Tag: horror

#4 Dona Mercury

| November 7, 2011 | 0 Comments

Dona Mercury. My 4th character. (muststopdrawingbadassgirls)

 

 

 

 

#2 Skeleton Elle

| November 4, 2011 | 0 Comments

Skeleton Elle, my 2nd character.

 

#3 F00SB0T

| November 3, 2011 | 0 Comments
The bastard offspring of a late-night, rec room tryst, he was an outcast. Now FoosBot kick-punches terror into the heart of the city!

The bastard offspring of a late-night, rec room tryst, he was an outcast. Now F00SB0T kick-punches terror into the heart of the city!

#2 – hillbillies

| November 2, 2011 | 0 Comments

The hillbilly clans survived the zombie apocalypse by learning to distill a sort of anti venom from the flesh of the zombies. It’s not without its side effects though, as seen here. 

#2 – Dark Linus

| November 2, 2011 | 1 Comment
What did you think would happen, Lucy? What did you think would happen when you tortured him all the time?  Wasn't the blanket a clue? Couldn't you tell he was going to crack?  But you had to just keep pushing him didn't you?  DIDN'T YOU?!?

Dark Linus

What part of “He carries a blanket and believes in the Great Pumpkin” ever lead you to believe that this kid was going to be alright?

 

#2 – Stuart MacBee

| November 2, 2011 | 0 Comments

And this is why I do writing contests and not art. You're welcome.

Stuart is an eleven year-old boy who lives in the small town of Winter Falls, Maine. It’s a poor town that’s seen better days, but so far Stuart is a decent kid. He’s bright and popular and good-looking, and most of the other town kids look up to him. Of course, he is eleven, so sometimes he lets that get to him, which leads to him getting into trouble with whatever friend he can rope into his scheme. But if he can stay grounded, he has a really good chance of making it out of Winter Falls and becoming someone who can contribute meaningfully to society.

Oh, wait, no. He can’t.

He’s dead.

After convincing his best friend Dylan to go swimming in the abandoned – and very much forbidden – Oldjak Quarry, Stuart slips and falls into the freezing, black water far below. Dylan fears for his friend’s life, but then fears for a lot more when the water erupts upward in a great waterspout that carries the broken and battered body of Stuart with it. Something speaks through the boy – whose soul is still trapped in his now-possessed body – telling Dylan that, “[your] masters are coming back,” and that they should “prepare.”

When Dylan asks exactly what they should prepare for, the entity simply laughs, and then lets the water drop, along with the now-vacated corpse of Stuart. Dylan is left alone on the edge of the quarry to face his madness.

Stuart’s terrible end can be found in his story, The Quarry.

#1 Zar Karut

| November 2, 2011 | 0 Comments

“…and so Zar Karut, once the most revered and honored of all archmages of the realm of Baymaere, did broker deals with the old and ancient beings that once ruled this land, and was thereby transformed into an undead lich of dark and evil powers.  Thus, the five realms were forced to come together to make war with and, after years of struggle, defeat this new enemy, but at great cost to all, which signalled the end of the Third Great Age of mankind in this world…”  — from the diary of Ignatius Peel, grand chancellor of Baymaere (5760-5783)

#1 – first wave

| November 1, 2011 | 0 Comments
first wave zombie

The Charpel clan has learned to graft power tools on to the limbs of zombies, and power them with batteries and gas which are stored in the chest cavity.
This is the first wave of zombies that march forward to batter the barricades and defences of anyone that the Charpel clan wants to destroy.

#1 The Crypt Kid

| November 1, 2011 | 0 Comments

In a world ruled by monsters, can a monster rise up to save the world?

Read the Crypt Kid’s web-adventures at http://www.drunkduck.com/The_Crypt_Kid

and buy the mini-comic while supplies last at www.Dubisch.com

#1 – Tabitha “Tabby” Alexandra Marcosa

| November 1, 2011 | 0 Comments

Tabitha, more fondly called Tabby by her older brother, is looked down upon as the runt of the clan. Even though she resides in the main family, she is looked down upon by all due to her humble nature and desire not to hunt. She fears her twelfth birthday when she will change into a lycan and has fled her school because of it. She now resides in the forest hoping to conquer her transformations before they conquer her.

#1 Riley Hayes

| November 1, 2011 | 0 Comments

Day# 26, The Swarm From Space

| November 27, 2010 | 0 Comments
#26 The Swarm from Space, by Jande Rowe

#26 The Swarm from Space, by Jande Rowe

They Came From Outer Space

Day #26 –The Swarm

No one knows their origin, most don’t even know they exist. The first indication of that comes when one looks up at the sky, alerted by some kind of strange vibration and a sound of wind.

At first you think they are a cloud of little pink angels, like out of one of your kid’s video games, and you drop to your knees in awe. Then as they come closer, you see the odd, almost shapeless shape of them, each apparently the size of an old water barrel, and you slowly get off your knees, unable yet to grasp the totality of the situation. The strange vibration presses against your ears, and the old, old instinct for survival rises in you. The dog is barking, tail between its legs, backing away from the oncoming swarm. You command the dog to follow, and he scampers to your side still barking. He’s shaking all over.

At long last your legs find themselves running, running. You try to direct that motion, calm the primitive panic. But if you don’t get behind closed doors very soon…

There! No, not the barn! The House! Quickly!

Over your shoulder you see the first wave land, though they never really touch the ground. There must be millions of them! You twist the door handle and it sticks. A scream in your throat, you try again, hitting your hip against the stubborn thing. It bursts open and you flail through, the dog right behind you, and slam it behind you, saying a prayer of thanks, while still wondering why you you are panicking. But still the rational part of you takes a few deep breaths and hurries around the house making sure all windows are closed and locked. You even check the fireplace flue.

You think of your wife and the kids who must be on their way home by now. You should call her, but just then you see through the picture window a scene that chills you to your heart: The verdant field and the trees in full leaf, the herds of goats and sheep have been replaced by a moving blanket of fluttering pink winged blobs. And even as you watch, every living thing is stripped from the land and grey devastation left in its wake.  A shudder goes through you.

The dog has stopped barking. But now it is pressing its shaking body against your leg,  uttering quiet whines. A ringing starts in your ears. You realise it’s your phone. You answer it, numbly. It’s Annya, hysterical, crying..  You cut through her sobs and yell. “Are you in the car? Annya! Answer me! Are the kids with you?”

Her answer is muffled, but affirmative. “Whatever you do –Don’t leave the car! Lock it!  Have you locked it?”

Another affirmitive. “Try and drive home once they’ve passed.” Having to keep her sane and help her get home is helping to steel your own nerves.

In less than a few minutes the world has changed. Every living thing on the surface of the earth has been stripped bare. What will happen now. Will they just leave? Or will they try to pry the rest of us out of our hiding spots? That many of them could break apart a house like this in minutes. Nothing, nowhere, is safe..

And what will happen next, with no harvest, no meat animals except those that were kept inside.

You pull the curtains closed, sickened by the sight of that moving pink carpet of devastation. And you wait. And wait.

George Edward Hanson

| November 13, 2010 | 0 Comments

George Hanson was a system administrator responsible for the network of the University of Dundee before the Final War. Now he’s responsible for keeping the power running at the border shelter, otherwise the Others could get in.

Dave Wetherby

| November 6, 2010 | 0 Comments

Dave Wetherby is nearing retirement. After decades of service to the State, he has uncovered a plot of epic proportions to defraud the country of billions of pounds in tax revenue each year. What’s more, he has discovered where this money is going: it is being siphoned off into hell! Can Dave bring this news to the attention of his bosses in time?

#5 Mama Houdoo

| November 5, 2010 | 3 Comments

 

Some folks happy with a shack on a dry patch, but others want mo’ than what God see fit to give’em.  Take Mama Houdoo, f’instance.  She hitched up to be ole lady fo’ the head man of the Gatorbait Motorcycle Club – Crawdaddy they called him.  Now Crawdaddy, he was content with just his woman, their boys and his road dogs, but for Mama, that just didn’t get it.  She use the magicks of her ole’ pointy-nose granny and gave her left hand to spell Crawdaddy – hollowed out his soul and filled it up again full’a demon essence.  And that just ain’t right!  These days, she run Gatorbait through that devil shell – send’em on her b’ness, stealing and killing for whatever tickle her fancy.  That woman think she own the whole wide world, and she might…if she could ever get rid’a that rascal duJour.

#2 Max

| November 3, 2010 | 1 Comment

Max is a somewhat mysterious individual. He shows up at cons – sci-fi cons, horror cons, fan cons – always dressed as an old-school vampire. At least, we think it’s a vampire. He doesn’t say much, and keeps mostly to himself. He’s no fan of the sparkly “Twilight” vamps, or even the hip “True Blood” or even “Buffy” or “Lost Boys” bloodsuckers. No, Max kicks it old school. WAY old school. Like, “Nosferatu” old school. Come to think of it, is Max even his real name? Nobody has gotten close enough to him to find out….

#1 Chondra Flicker

| November 1, 2010 | 28 Comments

221 years old, and in servitude to Princess Lorne, Chondra is the soon to be Queen's messenger, bodyguard, whisperer, and anything else where descretion is of chief import. Chondra is, by birth, 3/4 fae due to an indiscretion by her grandmother - A fact Chondra loathes.

She has lived in court her entire life, and quickly rose in the ranks of whisper/messengers due to an uncanny ability to get into and out of near impenetrable places. Chondra is of the pixie caste; with insect wings, and with the ability to shrink in size. Resourceful, she enjoys a challenge, which her majesty is always willing to provide. She commands respect, admiration, and a touch of fear among those in court.

Though, a loyal subject, like all fae forced to serve the crown, Chondra resents the royalty that have cast her people in roles unbefitting their race and breed.

#1 Du Jour

| November 1, 2010 | 6 Comments

Deep in the Mississippi River Delta, there be strife – rival clans warring for the favor of all the spirits of animal, vegetable and mineral.  Ole’ duJour, he the last of his clan – that Roadkill Motorcycle club, every one cut low by Mama Houdoo’s boys and the evils in her thrall.  Now duJour ride alone, just him and his curse.  Po’ bastard can’t eat nothing but carrion, and then the spirit of the dead thing fill him up and take over.  He put a buzzard in his belly, he grow wings.  He pick over a possum, he see in the dark and hang from a tree.  Seen it my own self.  But duJour don’t care none ‘bout curses.  He use’em to satisfy the vengeance that occupy his mind.  Vengeance for the boys of the Roadkill MC.  For the shade of his ole lady.  And for his very own lost soul.