Three award winning short stories in one tiny package.
Luki: Waking up in a dark room, Danny doesn't know where he is. All he remembers is Luki, the woman he traveled to Japan for. Something has happened to him. He can't remember what. Did it happen to Luki as well? He needs to find her to discover the answers for himself. (Claw Award 2006)
The Three Sixes: The Sixes are everywhere. Jacob wasn’t stupid, he learned the game quickly, studied the rules, and he knew what the night brought. He knew the night wanted him. Wanted to drain his blood, capture his soul, torture his body, scorch the flesh, feed on it, devour it. (Now a TV show on UKs Fragnents of Fear. Season two.)
Santa: Ho. Ho. Ho. A hallway of blood.
You don't want to meet him. (Winner The Horror World flash fiction contest in 2004 )
Genre: FICTION / Horror
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It’s dark and cold here. The ground is lumpy, cold, and damp and I can feel small stones sticking into my side.
How did I get like this? I don’t remember clearly what happened. All I do remember are teeth. Big...long...teeth. And fear, yeah I remember that. Fear and teeth.
A shiver runs down my body. My hands search for injuries in the darkness, I can’t see anything but I can feel wetness on my stomach. Further down—my God—I’m naked.
Noises I can hear noises. Someone was moving about. A hand touches my shoulder. I don’t scream but I want to.
Danny, I tell myself, you’re a man, grin and handle it.
The Hand moves to my eyes now. They’re open, the feeler knows this. The voice whispers to me but the words make no sense.
The three Sixes:
Darkness. Shadows. Evil. Hiding. Everywhere.
The house was aglow. All the lights burned brightly, piercing the night seeping in through uncurtained windows and door frames and any entry point not covered. The wind howled pushing the darkness forward, edging it on.
The man stood in front of the window watching it come. In his hand a cigarette burned between the third and forth finger. Gripped in the web of his thumb and held firm by the index finger was a bottle of Bourbon.
Santa didn't exist.
The fat bastard was not real.
But if that was the case, why was Simon Clark staring at a fat man in a red suit with a white beard, carrying a sack and standing in the hallway of his home?
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Santa stared at him.
Already translated. Translated by Andrea Sarchielli
Fantastic and faster than I thought.
Already translated. Translated by Rodolpho Neto
Already translated. Translated by José Luis Tapia Troncoso
Well done. Excellent all the way.