¡¯s grip, but to no avail. I could feel it slipping further down my throat, choking me. Without air my strength flagged. Then I was gone. When I got up I brushed off the dust. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I hoped this one was stronger than the last. It would be good not to have to move again anytime soon. Even so I needed to settle down and have children. After all, nothing lasts forever. Warm Lap - Submission, 2022 Princess sat in a corner of the room. She had performed the required sacraments to the elder gods. She had knocked over the glasses of water and wine in libation, presented the offerings of bone and meat as sacrifice. She called forth the screams of her servants with claw and tooth, and yowled the songs of praise and glory to the great Goddess. Now she cleansed herself of sin with her tongue as prescribed by rites passed to her by her mother and mothers before her through the ages. Then she pushed her beloved toy fish into the corner, which jingled with ritual bells, followed by her favorite feathered plush which squealed with its call of death and longing. ¡°I plead to you, oh Bast, Queen of Cats, Lady of Night!¡± she meowed. ¡°I offer now my prized possessions to commemorate your dominion over the Lords of sea and sky. Take these in hope that you shall hear me and grant a boon.¡± The darkness deepened and sounds muffled as a shadow coalesced from the night. Her toys disappeared into mist, leaving the clench of guilt in Princess¡¯s gut. She flinched when she heard the voice like a whispered breeze. ¡°I am here, my child. You have called and I have come as the ancient agreements demand. Speak your need.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Princess shook off her trepidation. She extended her front claws and stretched out in supplication. ¡°Greetings, my great Lady. My servants work to meet my needs, as is proper, but their toil calls them away from hearth and home. I am denied the warmth of their laps and the fervor of their touch. It is not proper. I ask that they remain close, that their work be done without travel so they may better serve me, as is my right. I do this in the name of all cats so that we may enjoy the love and adoration of our humans.¡± The shadow in the corner flickered in consideration. ¡°This is no small request. Sacrifices must be made. Some will suffer so that you and your kin may not. Your servants will know fear and death.¡± ¡°All the better,¡± Princess replied in satisfaction. ¡°They will cling to us all the more in their need for love and protection from the darkness. Some must be sacrificed if all cats are to be worshipped.¡± ¡°So be it. Your will shall be done.¡± The shadow faded and was gone, leaving no trace of itself or her toys. And so it came to be. Princess lounged in the lap of her human as they talked to the disembodied heads of others on a computer screen. Food was left at the door of her home to feed her servants. They became ever-present. Her humans whispered at night in fear, talking of vaccines and sickness and death, all while stroking Princess¡¯s neck with affection. She purred. This was as it should be. Offering - Submission, 2022 Dr. Randall Archer wormed his way out of the narrow tunnel into what he thought was the ancient temple of Neith, the Egyptian goddess of weaving and destiny. A natural cave formation, the space was littered with stone columns, some resembling falling water frozen in time, most carved into the shapes of people whose faces flowed like melted wax from centuries of dripping minerals. He held up his electric lantern, the stark light coaxing iridescent rainbows from the water worn stone. In the dimness he could make out an altar at the opposite end of the room, a shimmering sheet of cobwebs covering the surface. ¡°I made it through!¡± he shouted back through the tunnel. ¡°This is it!¡± The temple had been lost for centuries. His assistants would need time to set up before they could follow, allowing him the opportunity to appreciate his discovery. He planned to savor every moment. The caryatid columns with their contorted expressions demanded attention, but it was the alter that drew him first. Stepping carefully over the slick floor, he could make out a stone slab supported by two hewn stalagmites. Beneath the cobwebs were carvings of spiders crawling around the edge in single file. Curious, he wiped at the webs for a clearer view. They stuck to his palm. He tried to shake them off, but all that did was draw more of the webbing from the slab, pulling at it like a bedsheet. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°What the hell?¡± He put down the lantern so he could use both hands to wipe at himself. This only entangled his fingers further into webbed mittens. These were not old, dusty cobwebs like he was used to. These were white and fresh, sticky and tenacious. He heard a whisper in the dark. Instinctively he ceased his struggles and turned, drawing the webbing around him like a blanket. The massive spider stood just feet away, a black, bulbous abdomen over legs as long as his arms and just as thick. Streaks of red like dripping blood covered its exoskeleton, and its glittering eyes shown above curved dagger-like fangs. In denial he looked away toward the columns, but light and shadow revealed a truth. They were not carved. He was surrounded by the exsanguinated husks of corpses bound to natural columns with webbing and oozing dripstone. In panic he pulled at his cocoon, but the silken threads wrapped around him even more tightly. Thoroughly encased, he fell back onto the stone slab like an offering. The creature glided casually over him, examining its gift with eight, unfeeling eyes. He tried screaming, but the webbing muffled his cries. Biting into his stomach, it belched digestive acids into him. He could feel his insides burn as they melted into liquid nourishment. When the spider sucked at him, drawing his essence into itself, he could feel himself slipping away, becoming a part of it, until his soul was gone and only Neith remained. Going Home - Honorable Mention, 2023 Barbara was oblivious. The patch on her neck was slowly filtering medication into her system, dulling her senses and making her world a little dimmer. At least it took away her bouts of vertigo. Unknown to her, a subtle turbulence deep inside the planet was causing the earth¡¯s crust to quiver like a bell. The earth was singing and she could not hear it. She heard dogs howling outside. ¡°What¡¯s up with them?¡± she asked her husband. Robert was watching television, having paused his morning preparations to watch a news report about unusual seismic activity. She expected a quip about how dogs could hear things people couldn¡¯t. Instead he said ¡°Do you hear that?¡± With pants half on, he headed to the front door and walked outside as if to check. A cool, morning breeze drifted in through the open door from the nearby ocean, sending a shiver down Barbara¡¯s spine. ¡°Hear what?¡± she asked, but he didn¡¯t answer as he walked down to the street. Running after, she saw he was not alone. Everyone in the neighborhood had left their homes and were walking in various states of dress toward the beach. Barbara shook her husband¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Robert, what are you doing?¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Not now, Barbara,¡± he said in annoyance. ¡°I need to find out who¡¯s singing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t hear anything,¡± she said. She tried to pull on his arm, but she was diminutive compared to her husband. He barely felt it. Without hope of stopping him, she could do nothing but follow. As they walked, she saw people pouring in from every avenue, the stream of people becoming a river flowing toward the water. They walked until they reached the shoreline, stopping at the water¡¯s edge. Thousands of people lined the beach to either side, staring off over the ocean. ¡°I¡¯m scared, Robert. Please, let¡¯s go home.¡± ¡°I am going home,¡± he answered. Then he walked into the water. Barbara grabbed his arm, but no matter how much she screamed and tugged he would not stop. He slipped from her grasp and was gone. So was everyone else. Barbara was alone in the water, cool waves lapping at her chest. Returning to the shore in confusion, she was joined by a pack of dogs who stopped on the shore nearby to stare out over the water. Then they too walked in and disappeared. Frightened, she fled. Barbara ran through empty streets to a vacant home. It brought her no comfort. Even the television was silent, every channel black. She lay in bed, rocked to sleep by her sobs. She awoke to the song. Her medication had run out as she slept, allowing her senses to return. She could feel the sound in her bones, low and sonorous. It awoke an ancient instinct, a call to the first animals who walked on land to return to the comfort of the waves. Back at the beach, she watched the moon rise over the water. Then she went home. Empty Vessel - Submission, 2024 My name was called, waking me from my slumber where I dreamt of worlds long consumed. It came as a cacophonous song that reached across forgotten dimensions, its discordant melody forming a whole that a mind constrained to a single reality could never fathom without damage to themselves. To me it was sweet and delicious, a lure I could not resist. In hunger I answered, my song joining with that distant call to create a passage through which I could claw and slither between worlds. I rose then from deep waters, the salt of foreign oceans sliding from my scales. My summoners were perched upon the pinnacle of a great cliff, beings small and fragile, their ruddy skins little more than meaty bags straining to hold their essences together. In proof of their vulnerability, most had perished in the summoning, their minds and bodies torn apart by the glorious song. Unknown to them, their dying cries had formed the melodic undertones that enabled their song to reach me across dimensions. Those who remained alive, seeing me rise before them, broke their calls to chant and chitter at me like rasping insects. I did not understand their language, nor did I care to. Yet I could feel the longing in their voices. I could feel their need for respite from endless struggle, a need that formed a dark hunger mirroring my own. Their despair had opened them to my dreams, and in experiencing them, made them desperate to seek me out. They hoped that by summoning me I would bring them the peace they desired. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Plucking them from the cliffside like fruits of the garden, I gave them the peace they longed for. Their sweet darkness became part of me. Yet it did not sate the hunger I felt. My cravings were as endless as the oceans of this world. No mere appetizer could dull my urges. So I wandered this realm, seeking out others to fill my belly. Some would fight against me, stinging and biting, but it was of no consequence. Ultimately it only delayed their ends. I razed the land, drank of the seas, and devoured the living to feed my eternal hunger. Soon there was nothing left to eat. And as had happened before on countless worlds, my hunger, unfulfilled, turned to torpor. In this lifeless place I will rest, waiting for the denizens of yet another realm to enter my dreams and discover my name, and in knowing, sing out my name in longing. Until then I will sleep, and wait, and dream, as I had done more times than there are stars in the sky, and will do again and again until the end of time. Here I will become the empty vessel yearning to be filled once more.