©Tanya Grout

The medium sat still in the shadows. He listened to Mi Li talk.

Her candle-lit face flickered of the Philippines, the nose, the eyes: almond shaped and beautiful. She was shaking. “Please help me,” she said, “Every morning, I hear the cat padding around the living room. I hear it yawn, eat its food, race up and down the curtains…”

“And that’s a problem?” The medium asked.

“Yeah, it is when it’s dead!” She said. “First my father died of a massive heart attack. The next day his cat jumps off the roof of the building, killing itself too. I find fur-balls everywhere, paw prints over my pillow and I wake up with scratches all over my body. It’s making me ill, I’m so upset.”

The medium slipped into a trance quickly and was soon shaking violently. He spoke in another voice that scared Mi Li because she knew it was someone dead reaching through from the other side. She hoped it wasn’t her father, as he terrified her some.

“The cat didn’t take its own life. Your father’s ghost did. The mad spectre dragged it by the scruff, screeching and mewling, up to that roof top and threw it off so he could have its company in the afterlife, but all he did was create an enemy…”

The medium slipped out of his trance. His eyes alive with warning: “You have a house guest: vicious and raging, out for blood with sharp teeth and razors for claws. Beware sweet Mi Li, Beware…”

© Kym Darkly


Why was he wearing a helmet made of tin foil? I thought. Maybe he’s one of those UFO freaks.

“Lotta lost souls in them cities,” he said, a plume of rancid garbage wafting over. I noticed that his lips didn’t move. I looked around. There was no other on the train.

“The Lost Ones, thems you gotta look out for.” Still his lips didn’t move.

Train stopped. Lights out! Even emergencies. Pitch black.
An echo-scream flared from the bowels of the endless winding underground.

“Sound like animals trapped in time, don’t they? The Lost Ones are comin’
to rip yous apart.”

“What the fuck?” I blurted, not sounding at all like a Partner in Law at Burns and Badden. “They’re just coming for me? What the fuck about you?”

“I’m wearing a helmet,” he whispered. “They can’t hear me think.”

“Well I can!” I said angered by another scream, this time closer.

“Yeah, but you ain’t them,” he replied.

The next scream was in the car. Panic time. Whatever these things were, one was scampering right for me. I lunged across, grappled around for the old guy, grabbed his helmet and crashed it onto my own head. I stumbled back, completely blind in the dark.

His yelling was crushed by crunching, spitting, and slurping. Whatever it was, was enjoying him as a meal and I, though morally bankrupt, was safe – for now…

© kym darkly


His problem was curious. It was a stockings and stilettos ordeal. He’d grown accustomed to following them home, clickety clack, late at night and they’d never suspected anything. Sometimes the gams belonged to a friend of the girl he was dating or a muse from work, but tonight he was the unsuspecting one.

Tonight the peep show would be different. Not even he was prepared for the rush of blades and the silken skin cut into thin red lines, high on a thigh.

He was frozen in the dark, mesmerized, anchored to the frosted window and suddenly he understood. Her strawberry blond self-destruction took him back to his childhood: the stockings, stilettos, the blood, his mother, her killer…

© kym darkly


Rage followed him home. He didn’t know what to do with it. It couldn’t be his. It must be someone else’s. Why didn’t it leave him and his Bourbon alone? He had enough problems goddamit!

Rage took him by the collar and dragged him into the bedroom. “They had sex here,” it told him and then, Rage slipped into his mind like flour skipping through a sieve. “The fucking War on Terror and now you come home to this? You deserve some respect!”

Now Rage was inside him, brewing, and he couldn’t wait for her to come through that door in her skimpy dress, especially given that she would be with that guy and he had more than enough ammunition for two.

The only problem was, he was a bit confused. It was strange, but he thought he might have killed them both already, three nights ago…

© kym darkly


by Kym Darkly

Trying to find one’s body can be difficult, especially when the limbs have been torn apart: disarticulated by saws and knives and evil. It’s not like I wanted to go back into that rotting corpse. I just needed to have contact one more time with my own flesh before letting it go. It hurt to find a leg in the trash, a foot in the stove and my head in the fridge between the eggs and orange juice, cradled under someone else’s hand, but I had to know what had happened to me. I had to know what that madman had done. I do wish I hadn’t found my torso and hips though – unspeakable things… I can’t even say…

© kym darkly

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Please ask for permission to re-blog or re-post 🙂


The creature that slid through his mind was sorting his thoughts – separating the “Hi how are you’s?” from the dagger stabs and blood mayhem that slashed the walls at night – a new apartment, another victim. He didn’t get it. He knew he was a good guy, but this thing had gotten in there and had been controlling him for days, maybe weeks. He felt so alone, now that he was a killer…

© kym darkly