Bleeding Ink – A Collection of Dark Tales Available on Smashwords

 60  dark tales by 40 authors – from short stories to poetry – this collection offers something  for everyone!

Get your copy at SMASHWORDS

Ever Yours,

The Ink Babes

Advertisements

PRESS RELEASE FOR BLEEDING INK – NOW AVAILABLE AT SMASHWORDS!

Hear ye!  Hear ye!

Ink Babes Press announces the release of

Bleeding Ink – a Collection of Dark Tales

As promised, this anthology will thrill you, confound you, and have you sitting at the edge of your seat with over sixty deliciously dark tales leaving you breathless, in bloody stitches, or scared half-to-death!

This compilation of paranormal, supernatural, dark and twisted works— penned by forty of today’s most talented and witty writers, novice and veteran alike—will have you looking over your shoulder and turning on all the lights!

Purchase your copy today at www.smashwords.com

NOTE: As this book is rated “Adult Content” in Smashwords you must deactivate the “Adult Filter” in order to search/view.

Forever My Valentine

Here’s a little dark flash fiction in honour of Valentine’s Day. Yes, of course it’s a little twisted, but then would you expect anything else from us at Bleeding Ink?

A quarter mile off the main road, where only hunters ventured to wander, Gage Sanders led a group of officers through the forest searching for the missing woman. Gage was known as the best tracker in the area and knew these woods like he knew his home. He’d helped the police on more than one occasion. Walking ahead and alone, he didn’t talk. He preferred it that way. The officers following him discussed what could have happened to the woman and observed his tracking skills. He zigzagged through the bushes, doing his job, leading, and listening.

Gage stopped at the edge of a small clearing and put his hand up. The officers looked beyond Gage to a large tree where a woman hung from a branch ten feet high. 

Her shredded shirt was twisted tight and caught in the rope that hung around her neck knotted at the back, exposing plenty of bare skin. Captain Andrews pointed to the scratches and dirt on her back and the bruises on her arms and legs. Gage walked the perimeter. Captain Andrews watched him studiously.

Blood had dripped down her legs and pooled onto the ground, but most of it had dried now. As Gage and Andrews walked around in front of her, Gage stared at the hole in her chest where her heart had been. He’d never been squeamish, having gutted deer, bear and moose most of his life. He’d seen some gory things, this didn’t make him flinch. Andrews covered his mouth and watched the absence of reaction in Gage.

Gage squatted down, took off his green John Deere cap, scratched his bald head, and surveyed the area with narrowed eyes, looking around microscopically for clues.

Captain Andrews observed the tracker. “Do you see something Gage?”

“In the bushes.” Gage pointed. “Tracks.”

“I don’t see anything…” Captain Andrews eyes darted to the bushes, back to Gage, then back to the bushes again.  He walked over and parted the branches with his gloved hands.

On the ground was a half-eaten heart, taken from the woman still hanging from the tree. A hunting knife stuck out of what was left of the heart and held a note in place. He tipped his head sideways to read the note, careful not to disturb the evidence. ‘A piece of your heart will always be mine. If I can’t have you no one will.’ Andrews stared intently at the bloodied knife.

He stood up then glanced at Gage and the other officers. “I know who did it, and now I know why.”

Gage put his cap back on, and stood. “Are we done here?”

“Just about,” Captain Andrews answered. “Handcuff him.” He nodded toward Gage prompting the other officers to grab the tracker.

“When did you know?” Gage asked, no emotion in his dead eyes.

“There were no tracks into the bushes. Only you knew what was there. You wanted us to find this.”

“I loved her.”

“A little too much, I’d say,” Andrews answered. “Read him his rights,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

Here at Bleeding Ink Anthology, we love dark tales. The sinister, the wicked, the morbid, the supernatural, and anything that makes you wonder how or why this story happened, and makes you think about a story long after reading it.

If you have a dark story, flash fiction, or poem send it to us. We’d love to read it and consider it for our anthology.

May the dark muses continue to inspire you and bless you with creative thoughts.

Ever Yours,

The Ink Babes

Friday the 13th at Bleeding Ink

 

A child born on a Friday is doomed to misfortune…

The old wives tale crept into my head as I leaned against a crooked tree nestled in the heart of Briar Forest, pen in hand, contemplating life. Sometimes, I came here alone to jot down ideas or write little, dark tales. It was good therapy, a way to channel my angst, and something I needed to do.

As I doodled in the margins, I wondered how much worse it could be if the Friday’s Child also happened to be born on the 13th. I pondered it, making notes as I did and added more to my story.

I smelled trouble in the air but deep in thought, I dismiss it. Then a shiver crept up my back like an icy finger.

I froze, reined in my nature sure to betray me in a heartbeat, and stopped breathing.

Immovable, like the rooted tree I leaned against, I realized what had chilled me was no breeze but a human finger.

“You’ve lost your way?” the voice attached to the frosty digit, asked.

“No,” I replied, willing myself to remain still no matter how much I needed to explode from the forest floor.

“What brings you here?” The male peered over my shoulder at the tale I’d begun weaving. “Are you a writer?”

“No. Not really,” I replied, my eyes shifting to better catch a glimpse of the drunken intruder as he slinked his way around me and the tree trunk. “I like to dabble.”

“In what?” The young, golden-haired man asked. I knew him from school – the jock who fancied himself a scholar. Brawny and rugged, his face promised everything dangerous. He didn’t know me.

“Things that wouldn’t interest you,” I said, my tone uninviting and curt. Perhaps my cool disposition would discourage him. I could only hope, for both our sakes.

Quick-handed, he ripped the journal from my grasp. I jerked forward, reaching for my story – the one I planned to submit to Bleeding Ink – and then I changed my mind.

Let him read a little. It might make him think…

“Ah, I see you’re interested in myths and lore.” He smirked after he skimmed over a few lines from my tale.

“Yes,” I said, biting the inside of my mouth. I wanted to punish the idiot for trespassing all over my sanctuary. Anger rose. Careful, I simply said, “I am.”

“Anything in par-ti-cular?” He annunciated.

“Dark fiction, mostly.” I had no idea why I felt the need to converse with him. Go away, leave me in peace. “It’s just about a guy born on Friday the thirteenth.”

“Friday? The thirteenth?” He laughed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not,” I said, glaring up at him. He’d made himself comfortable on the musty ground in front of me. I didn’t like it one bit. “What’s your name again?”

“Josh,” he cocked his head, gave me smile like he’d done me a great big favor. He didn’t ask me mine.

“Well, Josh, right before you barged in here, I’d been wondering what kind of life someone born on that day would lead.”

“Don’t believe any of that it’s-unlucky-stuff,” he said, his eyes darting to where branches snapped about a hundred feet behind me. “It’s a charmed life.”

“It is?” My senses picked up Josh’s buddies who’d finally caught up to him. My blood heated up. My body tingled and I knew what he was going to say right before he said it.

“I was born on the thirteenth.” He grinned. “’And I’m a Friday’s child.” He shouted the words like they were lyrics to a rock anthem and not just the title of my little dark story.

“Really…” My voice took on a honeyed tone, all dripping wet. The boys stumbled out from behind the trees.

“Yeah, really. Take this moment for instance. Not only is it Friday the thirteenth, but you’re here all alone and lonely, writing a story about a guy born on Friday the thirteenth.” He waved my journal in the air. “And guess what? I’m a horny guy born on Friday the thirteenth here with a few of my friends. All of us together – makes a partay!”

The drunken crew cheered.

“Now, how lucky is that?” he asked, advancing toward me.

“The answer to your question is in the last paragraph, Josh.” I pointed to my journal, fisted in his hand. “Why don’t you read it out loud for everyone to hear? I think the InkBabes are going to love it.”

“Babes?” he said, flipping through the pages. “Freaking good idea.”

“As he approached the young woman – with cold-hearted plans to take everything from her – he had no idea he faced a soul-eating demon. Unable to deny her hunger any longer she could not resist his Friday’s Child soul. With glowing eyes the color of death and blood, she ripped the young man apart swallowing his soul and devouring his black heart. Then she turned around, looking for more.”

Blood-curdling screams filled the air as I dined on pickled sweetmeats.

Dig to the bottom of your soul and stretch to the dark corners of your mind…

Do you have a juicy bit you’d like to submit to our Dark Fiction Anthology?

 ~Submissions open until filled~

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Bleeding Ink Anthology Accepting Story Submissions

Psst… yes I’m talking to you! Do you have a dark or twisted story to tell? 

Whew! Well that’s good because we here at Bleeding Ink are now accepting submissions of all styles to fill the pages of our new and exciting anthology. We welcome any and all writers, new and experienced alike so spread the word!

All we ask is that your work leaves the reader lingering over your tales long after they’ve put the book down.

So check out our submission guidelines page and send us your  creepy, twisted, deep, dark, impactful, stories, poems, flash fiction, and prose.  A little something warped for all to enjoy.

Our MISSION:  Create an anthology comprised of quality work that our authors will be proud to be a part of.

We can’t do this alone, we need YOU!  🙂

So get to work, get writing, and send your contributions, we don’t bite….. much!

Ever yours,

The Ink Babes

Shun the light of dawn ~ Hug the darkness close to you ~ Dream a little dream

%d bloggers like this: