Dark & Gritty

Flash Fiction greats

October is a two-faced month. One face made of crackling air, kaleidoscoped leaves, and reckless beverages made of pumpkin spice; the other face made of days cut off at the knees, eyes peering from bushes, and indistinct images at the edge of our vision. On days like today, the sun sits in the sky truly like a god bestowing fresh vigor to the natives. We forget to remember the darkness is waiting, watching, is always, always inevitable.

While I love October in New Orleans as one of the few months that is usually filled with cool, sunny, and reliable days, I have to admit that longer nights and the approach of Halloween ignites in me an itch for dark tales.

French Quarter VooDoo Shop, Photo by me

Here, I’ve collected a few dark and gritty pieces that tingled the hairs on the back of my neck and made me wish I could write like that.

“The Day The Beverly Died” by Katy Goforth in Underbelly Press tells the tale of a family-owned motel on the beach that’s seen better days and has fallen prey to the sharks of the real estate world and tenants of questionable lifestyles.

If I squint hard enough, I can picture this place as the destination it was meant to be. Back when people could afford to bring their families to a wholesome weeklong vacation full of corndogs, sand, and beach music. You might even find a treasure at the Gay Dolphin.

The high rises killed that dream and have been tightening their hands around the Beverly’s neck for the past ten years, choking her out slowly. Once the dream started dying, so did Daddy. 

“American Girl Doll” by Mary Thorson in Reckon Review touched the “ew” spot in my psyche because I have never liked dolls. Not even as a child. There’s something really creepy about their painted faces and shiny, plastic bodies. This is a creepy doll story that I really liked.

I have the one who has been told to stop putting her hands around her classmates’ throats, I say. The one who got in serious but quiet trouble when she stuffed sand in the mouth of that girl with dimples on both sides of her face.

“In His Element” by Eileen Tomarchio in Porter House Review. I was totally wowed by this weird, creative, creepy-cool tale and in complete awe of the mind that thought it up.

In time, I mastered the gag reflex, the urge to swallow the thing or spit it out. I got used to its solidity, its lemon-squeeze kick. I could leave it tucked under my tongue so it felt light as an abscess, a snuck Jujube candy. My features set so no one knew it was there, not even my father.

“Heaven is Where Al Pacino Doesn’t Exist” by Emily Voigt in Moonpark Review. This piece had me from the first great line: “There are countless ways a man can kill a woman, but we’re never told about boredom.” Love the dark humor that so many women will relate to in this piece because we’ve all had this experience. Men, read and take notes.

I’m not sure if he noticed my lipstick started to mix with blood as the evening progressed, or that my head was tilting more and more to the right. The only time he stopped talking was when he rolled himself a cigarette and played me a video of his last gig that went on for about six minutes.

The last two stories are double-luck for readers because they’er both by born story-teller Ra’Niqua Lee, who I just recently discovered. I am obsessed with her unique voice and her deft hand. From her bio: “Ra’Niqua Lee writes to share her particular visions of love and the South.” I am looking forward to following her writing journey.

“Freedom Edged in Alligator Teeth” in Milk Candy Review.

Wasn’t any alligators to see, though. She had never spotted one in all her years. When she was younger, her mother had warned her to keep away. Warned her about crushing jaws. Slicing teeth. Barreling rolls. Gators that liked the taste of black skin.

“Mary by Another Name” in Uncharted Magazine.

She had no reason to be scared. The ghost would come. She would bring it back to life. It would leave. This had been her burden for as long as she could remember. It was heavy enough to break a weaker back, but Lottie was used to holding up small worlds.

And finally, here’s a clip from what I think is the creepiest movie I’ve ever seen. I really can’t think of a current film that rivals it. If you haven’t watched Whatever Happened to Baby Jane with the great Joan Crawford and Bette Davis and (very skillful) horror is your jam, you must seek this one out!