Faulty Advice Friday | JR

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Welcome back to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions a n s w e r e d.


Lydia,

Do children make good packing material? Just asking because I’m shipping some glassware.

JR

Let’s kick this faulty advice Friday right in the teeth: what’s cold and blue and doesn’t move? (Shh shh. Let them guess!) Alright, ready? The baby in my freezer!

JR, I can’t possibly fathom why you’d want to use children to make your packing materials. (Kathy Lee Gifford would probably approve of your style though)

Seems like a fruitless effort in my opinion; most of ’em would probably just squish a bunch of play dough and do a wee bit of paper machè. Neither of which am I inclined to believe would protect your precious glassware. But, if you’ve got some hangin’ around, might as well take a moment to mention a new eco-friendly form of packaging for the masses.

Infant stuffed crates, toddler lined totes, teenage coach ba—… I mean, I could go on. But what’s the number one foolproof way to ship such delicate and fra-gee-lay items?

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It helps to pick an outfit. The reason entrepreneur types are better than everyone else is clearly because of their signature looks. Might I suggest grabbing some inspiration from what Christian Bale rocked while discussing Huey Lewis and the News with dear Paul Allen. Pro tip: this will save on clean-up later!

Depending on what sort of glassware you’re shipping determines how one might want to utilize the children. There’s no such thing as ‘Wasteful Wendy’s here.

Use intestines for wrapping vases, or to mimic the protection of bubble wrap. If you remember those weird little tube toy things that made everyone mildly uncomfy in the 90s, handling intestines (large or small) is a lot like that. Be careful with those slippery bastards!

Fingers, toes, and finely chopped limbs can be used in place of packing peanuts in a pinch!

The proper procedure for this does become a bit lengthy, but you end up with a two for one. Who wouldn’t be into that? You’ll want to dry the bits and bobs, and it will be a lengthy process. Begin checking the “Cherky” after about 3 hours to avoid over-drying. An extra reason to apply this method? If you have a furry friend that likes to eat all things they shouldn’t – feasting on child jerky is totally cool, and occasionally kosher.

Of course, you can always flay them and simply wrap your glasses in freshly peeled skin wraps. If they’re particularly fresh, as in just off the rack [*ba dum tiss… don’t @me*] the sinewy tissues still coated with a tasteful splash of blood can help to get in there and stick the packing material to your glassware for that super extra security.

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So, do children make good packing materials? Yeah, I’d say so. From their flesh to their bones, and even some of their teeth – you can definitely count on them to get your items…. well… at least to the post office. I’m not sure how much further they’ll get from there, probably find yourself a new fancy pair of chain-linked steel bracelets though. Free jewelry, am I right?

Happy hunting JR! I hope your glassware is safe on all its travels.

Stay spooky!👻🥰


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

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Faulty Advice Friday | BkDeCay666

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Welcome back to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions a n s w e r e d.


Lydia,

I’m having trouble sleeping through the night without waking up a hundred times, any suggestions?

BkDeCay666

Greetings from the land of the well rested, BkDeCay666! Must suck to be stuck in the waking world so often… I joke, I joke, I kid, I kid. I’ve never been among the fortunate sleepers out there, but let’s get started. Maybe you’ll even be able to make it through the night.

That waking restlessness you’ve got going on is definitely from ghosts. If you can’t sleep, there’s about a 99.9999999999% chance there’s summin’ dead staring at your face. Now, I’m not one to judge, but if you’ve got some kinda freaky deaky goin’ on with this paranormal paramour, you can always hang out with Ke$ha, Demi Moore, and Snedeker dude. #YouAreNotAlone Not feelin’ that GhostBuster’s mojo? Call in the very best in Ghost Bully Specialists and they’ll probably yell a buncha weird shit and try to fight the ghost for you. -Shrug- if you can’t sleep, might as well have some fun, huh?

If it’s not ghosts (it definitely is, but just in case) you could always try that modern medical marvel, the sleeping pill. All experiences may vary but, I believe this might just be a job for the likes of the Ambien Walrus*.

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Promising to help you sleep, you won’t be waking up a million times a night anymore. You’ll have one of two things happen, a super restful sleep that sometimes makes you feel a bit groggy, or an adventure you’ll never remember.

Creatures like the aforementioned walrus are customary in the land of no return. I recall a friend of mine once demanding that her husband explain himself. We both looked at her confused, but she was solidly certain that he’d come home with three green people and wanted to know why these green people were in her home. Additionally, I once caught her playing with an empty trash bag on her bed… she said she was playing with the dog. But I digress, you’ll have your own sort of guide to get you through. Also, oodles of inanimate objects will begin to dance and breathe, don’t panic. Just start taking videos and sending them to all your friends so they can see how beautiful and horrifying the dancing snow is. They’ll love it. Trust me.

Not diggin’ adding a medication to your routine but still want to sleep? No biggie, I understand, some people aren’t for that kind of wild ride. You’ll have to preform a sacred ritual in order to confront the Sandman. Grab traditional sleeping robes: a ripped up band-T and some plaid pajama pants. If you don’t have the traditional garb, you’ll have to make due with whatever is available (may the Sandman have mercy on your soul). Lay in your bed, as still as possible, breathing as shallow as you can. Chant ‘Hooma, Booma, Chrimba, Zoomba!!” over and over until the Sandman arrives. If the sun comes up before he shows, you don’t have one, and will sadly have no choice but to crack yourself on the head each night with an item of your choosing. Sorry, but it’s the only way to guarantee not waking, sucks to suck, yano? BUTTTTTTT, if he does come through, ask him politely to add a few more drizzlings of sand to your batch. He should be cool about it, or maybe chop off your head. Who knows? If you find out, definitely let me know.

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Waking a gazillion times can drive you crazy. No, really, I’m not kidding. So if you’re going to do something, why not do it right? Give up on trying to sleep, if you don’t sleep – you can’t wake up over and over right? Right.

God speed BkDeCay666, may the Sandmen and sleep aids forever guide you to your dream world.

Stay spooky!👻🥰

*Experiences may vary, Ambien Walrus is not a guaranteed new friend, but often lurks about.


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

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Faulty Advice Friday | NormalBatesBnB

Welcome back to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions a n s w e r e d.


Lydia,

What 4 actions would you say are the keys to success?

NormalBatesBnB

NormalBatesBnB, hey, hi, thank you for coming. I’m not sure if I should put the lotion in the basket or consider bathing by bubble bath from now on… Either way… Do… Uh.. do you have long pig at your B&B? Kinda dying to know tbh. (Why am I stuck on cannibalism two posts in a row? Someone needs to check on us I guess haha.) Anywho…

I would like to start by mentioning that associating one’s self with a rather prolific horror icon miiiiiiiiight or might not be the way to do anything successful. Truthfully, it could go either way. I used to have a friend who made chain store club cards to put in for those who’d forget theirs in the names of different serial killers. She got caught by a customer once and needless to say, it was incredibly hilarious to watch her stumble through explaining who this ‘Albert Fish’ was and why he bought their {[REDACTED_ITEM_BRAND]}. So, do with that what you will.

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First and foremost, in order to become one of the successful beautiful people (achieving this level unlocks warranties for plastic cheeks: tops and bottoms) you’re going to have to SEND ANONYMOUS PACKAGES. Secretly enlist a friend to unsuspectingly obtain the address of your target. Search the intrawebz for anonymous packages to suit your specific needs.
Speaking from experience, sometimes sending something out of the ordinary is better than something gross. (I.E. Anonymously mailing your colleague a package instructing them to eat a bag of dicks, with dick glitter/confetti, magnets, and gummies inside. Signing a client’s name as the sender…*chef’s kiss*.. or… you know. mailing your boss a mini piñata with a note exclaiming “Merry Christmas!” in an alternate language, just in time for a completely different holiday….) Sorry, tangent. Do it.

The only logical next step from converting to snail-mailer-daemonism is to hop on board with the Illuminati. Don’t reach for the tinfoil yet, hear me out: IF you join the group that everyone knows exists, but denies existence of, who’s to say you AREN’T already in the Illuminati? Head hurt? Confused? Good, everyone else will be too. Proudly promote your status as a tippy-top officer with oodles and boodles of juicy insider knowledge. Build up intense mystery/buzz/rumors around your life, make sure you get this stuff all across the globe. Eventually, some new friends will show up and, well, they’ll have eternity to know your flesh. *shivers*

Now that you’ve rearranged the pecking order in the office and secured your place in the NWO, you’ll need to get some money to match your obviously lavish and crazy life style. Who works anymore? Pffft. Get into the Praying Mantis Breeding* game. Lucrative, unique, something to tell the family about! Added bonus, turning up your nose at those eeee-diotz who recoil in fearful disgust from seeing your diorama of Mantis Brothels.

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Finally, when’s the last time you ate something? It’s important to stay fully hydrated and fueled or you won’t have any energy to go out and concur the world. Or… be spiteful and mean, dealer’s choice I suppose.

No, no, that’s it. Go getchurself a snack and some water. (: You deserve it you Mantis Breeding Free Mason who terrorizes people with strange and unexpected mail. Your success will be unmatched.

Parting with this final thought: keys to success are not for the faint of heart; each step must be completed in this order for best results.

I wish you luck on your road to the top NormalBatesBnB, but, you know, please don’t creep on anyone in the shower…

Stay spooky!👻🥰


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

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Faulty Advice Friday | AwkzCable

Welcome back to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions a n s w e r e d.


Lydia,

i can’t cook. i have no interest in learning but i’m bored of pizza rolls. what should i do?

AwkzCable

Merry Fri-muss AwkzCable, what a mess you’ve been. I’m sure ol’ Saint Lydia Claus has something for you 🙄😞

I can’t cook either, and while that may seem to some like an unlikely inability, it’s true! I’ve been known to turn poptarts into magma in toaster ovens. What I would have to advise is to couple up with a super cool cook type, and let them take care of the dirty work. ……. I mean….. 😉😆

If you’re not interested in abandoning your freedom/individuality/independence/whatever else the kids say these days… I’d say you have only a modicum of proper, plausible choices.

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Choice 1: Peanut Butter and Jelly. There’s nothing more appealing than some of that salty sticky nuttiness between two slices of toasty bread, slathered in a whole mess o’ jelly. This should be a staple in the pizza roll maniac’s cookbook. — Just sayin’. If you have a peanut allergy, (i feel bad for you son. I got a lotta allergies, but a nut ain’t one) then I suppose that sucks and you will unfortunately have to starve about it. Come at me bro.

Choice 2: Hunger Strike. Who doesn’t love a good hunger strike? With the world we’re in, you could essentially live off spite and never ever have to eat again. I mean… shit, they say twiggy is the new piggy right? #GetEm You can fight the man, throw an adult sized temper tantrum because no one’s cooking food for you, AND potentially end up getting your way while pushing some potentially unbelievable agenda? Sign me up bro. (No, actually, don’t, this sounds kinda awful, I for one love pasta… and the FSP, so.. more nothing for you I suppose?)

Choice 3: The ol’ switcharoo. Pop over to a friend’s house, or even a relative. See if they’ve got anything edible, and feel free to switch out some of their food for your inedible frozen friends. This may require some level of tactful skill, be willing to start small. Make sure you take things no one will miss at first (brussel sprouts, some ay-pples and ba-nonos) and graduate to the bigger stuff once you’ve sufficiently convinced this friend/family member that it’s simply their failing mental faculties misplacing all these items.

Choice 4: Cannibalism. I mean, if I have to explain this one, I don’t think you’re ready for it. As my long lost great uncle once said, “If you’re going to eat meat, might as well be long pig.’

Additional points to choosing cannibalism? Might become a Wendigo (won’t know until you try right?). You can corner the market on food trucks for those who also share such predilections. You’re going to end up on Investigation Discovery at some point, and if that’s not #GOALS, I don’t know what is.

Hopefully you’re able to enjoy some of these very useful options. I know sometimes it can be difficult to think outside the box about our diets, but you know, it’s something we’ve got to pull together and figure out.

Stay mopey AwkzCable, keep yourself nourished. If you can’t think clearly, how in the hell you guna get away with it? Lemme get some shovels up in here.

Stay spooky!👻🥰


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

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Faulty Advice Friday | Pack0fl0new0lves

Welcome back to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions a n s w e r e d.


Lydia,

You’ve got to help me. I keep making plans with people but can’t seem to stick to em. I’m just not in the mood anymore. What should I do? How can I fix it?

Pack0fl0new0lves

Pack0fl0new0lves, welcome to the club… 🙄😞

Normally I find myself stuck on someone’s name for a moment, but when I saw this question, I could feel the need to help deep down in ma plums. *insert weird deep voice here*

More often than not, when one experiences the phenomena you’ve expressed here today, it can be chalked up to what we experts call, ‘Uh-oh spaghetti O’s!’

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While you find yourself longing for the companionship of loved ones, you’re simply easily seduced by the comfort of some rather voluptuous bed sheets. So what is one to do upon receiving the UOSO (phonetically: oOOo-so) diagnosis? Well I guess there’s out one way out: t h r o u g h.

Instead of continuing to be a disappointment to your parents, you’ll need to act quickly or the damage could be irreversible…

Step One: Stop trying to contact the outside world. Honestly, whats out there that you can’t get from 70 different streaming services, gaming consoles, news outlets and even porn? Plus man, they made pretty much everything deliverable. Commitment is key.

Step Two: Stop speaking. If you aren’t seeing anyone, you don’t generally need to speak aloud, do you? Step Two.oh: develop a series of click like echo location noises to help navigating around the homestead. While you’re not necessarily blind, those super rad florescent lights and lack of sunlight are top tier catalysts for taking that major leap.

Step Three: Wardrobe change! You’re going to need those hater blockers. Yeah, you heard me right. Even though you’re well on your way to becoming the ideal recluse, you should always have a pair of hater blockers on hand. Never know when you might have to improvise not seeing someone.

Step Four: Leave a Cryptic Message. You don’t want to lose those amazingly important humans that somehow don’t seem to measure up enough for you to see, SO you should get a little creative. Send messages like, ‘Ive joined a cult,’ or ‘you’ll never see lammoo again.’ This allows you a tiny out reach while maintaining your distance. #boundaries

Wellp, that’s that! This should be without a doubt an easy way to finally fix your peat problem. 👀❤️

Stay safe Pack0fl0new0lves, keep yourself locked up tight. Remember, if you can’t hide yourself, how in the hell you guna hide some body else? Lemme get some shovels up in here.

Stay spooky!👻🥰


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

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Faulty Advice Friday | TuhTewzz

Welcome to Faulty Advice Friday!

The place to F I N A L L Y get your toughest questions answered.


Lydia,

I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but I’m not thrilled by pain. Or blood. How do I make sure I follow thru?

TuhTewzz

TuhTewzz, your name immediately causes me to wonder what knowledge you possess of The Equestranauts… but we’ll let it slide…. For now…. 👀🤔

You’re not good with pain or blood? I assume that means only your blood… If that’s the case, it would make sense to see if you and your artist could complete some sort of blood sacrifice (pro tip: in a pinch, just grab some random off the street. Usually an offer of puppies and candy helps!) before starting. Sanitation issues might be cause for pause here bud, but at least if it was just your blood that you had trouble with, well, it would be hard to know what’s what after all that, eh? Modern Solutions. This feels sort of like I just told you to Pimp Your FearTMSide thought: wouldn’t that be a pretty sick idea to revamp another throw back, can someone call Xzibit? MTV? *Insert me laughing at my screen thinking about him saying ‘Yo dawg, we heard you hate blood, so we put blood in your blood!’* (Please don’t sue me.)

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Pain isn’tas complicated to get through though. There’s a surprising variety of concoctions available to keep those intensity levels at bay, although they typically come along with years of substance abuse trouble and sometimes a new twitchy movement you don’t know you’re doing… I guess, you also want to make sure you’re prepared for that. Of course, you can always decide to take a look at a body chart for the least painful places and just have some advil on hand eh? It’s using teeny tiny baby shark teeth to color in your body, not a firing squad. Suck it up buttercup.

If you still find yourself desperate for a tattoo but couldn’t possibly see success in conquering the above mentioned problemos, there’s always your local street fair and/or jail.

Hang on, hang on. Just hear me out wouldja? Start out by planning what crime you’ll commit. You’re just trying to get picked up, locked up, and inked up—that means, no 25 to life kinda bids. How’s about you just, I don’t know, take a few hostages at a bank or something low key like that? Seems like a solid way to land yourself in the slammer. (See previous FAF on how to do that amazingly, here)

Once you’ve done whatever deed you choose, you should have landed a snazzy pair of metal bracelets. If not, repeat until you’ve made it so.

Commissary is a wonderful thing in the joint. Hoard some chili, shebangs, and a whole buncha tuna so you can get ready to trade. I mean shiiiiiiit, maybe you’ll actually get lucky and have some kinda psycho Picasso to share a cell with.

I absolutely understand that jail’s not always for everyone, so don’t worry. Not everyone can be the mitochondria. Most people can almost always commit when they’ve decided the street fair is where their people are. There will be a line of children waiting to befuddle a very exhausted and over worked adult. Once youve waited your turn and you’re sitting in the chair, you’re going to need to brace yourself… You see, those stick on/water/temporary ones don’t hurt but sometimes the waters like suuuuper cold. Brrrr! 🥶

No matter what you decide, make sure you pick something you like. Doesn’t matter what Bubba in Unit N6 thinks!😘

Stay safe TuhTewzz, and maybe this weekend should be one for discoveries! I vote for blood sacrifice Sundays! Wait… Is it too late for me to keep that? 😅🤣

All the luck in the world, and please send pics if you do get one ❤️😀

Stay spooky!😍


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

RELEASE: The One That Got Away: Women of Horror Anthology Volume 3

I’m super pleased to announce that my story, “The Letter,” is included in this tremendously horrific anthology!

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THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY
WOMEN OF HORROR ANTHOLOGY
VOLUME THREE
KANDISHA PRESS

What doesn’t kill me, might make me kill you!

30 women authors from around the world were challenged to write about The One That Got Away. Here you’ll find tales of unrequited love, blind dates gone wrong, stalkers and their prey, cursed guitars, alien symbiotes, sinister letters, and bitter acts of revenge. Dive into murky depths and discover what hides inside the minds of women scorned..

Book 3 in the Kandisha Press Women of Horror Anthology Series

#FRIGHTGIRLWINTER recommended reading!

With Foreword by Gwendolyn Kiste (Bram Stoker Award Winning Author of The Rust Maidens)

Edited by Jill Girardi

Featuring stories from: Carmen Baca, Ushasi Sen Basu, Demi-Louise Blackburn, Ashley Burns, R.A. Busby, Amira Krista Calvo, Dawn DeBraal, Shawnna Deresch, Ellie Douglas, Amy Grech, KC Grifant, Meg Hafdahl, Rowan Hill, Stevie Kopas, Michelle Renee Lane, Catherine McCarthy, Villimey Mist, Mocha Pennington, Faith Pierce, Janine Pipe, Lydia Prime, Paula R.C. Readman, Marsheila Rockwell, Lucy Rose, Rebecca Rowland, Hadassah Shiradski, Yolanda Sfetsos, Barrington Smith-Seetachitt, J Snow and Sonora Taylor.

Click the image above to be directed to Amazon or check out the link below to get yours from your favorite book retailer:

Books2Read: The One That Got Away

November 2020 Ladies of Horror Picture Prompt Challenge: Freddie Promised | @LydiaPrime

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Freddie Promised
by Lydia Prime

Freddie always promised that he’d be home in time for supper. He crossed his heart and hoped to die as his mommy waved him off. He’d hop on his bike and head for the hills, knowing he’d need to return when the lights came on.
Freddie made his same promise every afternoon, and always made it home as the food was being served. His mommy would smile her odd crooked smile. Freddie said grace, and held his mommy’s hand for just a few moments longer each day.
The following day, the pair continued their routine, crossed hearts and sad waves. Freddie’s mommy made a special meal, peppering the pie with a hearty helping of arsenic. A double scoop, she thought, adding some to her own plate, just to get the job done.
The front door flew open. A blurry version of Freddie ran in, excited to say grace and see his mommy. He washed up and sat at the table, the biggest grin plastered on his face. Hungrier than usual, he sneaked a bit of bread. When his mommy sat down, he presented her with a simple bouquet of wildflowers. She teared up and tried to snatch his plate away, not realizing that it was too late.
Freddie’s mother watched her son while his mouth foamed and he painfully faded away. Panic, regret, guilt—fear overtook her. She screamed at Freddie, begging him to wake.
“Mommy?” Freddie’s voice called from the porch, his ghostly figure peering in through the window. Surprised, his mommy ran to the window, wailing and apologizing. .
Time flew by, and although she aged, Freddie didn’t. He’d become a permanent fixture in her cowardly world. Eventually, her heart grew cold, and she began to resent his memory. But, some promises are bigger, more important than one could ever fathom. Freddie kept his promise, and he always came home for supper.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Lydia Prime:

GSanthoebook

Graveyard Smash:
Women of Horror Anthology Vol. 2

Step through the prettiest cemetery gates you’ve ever seen and experience tombstone raves and widow’s dances, Japanese snow-spirits, Aztec bruja and temple goddesses, vengeful ghosts, djinn and cannibals, vampire hunters, plague bearers, graverobbers, and terrors beyond reason. Read through the night as the dead rise from boneyards all around the world!

#FRIGHTGIRLSUMMER recommended reading!

Featuring chilling tales from:
Christy Aldridge
Carmen BacaDemi-Louise Blackburn
R.A. Busby
V. Castro
Dawn DeBraal
Ellie Douglas
Tracy Fahey
Dona Fox
Cassidy Frost
Michelle Renee Lane
Beverley Lee
J.A.W. McCarthy
Catherine McCarthy
Susan McCauley
Ksenia Murray
Ally Peirse
Janine Pipe
Lydia Prime
Paula R.C. Readman
Yolanda Sfetsos
Sonora Taylor

Edited by Jill Girardi
With foreword by Doc Holocausto (Evilspeak Magazine, Harvest Ritual, Creepy Crawls)

Available on Amazon!

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October 2020 Ladies of Horror Picture Prompt Challenge: Pallor Mortis | @LydiaPrime

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Pallor Mortis
by Lydia Prime

“Hearts beat to Death’s rhythm,” that’s what Callie always said. “Life supplied the instruments, content to watch while Death conducted tremendous symphonies of decay. Life, you see,” she’d tell me, “is far more insidious than we’re led to believe.”
I never understood what she was trying to say. It felt like almost completing a puzzle, but the box was missing a piece. Still, I loved to listen to her, no matter what she said—it always sounded smart.
We used to sneak out at night, riding our bikes as far as our legs and lungs would let us. She was my best friend, and when we were alone in the moonlight, I saw her face, the uncensored version. Callie was a sad girl who’d unlocked the secrets of the universe. She had tear stained cheeks and torn up lips that never had a chance to heal.
“Mila, it’s coming soon.” She whispered, “they think I’m almost ready.” A weak smile cracked her sullen face as she held my hand. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen to you.”
Her grip tightened and I tried to speak, but fell short. Although I didn’t know what she meant, and wanted with my whole heart to understand this time, a sudden mourning wrapped us both, and we sat in the tall grass till the sun rose.
I never saw her again. I missed my friend for ages and never stopped thinking about the finality of her last words to me. Each morning I questioned what she was protecting me from, and each night, I’d hope she was happier now. Tonight, was no different. I settled into bed with our childhood memories swimming through my mind.
“Mila.” A hushed voice called through the winds, “Mila.” Flurries of dried leaves blew through my window. It was Callie, I knew it was.
“The grass,” more whispering.
I raced to the window, breath caught in my throat, hoping I wasn’t imagining things. A woman stood on the sidewalk, her back to me. “The grass,” the woman pointed toward the thicket before her. She never turned to look at me, but I’d recognize those jet-black locks anywhere. Her voice carried gently in the chilly autumn air, “Milaaaa.” She headed for the wood, not waiting for a reply.
Goosebumps tingled as they formed over my body—something was wrong. I didn’t know what exactly, but something rotten was coming from the young girl I used to know.
I took a chance, throwing on whatever shoes were nearest and sprinted after her. She called my name again as she disappeared between the trees. She was guiding me to the place we’d last seen each other. While I knew where she was going, the path seemed darker than it used to. I held my arms close to my chest and stepped carefully, doing my best to avoid the littering of twigs and dried leaves. Making noise now felt wrong.
When I reached the meadow, I saw her standing impossibly far off. Her complexion lacked any pigment, as if she’d become translucent. Her frosted blue eyes glistened in the moonlight. They pierced through me, penetrating my mind. Callie didn’t speak, she didn’t move. My head felt fuzzy while she added the missing puzzle pieces.
Her talks became clear: all the warnings and sorrows.
I saw her nervously return home, greeted by her family who immediately whisked her to their self-made basement. They left her there, without food or drink for several days. My heart wretched; her panic consumed me. I listened while she sobbed, begging and bargaining for reprieve.
As the final morning arrived, they granted it. Her parents and siblings stood around her. Limbs tied and over extended with strange symbols drawn above them. They chanted in guttural tones, calling to sacred unseen forces. When Callie pleaded for them to stop, they chanted louder. Her face was beet red and drenched in sweat, she struggled against the binds to no avail. Hopeless, she simply wished for Life to let go. And let go, it did.
No more struggling, just quiet. The family’s erratic behavior stilled; they watched with baited breath while Callie’s chest ceased expanding. The youngest untied her wrists as he’d been told, while her sister released her ankles. Quickly they returned to their places among the others, continuing to await their master.
Callie’s fingers twitched; her light eyes flicked open.
I gasped, overwhelmed by the unfolding nightmare.
Her body rose, head hanging limply against her chest. “You called?” Different octaves of her voice sounded in unison.
Her father started to speak, he intended to be the first to address their Lord, but before he could utter a single syllable, he was cut off.
Callie spoke again, answering herself, “Ah, yes. I see. Consider yourself relieved.” Her neck snapped, jerking her head upright. Crystal eyes aglow and streams of blood leaked from the corners of her mouth.
The circle that surrounded her realized their mistake—they had been forsaken. Her mother was the first to attempt an escape, she was also the first to scream. One by one, they each cried out in pain—in fear, it didn’t matter anymore. Callie reveled in her shrieking chorus. Life had excused her from the torment she was undergoing, but Death, well, Death was ready for a new song.
Flayed alive; layers removed in coils, stripping the meat from their bones. They watched. They begged. They created new sounds that Death had never fathomed, and Death had heard them all. When there were no other ghastly chords to extract from the participants, Callie vanished. Her family left to decompose in their dank cellar; spoiled cadavers trapped with eternal screaming.
The smell of wet grass thrust me back to the wood. Callie was closer now; I could see her flesh cracking, and smell the odorous sludge as it dripped from her festering maw. She grimaced; her jerky movements frightened me. “Callie?” I murmured.
She gripped my shoulder tight, her slender fingers dug deep into my bones. My eyes watered from the sting.
“Callie, please.” I whimpered.
My friend had been gone a long time; it seemed Life and Death were craving another melody.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Lydia Prime:

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Graveyard Smash:
Women of Horror Anthology Vol. 2

Step through the prettiest cemetery gates you’ve ever seen and experience tombstone raves and widow’s dances, Japanese snow-spirits, Aztec bruja and temple goddesses, vengeful ghosts, djinn and cannibals, vampire hunters, plague bearers, graverobbers, and terrors beyond reason. Read through the night as the dead rise from boneyards all around the world!

#FRIGHTGIRLSUMMER recommended reading!

Featuring chilling tales from:
Christy Aldridge
Carmen BacaDemi-Louise Blackburn
R.A. Busby
V. Castro
Dawn DeBraal
Ellie Douglas
Tracy Fahey
Dona Fox
Cassidy Frost
Michelle Renee Lane
Beverley Lee
J.A.W. McCarthy
Catherine McCarthy
Susan McCauley
Ksenia Murray
Ally Peirse
Janine Pipe
Lydia Prime
Paula R.C. Readman
Yolanda Sfetsos
Sonora Taylor

Edited by Jill Girardi
With foreword by Doc Holocausto (Evilspeak Magazine, Harvest Ritual, Creepy Crawls)

Available on Amazon!

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RELEASE: Itty Bitty Horror Bites by Lydia Prime | @Lydiaprime #Horror #Collections #DarkFiction

I’m super pleased to announce the release of Itty Bitty Horror Bites, a collection of my short stories and poems!

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Itty Bitty Horror Bites

By Lydia Prime

Unknown worlds, monstrous beings from nightmarish visions, and even a look at the darker side of life. Brace yourself as you dive into this chilling forty-six piece collection of bite sized horror—you might just end up leaving with more than you bargained for…

Are you sure you want to turn off that light?

Click the image above to be directed to Amazon or check out the links below:

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper Back

US | UK | Canada | Australia | Germany | France | Spain | Italy | Japan | Mexico | Brazil |India | The Netherlands