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416
416
416
Ebook218 pages1 hour

416

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Four Hundred Sixteen. That’s all it takes to tell a story. A scary story. At least here. Every tale of horror and suspense in this book is exactly 416 words long (you can spend your time counting or reading, that’s up to you). Every story was written by a member of Authonomy.com.

Stephen King takes 1,200 pages to tell a story. We do it in half a page. Sometimes we do it better.

From Arachnoids to Zombies, “416” has it all. The first fifty four stories were submitted as part of my weekly Flash Fiction Friday contest. Always a treat for the readers, this particular contest was an outstanding success. We got a lot of “new” writers as well as the old standbys. Many wrote outside their comfort zone and they did it well.

So, now we have a collection of horror worthy to be on the shelves of whatever bookstores are still in business (another horror story in itself). Unfortunately, timing is everything and my Ouja board tells me that there is not enough time to get “416” on the shelves. That shouldn’t stop you from putting it on yours, however.

416 words is less than two pages. But you won’t believe what we can fit into those two pages. I know I didn’t, and I still believe in Obama.

When I first asked myself to edit this book, I thought “who wants to read a bunch of stories that aren’t even written by me. But after reading the submissions, I can almost see the logic of it. Besides, there are two stories that are by me, so everyone wins.

Now, here we sit. You, me, and fifty-something tales, tailor made to be read on a cold October night. Short, intense and eerie. You can take them in small doses or plow through with one eye shut and one open. It’s up to you.

Don’t be shy with feedback and comments. After all, a zombie can live on brains but a writer needs attention if he or she wants to thrive and survive.

Finally, if you think it’s easy, feel free to give it a try. Send me a 416 word horror story before October 30, 2011, and I may add it to this lovely tome. Thank you to Authonomy and Rachel Authonomy for inspiring all of us to rise to this challenge. Mr. King and Koontz have set the bar. You tell us if we cleared it.

And yes, this introduction is exactly 416 words.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAdam Sifre
Release dateOct 20, 2011
ISBN9781465893819
416
Author

Adam Sifre

I'm not surprised you're here. What could be more interesting than reading about me? Besides reading "I've Been Deader," I mean. I'm a Leo. When I'm not avoiding process servers, I write. Horror, comedy, romance, sci-fi. I do it all. And all my stories have a smart dog and small child in them, so you know they'll be best sellers. Sometimes I go the movies alone, order two small popcorns and talk out loud to myself about what I think is going to happen next on the screen. I'm currently single, but she's due back any moment, so please keep the erotic chat on the down low. I can be contacted at: IBDeader@hotmail.com

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    Book preview

    416 - Adam Sifre

    INTRODUCTION

    By Adam Sifre

    Four Hundred Sixteen. That’s all it takes to tell a story. A scary story. At least here. Every tale of horror and suspense in this book is exactly 416 words long (you can spend your time counting or reading, that’s up to you). Every story was written by a member of Authonomy.com.

    Stephen King takes 1,200 pages to tell a story. We did it in just one page. Sometimes we did it better.

    From Arachnoids to Zombies, 416 has it all. The first fifty stories were all submitted as part of my weekly Flash Fiction Friday contest. Always a treat for the readers, this particular FFF was an outstanding success. We got a lot of new writers as well as the old standbys. Many wrote outside their comfort zone and they did it well.

    So, now we have a collection of horror worthy to be on the shelves of whatever bookstores are still in business (another horror story in itself). Unfortunately, timing is everything and my Ouija board tells me that there is not enough time to get 416 on the shelves. That shouldn’t stop you from putting it on Kindle, however.

    416 words is less than one page. But you won’t believe what we can fit into that small space. I know I didn’t, and I still believe in Obama.

    When I first asked myself to edit this book, I thought "who wants to read a bunch of stories that aren’t even written by me. But after reading the submissions, I can almost see the logic of it. Besides, there are three stories that are by me, so everyone wins.

    Now, here we sit. You, me, and sixty-something tales, tailor made to be read on a cold October night. Short, intense and eerie. You can take them in small doses or plow through with one eye shut and one open. It’s up to you.

    Don’t be shy with feedback and comments. After all, a zombie can live on brains but a writer needs attention if he or she wants to thrive and survive.

    Finally, if you think it’s easy, feel free to give it a try. Send me a 416 word horror story before October 30, 2011, and I’ll add it to this lovely tome. Thank you to Authonomy and Rachel Authonomy for inspiring all of us to rise to this challenge. Mr. King and Koontz have set the bar. You tell us if we cleared it.

    And yes, this introduction is exactly 416 words.

    CHAPTER 2

    The Moon

    By Will Macmillan Jones

    It started in a bar, as do so many things. A dim-lit cellar bar, where the smoky jazz played by the house band drifted like the haze rising from the myriad of cigarettes. He had been coming to the bar for a couple of weeks, but had not made acquaintances there, not yet. Twice now, he had seen her across the room, her flowing blonde hair shimmering whilst the beguiling music played and the deep-voiced girl with the microphone sang slowly of love and loss, heartache and regret, and - yes - occasionally of passion and joy.

    Suddenly, as the music swirled sensually around, she was beside him at the bar. Their eyes met, and held in a long, long look before he turned away to order another drink. Disturbed, shaken by the casual intensity of her gaze, he trembled as she lightly placed her hand over his.

    You seem to be alone, she murmured in a velvet voice. He nodded. So am I, tonight, she said softly, then kissed him and took his hand in hers. Looking into her eyes his drink lay forgotten on the bar, as she pulled, with such tempting pressure, on his arm. Responding, he moved closer to her, smelt the subtle perfumes, entranced. As they moved away from the bar the bartender swept away the drink with a wry smile.

    Where can we go? he asked a quiver in his voice.

    She answered with a smile that shivered his soul, and slowly licked her lips. Then turned, as he watched – but not for long – as she swayed out through a door marked ‘PRIVATE’. Without hesitation, he followed. Through the door lay a set of steps, leading downwards. A warm, dim glow lit the stairs, and reflected from her golden hair.

    His breathing became short now and he hurried forward, filled with anticipation and desire. Yet, he did not anticipate the figures that appeared behind him, and seizing him in their strong hands threw him across the cellar floor and onto the low altar that lay in the center of the cellar. Other, hooded ones took him, and bound him spread-eagled on the stone. Gently, they took his clothes, and left him naked on the stone. Wildly, he looked around as the hooded figures began to sway and move around the altar as they chanted in a strange tongue. His bowels loosened as she approached, crowned now with ivy, raising the sacrificial knife above her head, filled with anticipation and desire.

    CHAPTER 3

    Eternity

    By Lilian Kendrick

    All alone?

    Yes. I am always alone.

    Dance?

    Why not? I have nothing to lose, why not have a little fun?

    We danced to the frenzied beat of rock music. The track ended and a ballad started. He pulled me towards him for the slow number. To have strong arms around me felt good. I rested my head on his shoulder. He whispered promises in my ear. We kissed and then... nothing. I remember nothing else.

    My wrists are hurting so I’ve stopped struggling against the bonds. They aren’t going to give way. It’s dark. I mean, pitch black. I can’t see anything at all and I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I’ve wracked my brain and all I can come up with is the dancing and the kiss.

    I’m naked and cold and it’s damp in here. Maybe it’s a basement, or something? The noises are the worst part. Not loud noises, but subtle ones. Scratching, squeaking – stuff like that. I thought there might be rats. God! Please don’t let it be rats!

    I think I’m alone. I called out a few times, but it seemed to aggravate the squeakers and I didn’t get an answer, anyway.

    I must have fallen asleep again. It’s quiet now. How long have I been here? I tried to stand up, but I haven’t any strength in my legs. All I can do is roll sideways, and I don’t want to move too far when I can’t see where I’m going.

    I’m so thirsty. My throat feels all cracked-up and dry, and I need to pee like you wouldn’t believe.

    Surely someone has to come soon. But why should they? There’s no-one to miss me; no-one to notice I’ve gone. I try to catch my tears on my tongue to relieve the thirst, but they’re rolling in the wrong direction because I’m lying on my side. The sobbing hurts my throat more, but I can’t stop it. I must regain control; think of something that made me happy.

    So I think about the kiss that started it all. His lips were warm and gentle on mine. His tongue flicked across the roof of my mouth and I wanted to devour him. He promised me... I can’t remember the promise, it didn’t matter then. His hands slid down my back as we danced and I was lost in the sweetness of the new sensations.

    He will come and release me soon.

    He promised me eternity.

    CHAPTER 4

    Succubus Kiss

    By Sharon Van Ormen

    He lay upon the bed. His frail chest rising and falling rapidly. It seemed strange to me that a man who had been responsible for taking so many lives would soon lose his.

    On his nightstand sat a book. Malleus Maleficarum. The Hammer of the Witches.

    The light of the moon shone in through the window placed high on the wall. I crossed my legs; the buckle on my shoe caught that cold light and gave it back.

    That I loved him was never the question. That he loved me was also never cause for doubt. That he had me tried for witchcraft and summarily executed was equally factual. That I died. Well, therein lay the crux of our story.

    I rose from the old rocker that had seen a constant presence for the past several months. It amused me to think what their reaction would be to find me sitting there. They would likely use it for kindling. Throw it into the hungry flames just as I had been, I said aloud not caring who heard, if anyone should care to hear.

    Wake up, Heinrich, I whispered against his lips. It was my gift, this kiss.

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