31 Nights of Halloween: The Mime 3

This entry in "The Mime" series feels a little like a missed opportunity to for a Maganaverse cross-over, with "The Clown" series. Maybe Katy Ford wasn't available and Magana didn't want to recast the clown character that she portrayed, so he went with this other idea instead? It's not bad, but I think such a crossover had so much potential!

The Mime 3

Starring: Isabella Moore and Becky Bush

Director: Alex Magana

Rating: Six of Ten Stars

31 Nights of Halloween: Portrait of God

Dylan Clark returns to Terror Titans with a film that seems fitting for a Sunday!

Portrait of God (2022)

Starring: Sydney Brumfield

Director: Dylan Clark

Rating: Nine of Ten Stars

A young woman (Brumfield) is preparing a presentation on a painting titled "Portrait of God". It's a mysterious work where some claim to see God in it while others only see blackness. Despite her strong religious convictions, she is in the second group. Or is she...?

"Portrait of God" is an atmospheric film that turns downright chilling in its final moments. While I may be in two minds about the ending, I can't deny that it's good. I just wanted a little more. Nonetheless, watching this is a good use of your time during this Halloween Season.

Fear-Filled Fiction: Second Date, Silver Bullets

Welcome to the second Fear-Filled Fiction Friday of this year's 31 Nights of Halloween! Tonight's short story continues the tale of Derek and Lupe, an unusual pair of teenagers.whose lives have taken an unexpected turn. You can read the first story here, if you haven't already.

SECOND DATE, SILVER BULLETS

By Steve Miller

The crystal chandelier cast prismatic rainbows across the white tablecloth as Derek Shepherd adjusted his tie for the third time in ten minutes. Across from him, Lupe Castellanos smoothed her black dress and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Le Ciel, the city's most exclusive restaurant perched atop the forty-story Meridian Tower. The entire metropolitan area sprawled below them like a glittering circuit board. Derek couldn't help but think how small everything looked from up here—including the problems that had brought them to this awkward arrangement.

"You know," Lupe said, swirling the cranberry juice in her glass without taking a sip, "most girls would be thrilled to have dinner at a place like this on their second date."

Derek's laugh came out more bitter than he intended. "Most girls aren't being auctioned off to consolidate werewolf territories."

The words hung between them like a challenge. It had been two weeks since their first date—if you could call nearly getting mugged while strolling together under the full moon a date. Two weeks since they'd both realized that their parents' "suggestions" about spending time together weren't really suggestions at all, but carefully orchestrated moves in a game that had been playing out for generations. Two weeks since they'd realized that maybe being more than friends might not be so bad, even if the whole arranged marriage thing bothered both of them.

Lupe finally took a sip of her juice, her dark eyes never leaving his face. "Is that what you think this is? An auction?"

"Isn't it?" Derek leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "Your father controls the eastern territories, mine controls the west. Together, we'd have nearly the entire region under one banner. They've been planning this our whole lives. It's not exactly rocket science."

"No," Lupe agreed, "but it's not exactly slavery either."

Derek studied her face in the candlelight. Lupe was undeniably beautiful—the kind of beauty that made other girls hate her and boys stumble over their own feet. Her long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and her olive skin seemed to glow with an inner warmth that had nothing to do with makeup. But it was her eyes that caught him off guard every time—intelligent, fierce, and completely unafraid. Since they were small children, she'd always been like that... and he'd always loved that part of her.

"So what do you suggest we do about it?" he asked.

Lupe set down her wine glass and leaned forward, lowering her voice. "We could run away. Change our names, move to Alaska, become normal people."

"Could we?" Derek's eyebrows rose. "Because last I checked, there's no such thing as a normal person in our world. We are what we are, Lupe. The question is whether we're going to let our parents dictate how we use what we are."

"Or," Lupe said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, "we could play along until we're old enough and strong enough to make our own rules."

Derek considered this. At eighteen, they were both legal adults in the human world, but in werewolf society, they wouldn't be considered fully mature until they turned twenty-one. Three more years of being pawns in their parents' political games.

"I still think it's funny," Derek said, cutting into his steak,. "that even if our parents weren't pushing this so hard, I probably would have asked you out anyway."

"Probably?" Lupe arched and eyebrow.

"Definitely," he corrected, and was rewarded with a genuine smile.

They both knew it was true. Even before their families had begun talks of uniting territories, they'd always been drawn to each other in a way they'd never fully understood. Their wolves recognized something in each other long before their human selves caught up.

"The truth is, Derek." Lupe picked at her salmon, her expression growing thoughtful. "I've been thinking about this whole situation, and I've come to a conclusion."

"Which is?"

"We're going to end up together, so it's a good thing we get along. So far. Our parents aren't going to give up, and frankly, the political advantages are too significant to ignore. So the only option we have is to make the best of it."

Derek set down his fork. "And what does 'making the best of it' look like to you?"

"It looks like getting to know each other on our own terms. It looks like setting boundaries with our families about how much interference we'll tolerate. And it looks like being honest about what we want from this arrangement."

"What do you want from it?"

Lupe was quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting to the windows again. "I want a partner, not a master. I want someone who respects my strength instead of trying to diminish it. And I want to know that when we do take over our families' territories, we're doing it together, as equals."

Derek felt something shift in his chest—a recognition, maybe, or the beginning of genuine respect. "I can work with that. Plus, I always loved the fact that you don't take crap from anyone."

"Good, because—"

The restaurant's main door exploded inward with a crash that sent splinters of wood flying across the dining room. Ten men in black tactical gear poured through the doorway, assault rifles raised and trained on the terrified diners. Their faces were hidden behind ski masks, and their stances were those of experienced soldiers. Derek felt his Wolf stir uneasily in his chest. This whole thing was startling, unnerving, but the Wolf sensed something wasn't as it seemed.

"Stay at your tables!" The apparent leader's voice boomed across the restaurant. "Anyone who moves will be shot! This is the Parlemanian Liberation Front, and you are now our hostages!"

Screams erupted from the other tables as diners dove for cover or froze in terror. Derek's hand moved instinctively toward Lupe, but she was already sliding her chair back slightly, her body coiled and ready to spring. Her eyes met his across the table, and he saw his own thoughts reflected there: This is not a coincidence.

"Cell phones! Everyone put your cell phones on the table in front of you! Now!" Another gunman was moving between the tables, collecting devices in a black duffel bag. "Hands where we can see them!"

Derek slowly reached into his jacket pocket and placed his phone on the white tablecloth. Lupe did the same, but her movements were just a fraction too slow, her reluctance just a little too obvious.

The leader noticed. "You! Girl in the black dress! You seem to be having trouble following simple instructions."

He strode over to their table, his rifle pointed directly at Lupe's chest. Up close, Derek could see his eyes through the mask—cold, professional, but with an edge of something that felt personal.

"Since you were the last to comply," the man said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his vest, "you get to be our spokesperson. Read this. Loud and clear."

Lupe took the paper with steady hands, her face a mask of calm that Derek knew was costing her considerable effort. She unfolded it and, as the gunman held up a camera phone, began to read in a clear, carrying voice:

"To the authorities of this city and state: We are the Parlemanian Liberation Front. We have taken thirty-seven hostages at Le Ciel restaurant. Our demands are simple: the immediate release of our imprisoned leaders, Mattias Volkov and Boris Reen, along with safe passage out of the country. You have six hours to comply. If our demands are not met, we will begin executing hostages, one every hour. Any attempt to storm this building will result in the immediate death of all hostages, as each of our operatives is equipped with explosive devices. We are prepared to die for our cause. The question is: how many of our hostages are you prepared to let die for your pride?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Derek could hear the rapid heartbeats of the other diners, could smell their fear like a physical presence in the room. But beneath it all, his enhanced senses were picking up something else—the subtle wrongness he'd detected earlier was getting stronger. It wasn't a full moon, but the stress of this situation was still bringing out the Wolf in both of them. They would have to be careful and keep control. He ​glanced at Lupe and saw her nostrils flaring, catching scents no human would detect.

Something isn't right about these guys.

"Very good," the leader said, taking the paper back, waving his weapon at the diners. "Now, everyone move to that corner of the dining room. Slowly. Keep your hands visible."

The hostages began shuffling toward the designated area, a cluster of tables far from the kitchen doors. Derek and Lupe moved with them, but Derek noticed that Lupe's eyes were constantly scanning their captors, cataloging details, looking for weaknesses.

As they settled into the corner with the other terrified diners, Lupe leaned close to Derek's ear and whispered, "This is like that old movie—you know, the one where the guy takes over the Christmas party at the office building."

Derek frowned. "Die Hard?"

"That's the one. Remember how it turned out the whole terrorist thing was just a cover for a heist?"

Derek's eyes widened slightly as he caught her meaning. "You think this isn't really about the PLF?"

"I think," Lupe murmured, "that it's awfully convenient we ended up as hostages on our second date, don't you?"

Derek glanced around at their captors, his jaw tightening. "So what are you suggesting? That someone set this up specifically for us?"

"I'm suggesting we stay alert." Lupe's voice was barely audible. "And keep our wolves in check. The stress is making mine restless."

Derek nodded grimly. Unlike the old stories, they didn't need a full moon to transform—strong emotion could trigger the change, and it could be triggered with sheer willpower. But right now, in so tense a situation, both their wolves were pacing beneath their skin, eager for violence. But shifting here, surrounded by all these innocent people, would be a major breach of what they had been taught their entire lives: That their dual natures needed to remain secret... and the only normal humans who saw them change were ones that would not survive the encounter.

Before they could continue their whispered conversation, a woman at the next table began sobbing loudly, her whole body shaking with terror. Lupe immediately turned to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," she said softly, "what's your name?"

"M-Margaret," the woman stammered. "Oh God, they're going to kill us all, aren't they?"

"No, they're not," Lupe said with quiet conviction. "Margaret, I need you to listen to me. These men want something, and killing hostages doesn't help them get it. They need us alive to have any leverage at all. Do you understand?"

Margaret nodded, her sobs subsiding slightly.

"Good. Now, I want you to focus on your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Can you do that for me?"

As Lupe continued to calm the terrified woman, Derek found himself watching her with growing admiration. Even in a situation like this, her first instinct was to help others. It was a quality he hadn't expected, and it made something warm unfurl in his chest. He focused on his own breathing—not to alleviate fear, but to keep his wolf calm and controlled.

The minutes crawled by. The gunmen maintained their positions around the restaurant, occasionally speaking into radio headsets in voices too quiet for human ears. But Derek's enhanced hearing caught fragments—references to "the package," "the timeline," and most disturbing of all, "the targets."

After what felt like hours but was probably only forty-five minutes, one of the gunmen began walking among the hostages. He was checking his phone repeatedly, his agitation growing with each glance at the screen.

"Time's almost up," he announced to his companions. "No word from the authorities. Looks like we need to send them a message."

Derek felt Lupe tense beside him. The gunman was moving through the crowd of hostages, studying faces, occasionally checking his phone as if comparing photos. When he reached their section, his steps slowed.

"You," he said, pointing directly at Lupe. "Stand up."

"No," Derek said immediately, starting to rise himself.

The gunman swung his rifle toward Derek. "Sit down, or I'll shoot you both right now."

Lupe placed a hand on Derek's arm, her touch both calming and restraining. "It's okay," she said quietly, getting to her feet.

The gunman grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the center of the dining room, away from the other hostages. Derek's wolf was clawing at his insides, demanding action, but he forced himself to remain still. Not yet. Not until he understood what was happening.

"Please," Lupe said, her voice carrying clearly across the restaurant, "you don't want to do anything you're going to regret."

Another gunman approached, carrying a different weapon—a pistol with an unusual silver finish. "Here," he said, offering it to the first man. "The Overlord said to use this one on the two brats."

Derek's blood turned to ice. The two brats. They knew exactly who he and Lupe were.

The first gunman looked at the silver pistol, then at his assault rifle. "A gun's a gun, Markov. We can sell this fancy piece once we're clear of the city."

"But the Overlord specifically said—"

"The Overlord isn't here, and I'm not carrying extra weight for sentiment. The girl dies either way."

Lupe spoke up again, her voice steady despite the rifle pointed at her chest. "You really should listen to your friend. Some guns are more special than others."

The gunman's finger moved to the trigger. "Hour's up, sweetheart."

The shots were deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. Two quick bursts from the assault rifle, center mass, exactly where they would do the most damage to a human being. Lupe crumpled to the floor, her black dress spreading around her like spilled ink.

Derek's roar of rage was barely human as he launched himself from the corner, his chair flying backward into the wall. He made it three steps before multiple rifles opened fire, the bullets tearing through his chest and abdomen with wet, meaty sounds. He collapsed next to Lupe, his vision graying at the edges.

"Let that be a lesson to the rest of you!" the leader shouted at the cowering hostages. "Stay quiet, stay still, and maybe you'll live to see morning!"

The other diners were sobbing openly now, Margaret's wails rising above the rest. The gunmen turned their attention back to crowd control, satisfied that their message had been delivered.

Which was why none of them were looking when Lupe opened her eyes.

Derek felt her hand brush against his, felt the familiar tingle that meant her accelerated healing was already at work. His own wounds were closing, the bullets being pushed out of his body by rapidly regenerating tissue. The pain was excruciating, but it was also temporary.

Lupe rose to her feet with fluid grace, her dress torn and bloody but her body whole. She looked directly at the gunman who had shot her, and her smile was all teeth.

"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers."

The transformation was explosive. Heat erupted along Lupe's spine like liquid fire as her human form began to dissolve, every nerve ending screaming as bones elongated and muscles expanded in a symphony of controlled violence. Her skin burned and stretched, giving way to silver fur that sprouted in waves across her reshaping body. The sound of fabric tearing was lost beneath the wet pops of joints relocating and the deep, rumbling growl that built in her expanding chest. Her consciousness split—human awareness riding alongside primal wolf instinct—as she rose to her full seven-foot height, a creature of silver and shadow with eyes that blazed like amber fire.

The metallic taste of her own blood lingered on her tongue from where her elongating canines had cut her lip. Every scent in the room sharpened to crystal clarity: the acrid gunpowder, the copper tang of blood, the sour stench of human fear. But strongest of all was the smell of her mate's transformation beginning behind her.

The gunman who had shot her barely had time to scream before her jaws closed around his throat.

Derek's change hit like a seismic shift, his skeleton cracking and reforming with sounds like breaking timber. The sensation was familiar yet always overwhelming—his human skin splitting along invisible seams as his true form fought its way to the surface. His muscles swelled and corded, his spine extending into a powerful tail as dark fur erupted across his frame. The pain was exquisite, every cell in his body rewriting itself, and he embraced it with savage joy. His wolf was larger than Lupe's, midnight-black except for the white blaze across his chest where the bullets had struck—a badge of survival, of strength.

Together, they were a force of nature unleashed in the confines of the restaurant, their combined howl of rage rattling the crystal chandelier above.

The gunmen tried to fight back, but they had prepared for human hostages, not supernatural predators. Their bullets, while painful, were not silver—they could slow the werewolves down but not stop them. And Derek and Lupe had the advantage of speed, strength, and a lifetime of training in combat.

Lupe made sure to target the gunman with the silver pistol first, her claws raking across his chest as her teeth found his jugular. The special weapon clattered across the floor, forgotten in the chaos.

The battle was over in minutes. Ten men, reduced to torn flesh and spreading pools of blood. The restaurant looked like a slaughterhouse, the elegant décor splattered with gore.

Derek shifted back to human form first, his clothes hanging in tatters around his healing body. Lupe followed suit, her own dress barely decent but her skin unmarked by the violence.

"Our parents are going to be so pissed," Derek said, surveying the carnage.

Lupe approached Margaret, who was staring at them with wide, terrified eyes. The other hostages were in similar states of shock, their minds struggling to process what they had witnessed.

"Margaret," Lupe said gently, crouching down to the woman's eye level. "I need you to do me a favor. Please forget what I look like as a girl. Can you do that for me?"

Margaret nodded mutely, her gaze unfocused and distant.

Derek was already moving toward the emergency exit, the silver pistol in his hand. "We need to go. Now."

They fled through the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time, their enhanced physiology making the forty-story descent feel like a casual jog. By the time they reached the street level, sirens were already wailing in the distance.

Two hours later, they sat in a dingy motel room on the outskirts of the city, their ruined formal wear replaced by clothes from a 24-hour discount store. The television droned in the background, news anchors breathlessly reporting on the "terrorist attack" at Le Ciel restaurant.

"—survivors describe being saved by what they can only call monsters," the reporter was saying. "Large, wolf-like creatures that appeared to be immune to gunfire. Police are investigating whether the animals were part of some kind of trained security response, though no agency has claimed responsibility—"

The camera cut to an interview with Margaret, who looked pale but composed as she spoke to the reporter.

"I don't remember much," she said. "Just these horrible creatures, like something out of a nightmare. But they saved us. Whatever they were, they saved all of us."

"Nice lady that one," Lupe muttered.

Derek was examining the silver pistol, turning it over in his hands. The metal was warm to the touch, almost alive, and covered in intricate engravings that seemed to shift in the lamplight.

"Custom work," he murmured, finding the release for the cylinder. "Expensive."

The bullets that fell into his palm were unlike anything he'd ever seen—and they burned his skin on contact.

"Shit!" He dropped them immediately, shaking his hand. "Pure silver. Maybe even blessed."

Lupe leaned over to look at the bullets without touching them. "Someone knew exactly what we are and exactly how to kill us."

"The PLF thing was just cover," Derek agreed. "Someone wanted us dead, and they were willing to take out a restaurant full of innocent people to make it happen."

Lupe pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "The question is who. And why now."

Derek set the pistol carefully on the nightstand, well away from both of them. "Someone who knows about werewolves. Someone who knows about our families. Someone who has access to specialized weapons and trained killers."

"Someone who calls himself 'the Overlord,'" Lupe added. "Did you catch that? When they were arguing about which gun to use?"

"I caught it." Derek's expression was grim. "Whoever this is, they're well-informed and well-funded. And they specifically wanted both of us dead."

Lupe was quiet for a long moment, staring at the television screen where footage of the restaurant played on loop. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"That someone really doesn't want our families to unite?"

"That, and more." Lupe turned to face him fully. "Think about it, Derek. If someone is willing to go to these lengths to prevent our alliance, it means our alliance is more important than we realized. It means we're more dangerous together than apart."

Derek considered this. "So what do we do?"

"We do exactly what our parents want us to do," Lupe said with a smile that was equal parts sweet and predatory. "We get married, we unite our territories, and we find out who the hell is trying to kill us."

Derek looked at her—really looked at her—and felt something click into place. This wasn't the arranged marriage he'd been dreading. This was a partnership, forged in blood and violence, between two people who understood exactly what they were capable of.

"You know," he said, reaching for her hand, "I think I'm starting to like this plan."

Lupe intertwined her fingers with his, careful not to let their joined hands drift too close to the silver bullets on the floor. "So much for a normal second date."

"Hey, you called it," Derek said with a rueful smile. "Your instincts were right—this whole thing was a setup."

"Yeah, but now we get to do something about it."

Derek squeezed her hand gently. "Together."

"Together," Lupe agreed.

Outside their motel room window, the city lights twinkled like stars, and somewhere in that urban constellation, an enemy was planning their next move. But Derek and Lupe were no longer the naive teenagers who had sat down to dinner a few hours ago. They were something new now—a united front, a force to be reckoned with.

And whoever the Overlord was, he had just made a very serious mistake.

The blood moon was rising, and the hunt was about to begin.

Tuneful Tuesday--Mission Impossible: Halloween

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to travel to Haddonville and track down the most prolific serial killer in history. Capture or terminate as needed. As always, should you or any of your IMF force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions."

31 Nights of Halloween: Thirsty

Alex Magana has been a mainstay of 31 Nights of Halloween, because he is a master of shorts that are weird, scary, or weird and scary. This year, we're doing Magana Monday... and we're kicking it off with a film that could be based on the Witchkind of NUELOW Games (which is only one reason why we love it).

Thirsty (2022)
Starring: Michael Glauser and Esther Lane Montes
Director: Alex Magana

Rating: Eight of Ten Stars

Jealousy can be fun... as we discover in this short film. Well, probably not fun for the poor guy who upsets his girlfriend, but fun for us!

31 Nights of Halloween: 5 Minute Dating

 Five Minute Dating" is one of those films that is ruined if one says too much about it. So all I'm going to say is prepare to get your heart-strings tugged at. and keep in mind that this is horror film  fest!

5 Minute Dating (2010)

Starring: Gustavo Franko, Anne-Marie Caccio, and Pamela Farrauto

Director: Peter Hatch

Rating: Ten of Ten Stars

Will tonight's round of speed-dating lead to soulmates finding each other, or is it just another meat market? 

31 Nights of Halloween: Run!

 They say exercise is good for your health. This might be true at any other time of year than during the 31 Nights of Halloween!

Fear-filled Fiction: Full Moon, First Date

For the past few years, weve been spotlighting various horror artists on Fridays during the 31 Nights of Halloween. This year, we're going to change it tup. Instead of art, we'll bring you a short story every Friday! We hope they will help get you in the Halloween mood!

First Date, Full Moon

By Steve Miller

Derek adjusted his collar for the third time as he walked up the front steps of the Martinez house. The porch light cast long shadows across the wooden planks, and he could hear the faint sound of a television through the front window. He'd known Lupe since middle school, but this felt different somehow. More formal. More... expected.

The door opened before he could knock, and Lupe stepped out, pulling a light jacket over her shoulders and red blouse. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore black yoga pants with broad red stripes down the outsides of her legs, and hiking boots that looked well-worn and comfortable.

Derek suddenly felt overdressed in his navy-blue slacks, button-down shirt, and the dark jacket he'd thrown on at the last minute—his mom's suggestion for looking "presentable."

"Ready?" she asked, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

"Yeah," Derek said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So, uh, where do you want to go?"

They started walking down the tree-lined street, their footsteps echoing in the quiet evening air. The sun had set an hour ago, leaving the sky a deep purple that was slowly fading to black. Street lamps flickered on one by one as they passed beneath them.

"I don't know," Lupe said with a shrug. "This whole thing is kind of weird, isn't it?"

Derek let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, it really is. I mean, we've been friends forever, and now suddenly our parents are acting like we're supposed to be some kind of power couple or something."

"My mom keeps asking when you're going to ask me to the prom." Lupe rolled her eyes.

"Seriously?" He winced. "That's so awkward."

"Tell me about it. And my abuela..." She shook her head. "Let's just say she's already planning our wedding."

"Oh God." Derek groaned. "My dad's been doing the same thing. Yesterday he actually said I'd be stupid to 'let you get away.'"

"Like I'm some kind of prize fish." Lupe laughed, but there was warmth in it.

"The worst part is, they're not even subtle about it."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, passing houses with warm yellow light spilling from their windows. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and the sound of a car engine faded as it turned down another street.

"You look nice," Lupe said.

"Thanks," Derek replied with a grin. "You look nice, too. And comfortable. You were probably smarter than I was in your choice of clothes."

"Though part of me thinks I should have worn a dress tonight," she said, glancing up at the full moon overhead. "You know, just in case..."

"Yeah," Derek said with a knowing grin. "I was thinking the same thing about sweatpants. But can you imagine if I'd shown up in sweatpants? Your parents would have killed me, if mine even would have let me out of the house."

"Exactly. And a dress would have made my parents even more excited about our 'official' first date."

They both laughed again and walked on in companiable silence. Derek felt more relaxed than he had since his mom and dad has informed him of the date they had scheduled with the Martinezes for him and Lupe.

"You know what's funny though?" Lupe said eventually. "We actually do have a lot in common."

Derek nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Remember that camping trip last summer? You were the only one who wanted to hike up to the ridge with me."

"And you were the only one who didn't complain when we had to gut those fish your dad caught," Lupe added with a grin. "Most guys I know would have been totally grossed out."

"Are you kidding? That was nothing compared to field dressing that deer we got last fall. My mom still won't let me tell that story at dinner."

Lupe laughed. "I remember that. You were so proud of yourself."

"Well, it was my first clean shot," Derek said defensively, but he was smiling too. "And you helped me track it for like two hours."

"That's what you do," Lupe said simply. "You don't waste an animal's life by giving up when the trail gets hard to follow."

They had reached the edge of Riverside Park, where the sidewalk gave way to a gravel path that wound through tall oak trees and eventually led to the creek that ran along the far side of town. The park was darker than the residential streets, with only a few scattered lamp posts to light the way.

"Want to walk through here?" Derek asked. "It's prettier than taking the main road."

"Sure," Lupe said. "I like it better when it's quiet like this anyway."

As they entered the park, their conversation continued to flow naturally. They talked about their plans after graduation, about the colleges they'd applied to, about whether they wanted to stay in their small town or see what else was out there. Derek found himself genuinely enjoying Lupe's company in a way he hadn't expected.

"You know," he said as they crossed a small wooden bridge over a dry creek bed, "maybe our parents aren't completely crazy."

Lupe raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe we should actually give this a try. Like, for real. Not just because they want us to, but because..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Because we actually get along. Because we like the same things. Because we can talk to each other without it being weird."

Lupe was quiet for a moment, her footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. "I've been thinking the same thing," she admitted. "I was so annoyed about this whole setup at first, but now... I don't know. It doesn't feel forced anymore."

"Right? It just feels like hanging out with a friend. Except..." Derek trailed off, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

"Except what?"

"Except I keep noticing things about you that I never really paid attention to before. Like how you get this little crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking about something serious. Or how you always smell like that vanilla shampoo you use."

Lupe stopped walking and turned to face him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Derek Shepherd, are you flirting with me?"

"Maybe," he said, grinning back at her. "Is it working?"

Before Lupe could answer, the sound of voices and footsteps echoed through the trees ahead of them. Derek felt a familiar prickle of unease run down his spine, and he noticed Lupe tense beside him. They both had good instincts about these things.

Five figures emerged from the shadows near a cluster of picnic tables about fifty yards ahead. Even in the dim light, Derek could see they were all young men, probably in their early twenties, and they were walking with the kind of swagger that meant trouble.

"Well, well, well," called out the one in front, a tall guy with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms. "What do we have here? A couple of kids out past their bedtime?"

Derek felt Lupe move closer to him, and he instinctively stepped slightly in front of her. His heart was starting to beat faster, and not just from fear. There was something else building inside him, something that always came when he felt threatened or angry.

"We're just walking home," Derek said, keeping his voice steady. "We don't want any trouble."

"Oh, you don't want any trouble?" The leader laughed, and the others joined in. "That's too bad, because trouble just found you."

They spread out in a loose semicircle, blocking the path ahead. Derek quickly glanced behind them, but two more had appeared from the trees, cutting off their retreat. They were surrounded.

"Here's how this is going to work," the leader continued, pulling something from his pocket that glinted in the lamplight. "You're going to give us everything you've got. Wallets, phones, jewelry, whatever. And maybe we'll let you walk away without any permanent damage."

Derek felt the change starting deep in his chest, a burning sensation that spread outward through his limbs. His vision was getting sharper, and he could smell things more clearly now – the fear-sweat from the gang members, the vanilla scent of Lupe's hair, the damp earth and rotting leaves beneath their feet.

Beside him, he heard Lupe's breathing change, becoming deeper and more controlled. When he glanced at her, her eyes were reflecting the lamplight in a way that definitely wasn't normal.

"I said give us your stuff!" the leader shouted, taking a step forward with his knife raised.

That was when Derek lost control completely.

The transformation happened faster than it ever had before—adrenaline and anger making the change almost effortless. Derek's shirt split with a series of sharp tears as his shoulders broadened, the sound echoing through the park like gunshots. Heat radiated from his skin as muscles bulged and reshaped themselves, bones cracking and extending with wet pops that made his teeth ache. His jaw stretched forward into a muzzle, gums burning as razor-sharp canines erupted. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

His fingernails fell away as claws burst through the tips, black and curved and sharp enough to rend steel. Coarse brown fur prickled across his skin like a thousand needles, and the world exploded into a symphony of scents—fear-sweat, old blood, the ozone smell of terror. He dropped to all fours with a bone-deep growl, then rose again to his full height of nearly eight feet, the night air cool against his transformed flesh.

Beside him, Lupe's change rippled through her like dark water. Her smaller frame stretched and corded with lean muscle, sleek black fur flowing across her skin like spilled ink. The sound of her breathing deepened, became something between a purr and a snarl. Her transformation was poetry where his was violence—more graceful, more controlled, but no less terrifying to witness.

The gang members' bravado evaporated instantly. Three of them turned and ran without a word, crashing through the underbrush in their panic to get away. A fourth dropped his weapon and stumbled backward, his mouth hanging open in shock.

But the leader stood his ground.

"What the hell..." he whispered, but there was something in his eyes that wasn't quite fear. Something that looked almost like recognition.

Derek snarled, a sound that came from deep in his chest and seemed to shake the very air around them. Lupe circled to the left, moving with predatory grace, her yellow eyes never leaving their target.

The man raised his knife, and Derek's enhanced senses caught the metallic scent immediately. Silver. Pure silver. His blood went cold even as rage burned through him. Random muggers didn't carry silver blades. This wasn't just a robbery gone wrong—this guy knew exactly what they were. And he was ready for them.

"Come on then," the man said, his voice steadier now. "Let's see what you've got."

Derek lunged first, but the man was ready for him. The silver blade sliced across Derek's shoulder, sending a line of fire through his body. He roared in pain and anger, swiping with his claws and catching the man across the chest.

Lupe attacked from behind, her jaws clamping down on the man's knife arm. He screamed and dropped the weapon, but managed to throw her off with his free hand. She rolled gracefully and came up in a crouch, ready to spring again.

The fight was over quickly after that. Without his silver blade, the man was no match for two werewolves. Derek's claws found their mark, and Lupe's teeth finished what they had started. When it was over, the man lay still on the gravel path, his blood dark in the lamplight.

The transformation back to human form was always disorienting. Derek found himself kneeling on the ground, naked except for the tattered remains of his jeans. His shoulder burned where the silver had cut him, but the wound was already beginning to heal.

Lupe was in similar condition, her pants now loose and her blouse torn and barely hanging on her frame. She was breathing hard, her hair wild and her eyes still holding traces of the wolf's golden glow.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," she said, looking down at the body between them. "You?"

"I'll live. That was silver though. Like he knew what we were."

Lupe looked around grimly. "This wasn't random? Someone sent him?"

"Looks like it."

They spent a few minutes making themselves as presentable as possible. Derek's shirt was completely destroyed, but his jacket had survived mostly intact. Likewise, Lupe's jacket covered the worst of the damage to her top.

"We should go," Derek said, taking her hand. "Before someone comes looking for him."

They left the park by a different path, one that led away from the residential area and toward the industrial part of town. Neither of them spoke for several blocks, both lost in their own thoughts about what had just happened.

Finally, as they reached the edge of Lupe's neighborhood, she broke the silence.

"So," she said, a note of dark humor in her voice. "That was our first date."

Derek let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Not exactly what I had planned."

"What did you have planned?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'd walk around, talk some more, and then I'd walk you to your door and maybe work up the courage to kiss you goodnight."

Lupe stopped walking and turned to face him. In the light from a nearby street lamp, he could see that her eyes had returned to their normal brown, but there was something different in them now. Something deeper.

"Derek," she said softly. "What we just did back there... we did it together. We protected each other. We trusted each other completely."

"Yeah," he said, not sure where she was going with this.

"That's not something you can fake. That's not something you can plan or arrange or force to happen." She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "That's real."

Derek felt his heart start to race again, but this time it had nothing to do with danger or transformation. "Lupe..."

"I think maybe our parents are right," she continued. "Not about the arranged marriage thing, but about us. About how we fit together. How we understand each other in a way that most people never could."

Derek covered her hand with his own, marveling at how right this felt. How natural. "So what does this mean ?"

"It means we stop pretending this is just about making our families happy," Lupe said. "It means we see where this goes, for real this time."

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"Then at least we'll know we tried. But Derek..." She smiled, and in that smile he saw not just the girl he'd known since middle school, but the woman she was becoming. The partner she could be. "I have a feeling it's going to work out just fine."

Derek leaned down and kissed her then, right there under the street lamp with the taste of danger still sharp in the air around them. It was their first kiss, but it felt like something they'd been building toward for years without realizing it.

When they broke apart, Lupe was grinning. 

"Now that," she said, "was worth waiting for."

They walked the rest of the way to her house hand in hand, talking quietly about everything and nothing. About their families and their futures, about the secret they now shared and what it meant for any relationship they might build together.

At her front door, Derek hesitated. "Lupe, about what happened tonight..."

"We'll figure it out," she said firmly. "Together. That's what partners do, right?"

"Partners," Derek repeated, liking the sound of it. "Yeah. I think I can get used to that."

Lupe stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again, softer this time, full of promise rather than passion. "Goodnight, Derek. Call me tomorrow?"

"Definitely," he said. "Maybe we can plan a second date. Something a little less eventful."

"Where's the fun in that?" Lupe asked with a laugh, and disappeared inside her house.

Derek walked home through the quiet streets, his mind racing with everything that had happened. When he'd left his house a few hours ago, he'd been dreading an awkward evening with a family friend. Now he was returning with a girlfriend, a partner, someone who understood him in ways he'd never thought possible.

His parents were waiting up for him when he got home, sitting at the kitchen table with expectant looks on their faces.

"So?" his mother asked. "How did it go?"

Derek thought about the conversation, the laughter, the moment of connection in the park before everything went wrong. He thought about the way Lupe had fought beside him, the way she'd looked at him afterward, the way her hand had felt in his as they walked home.

"It went really well," he said, and meant it completely. "I think we're going to see each other again."

"It looks like you 'morphed," his father said. "Why? How did she take that?"

"She joined me. It was a beautiful night, what with the full moon and all. It felt great to do it together."

His parents exchanged a satisfied look. Derek wondered if he should tell them about the thug with the silver dagger, but decided he didn't want to spoil their happy moment.

As he headed upstairs to his room, Derek caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror. His clothes were still torn and dirty, and there was a thin line of dried blood on his shoulder where the silver blade had cut him. But his eyes were bright, and he was smiling.

Tomorrow he would call Lupe, and they would start figuring out what came next. They would talk about the attack, about who might have sent that man and why. They would discuss how to keep their secret safe while still building something real together.

But tonight, Derek was content to fall asleep thinking about the girl who had stood and fought beside him when everything went wrong, who had looked at him afterward like this was what she'd been waiting for.

Their parents had been right about one thing – they were perfect for each other. They just had no idea how perfect, or how complicated that perfection was going to make their lives.

But as Derek drifted off to sleep, he found he was looking forward to finding out.

--

If you enjoyed this story, allow us to recommend you get Chillers and Thrillers and/or Shadow Stories, both featuring brand-new fiction by Steve Miller and classic comics by Steve Ditko. 

  

31 Nights of Halloween: The Empty Room

When you've watched as many horror movies (short and long) as I have, nothing much seems all that surprising or fresh. "The Empty Room" is one of those rare films that kept me guessing until the end... and even then they added a minor twist that I didn't see coming at all. This is definitely a creepy film that will get that Halloween Spirit stirring in you.

The Empty Room (2025)

Starring: Maya Morales

Director: Ethan Hunt

Rating: Nine of Ten Stars

A young woman (Morales) finds herself locked in a room with a tablet warning her she is not alone.

31 Nights of Halloween: Mama Agnes x2

Welcome to the 31 Nights of Halloween for 2025! We hope that you will find the short films, short stories, and music videos that will be appearing here from now until the Big Day on October 31!

We're kicking things off with a double-feature--two short films from filmmaker Alexanderthetitan. They add up to the story of a teenaged girl who is home alone while her mother is traveling... or is she? (These two shorts are remarkable because they don't rely on jump-scares emerging from dark shadows. Instead, it's the pacing and the acting that generates the horror in both.)

Mama Agnes (2024)

Starring: Samari Ijezie and Kylah Wittaker

Director: Alexanderthetitan

Rating: Seven of Ten Stars

Mama Agnes 2 (2024)

Starring:  Samari Ijezie and Kylah Wittaker

Director: Alexanderthetitan

Rating: Six of Ten Stars

A Chiller for the 13th

Halloween is still far away, but there's always time for a terrifying tale, is there not? On this 13th Day of July, we proudly bring you a brand-new short story by your host, Steve Miller!

The Last Card

By Steve Miller

The candles flickered in the cramped living room as Madeline shuffled the worn tarot deck between her fingers. The cards felt heavier tonight, their edges soft from years of use, but there was something else—a weight that seemed to press against her palms like a warning she couldn't quite decipher. She glanced across the small table at her client, a man who had introduced himself simply as "Thomas" when he'd knocked on her door twenty minutes earlier.

He sat perfectly still in the mismatched chair she'd pulled from her kitchen, his pale hands folded in his lap with unnatural precision. Everything about him seemed deliberately unremarkable—average height, thinning brown hair, clothes that looked like they'd been purchased from a department store clearance rack. But his eyes held a quality that made Madeline's skin crawl, a flatness that reminded her of stagnant water. When he'd asked for a reading, his voice had been soft, almost gentle, but there was something underneath it that made her want to lock her door and pretend she wasn't home.

Still, she needed the money. The psychic business wasn't exactly booming in a town of three thousand people, and her day job at the grocery store barely covered rent on the tiny house she'd inherited from her grandmother. The same house where Nana had taught her to read the cards, where she'd learned that sometimes the universe spoke in symbols and shadows. More often than not, though, it was just random cards and vague statements from her that made the customers feel good.

"What would you like to know?" Madeline asked, struggling to push aside the sense of unease that was filling her. She began laying out cards in the Celtic Cross spread, each one landing with a soft whisper against the velvet cloth.

Thomas leaned forward slightly, and she caught a whiff of something metallic, like old pennies. "I want to know about my future," he said. "What's coming for me."

The first card was revealed: The Tower. Lightning splitting a dark spire, figures falling into an abyss. Madeline's stomach tightened, but she forced her expression to remain neutral.

"This represents your current situation," she said. "The Tower suggests significant change. Old structures being torn down."

Thomas nodded slowly. "What kind of change?"

The next card made her pulse quicken—the Seven of Swords. A figure creeping away in the night, carrying stolen blades. The image hit her like a physical blow, and suddenly she understood why the cards had felt so heavy in her hands. This wasn't about challenges he was facing—the cards were revealing what he was planning. Her throat constricted as she stared at the thief in the darkness, carrying weapons into the night.

"The Seven of Swords indicates... hidden actions," she said carefully, her voice barely steady. "Perhaps secrets that need to come to light."

The metallic smell seemed stronger now, and she noticed his hands had moved to rest on the table's edge, fingers drumming silently against the wood.

The third card made her breath catch: The Ten of Swords. A figure lying face-down, ten blades piercing his back against a blood-red dawn. Death, betrayal, the violent end of a cycle. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the fourth card, hoping it would somehow balance the reading, provide context that would make this all seem less ominous.

The Death card stared back at her.

"Interesting," Thomas murmured, and there was something like amusement in his voice. "What do those mean?"

Madeline's mouth had gone dry. She could feel sweat beading along her hairline despite the cool October evening. The cards were telling a story she didn't want to read, painting a picture in symbols that made her want to sweep them all back into the deck and pretend this reading had never happened.

"The Ten of Swords represents an ending," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But not necessarily a literal death. It could mean the end of a difficult period, a transformation. And the Death card—" She swallowed hard. "The Death card almost never means actual death. It's about rebirth, new beginnings, letting go of what no longer serves you."

Thomas tilted his head, studying her. "You don't sound very convinced."

"Tarot is symbolic," Madeline said quickly. "The cards speak in metaphors. They're not meant to be taken literally." But her hands were shaking now as she reached for the next card in the spread. She needed to finish this reading and get him out of her house. Every instinct she'd inherited from her grandmother was screaming at her to run.

The fifth card—representing the possible outcome—was the Three of Swords. A heart pierced by three blades, storm clouds gathering overhead. Heartbreak, sorrow, emotional pain. But in this context, surrounded by violence and death, it felt like something much more sinister.

"This suggests emotional upheaval," she said, but her voice cracked on the words. "Pain that leads to growth, the necessity of facing difficult truths."

"You're very creative with your interpretations," Thomas said with a thin smile. "But I think we both know what the cards are really saying."

Madeline's heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. She wanted to stop, to tell him the reading was over, but something kept her frozen in place. Maybe it was professional obligation, or maybe it was the growing certainty that showing fear would be the worst possible thing she could do.

"There are still more cards," she said, though every fiber of her being was telling her to stop.

"Yes," Thomas said softly. "Please continue. I'm very interested to see what comes next."

The sixth card—representing the immediate future—made her gasp audibly. The Moon, but reversed. Deception revealed, hidden enemies exposed, illusions falling away. In the context of this reading, it felt like a countdown timer ticking toward zero.

"This card suggests that hidden truths will soon come to light," she said, but she could barely force the words out. "Secrets will be revealed, and you'll see situations more clearly."

"How soon?" Thomas asked, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now.

"The cards don't give specific timeframes," Madeline said quickly. "It could be days, weeks, months—"

"Or tonight?"

The word hung in the air between them like a blade. Madeline looked up from the cards to find Thomas watching her with an expression that made her blood turn to ice. The mask had slipped completely, revealing something predatory underneath.

"I think we should stop here," she said, starting to gather the cards. "Sometimes readings can be overwhelming, and it's better to—"

"No." His voice was still soft, but there was steel underneath it now. "I want to see the rest. What happens after the truth comes to light?"

Madeline's hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the cards. She knew she should refuse, should tell him to leave, should do anything except continue this reading. But Thomas was leaning forward now, and she could see something glinting in his jacket pocket. Something metallic that caught the candlelight.

With trembling fingers, she turned over the seventh card. The Hanged Man, but upright this time. Sacrifice, suspension, being trapped between worlds. The figure dangled from a tree, serene in his helplessness.

"This represents your feelings about the situation," she said, her voice barely audible. "The Hanged Man suggests... waiting. Being in a state of suspension, unable to act."

But that wasn't what the card was telling her. In this context, surrounded by violence and death and deception, The Hanged Man was showing her exactly what Thomas had planned. Someone suspended, helpless, waiting for the inevitable end.

"And how do I feel about that?" Thomas asked, his voice taking on a conversational tone that was somehow more terrifying than if he'd been shouting.

Madeline turned over the eighth card with hands that felt disconnected from her body. The Devil. Bondage, addiction, being trapped by one's own desires. The horned figure loomed over two chained humans, but the chains were loose enough to slip off if they chose to.

"You feel... in control," she whispered. "The Devil represents power over others, the ability to manipulate situations to your advantage."

Thomas barked out a brief laugh. "Very good. You're finally being honest. What's the final outcome?"

The last card in the spread seemed to burn her fingers as she turned it over. The World, but reversed. Incomplete journeys, lack of closure, goals that remain forever out of reach. In any other reading, it might have suggested delays or the need for patience. But here, now, it felt like a epitaph.

"The final outcome is..." Madeline's voice failed her completely. She stared at the card, at the dancing figure surrounded by the symbols of the four elements, now inverted and wrong. "Incompletion. A journey that ends before its destination."

"Whose journey?" Thomas asked quietly.

Madeline looked up at him, and in that moment, she understood. The cards hadn't been reading his future at all. They'd been reading hers. Every symbol, every image, every dark portent—they were all about her. The Tower wasn't his life falling apart; it was hers. The Ten of Swords wasn't his ending; it was hers. The Death card, the Three of Swords, The Hanged Man—all of it was about what was going to happen to her. What was going to happen tonight.

"Mine," she whispered.

Thomas smiled, and this time it reached his eyes, transforming his unremarkable face into something monstrous. "Very good. You really are psychic, aren't you?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a knife. It was nothing special—just a kitchen knife with a black handle, the kind you could buy at any hardware store. But the blade caught the candlelight and threw it back in sharp, hungry gleams.

"I've been watching you for weeks," Thomas said conversationally. "Learning your routine, your habits. You live alone, no boyfriend, no close neighbors. You advertise your services online, which means people know you invite strangers into your home. It's really quite perfect."

Madeline's chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back from the table. Her mind was racing, trying to calculate distances, escape routes, anything that might give her a chance. The front door was fifteen feet behind Thomas, completely blocked. The back door was through the kitchen doorway to her left, but she'd have to get past him to reach it.

"The cards were right about one thing," Thomas continued, standing slowly. "Tonight is when everything changes. For both of us."

He lunged across the table with surprising speed, the knife aimed at her chest. Madeline threw herself sideways, feeling the blade slice through the air where she'd been sitting a moment before. She crashed into the bookshelf behind her chair, sending volumes of poetry and philosophy tumbling to the floor.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Thomas said, stepping around the table with deliberate calm. "I promise it will be quick."

Madeline scrambled to her feet, grabbing a heavy hardcover book and hurling it at his head. He ducked easily, the book smashing into the wall behind him. She bolted toward the kitchen doorway, but he was faster than she'd expected. His hand closed around her wrist, spinning her back toward him.

The knife came down in a silver arc. Madeline threw up her other arm to block it, feeling the blade bite deep into her forearm. Pain exploded through her nervous system, but adrenaline kept her moving. She drove her knee up toward his groin, connecting hard enough to make him grunt and loosen his grip.

Blood was streaming down her arm, soaking into her sweater, but she ignored it. She broke free and sprinted through the kitchen doorway, Thomas close behind her. The narrow galley kitchen stretched before her—counters on both sides, the back door at the far end seeming impossibly far away.

A ceramic bowl sat on the counter to her right—one of her grandmother's pieces, painted with delicate flowers. Madeline grabbed it without breaking stride and spun around, smashing it against Thomas's temple as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. He staggered, blood trickling down the side of his face, but he didn't go down.

"You're only making me angry," he said, wiping blood from his eye. "I was going to make it quick, but now..."

He came at her again, the knife weaving through the air in practiced patterns. Madeline backed away, her injured arm pressed against her side, looking desperately for another weapon. The knife block on the counter was too far away, and Thomas was between her and the back door.

She feinted left toward the counter, then dove right toward the kitchen table that sat against the far wall. Rolling across its surface, she landed hard on the other side, putting the table between them. Thomas cursed and came after her, but the obstacle bought her precious seconds.

She ran back toward the living room, her mind racing through possibilities. The grandfather clock stood in the corner, a massive antique that had belonged to her great-grandfather. It was easily seven feet tall and probably weighed three hundred pounds. If she could somehow tip it over...

Thomas appeared in the doorway, his face twisted with rage. The calm mask was completely gone now, replaced by something feral and hungry. "Enough games," he snarled.

Madeline put her shoulder against the clock and pushed with everything she had. It was heavier than she'd expected, barely budging despite her desperate efforts. Thomas was crossing the room now, the knife held low and ready.

She pushed harder, feeling the clock rock slightly on its base. Just a little more, just enough to—

Her foot slipped on something—blood from her wounded arm, maybe, or one of the scattered tarot cards. She went down hard, her head cracking against the clock's wooden case. Stars exploded across her vision, and she felt Thomas's weight settling on top of her.

"Finally," he breathed, raising the knife above his head.

Madeline's hand closed around something heavy and cold. One of her grandmother's art pieces—a bronze sculpture of a dancer that usually sat on the side table. Without thinking, she swung it upward with all her remaining strength.

The bronze connected with Thomas's skull with a wet, crushing sound. His eyes went wide with surprise, then rolled back in his head. The knife tumbled from his fingers as he collapsed beside her, blood pooling beneath his shattered skull.

Madeline lay there for a moment, gasping, hardly able to believe she was still alive. The bronze dancer was slick with blood in her hands, and Thomas's body was completely still. She'd done it. She'd survived.

She started to push herself up, her wounded arm screaming in protest. She needed to call the police, get to a hospital, figure out how to explain what had happened. The cards were scattered across the floor around her, their prophecies fulfilled in ways she'd never imagined.

That's when she heard the groaning sound above her.

The grandfather clock, destabilized by her earlier efforts and the impact of her head against its case, was tilting forward. She looked up to see three hundred pounds of antique wood and brass falling toward her like a judgment from heaven.

Madeline tried to roll away, but her injured arm wouldn't support her weight, and Thomas's body was pinning her legs. The clock seemed to fall in slow motion, its ornate face growing larger and larger as it descended.

Her last thought was of the cards, scattered around her like fallen leaves. The Tower, with its lightning-struck spire. The Ten of Swords, with its promise of violent endings. The Death card, which she'd insisted didn't mean literal death.

The World, reversed. A journey that ends before its destination.

The grandfather clock struck midnight as it crushed the life from her body, its chimes echoing through the small house like a funeral bell.

--
If you enjoyed that story, you might also like those by Steve Miller that are featured in Moonlit and Other Stories and The Deadlier of the Species!

Urban Legends on the 13th: 325 Sycamore Lane

325 Sycamore Lane (2017)
Starring: Jeff DuJardin, Emmy Newman, and Juliette James

Director: Ren-Horng Wang

Rating: Nine of Ten Stars

Barry (DuJardin) encounters a pretty young woman (Newman) walking down a desolate stretch of highway in the dead of night.

"325 Sycamore Lane" seems like a straight-forward adaptation of the well-known, well-worn urban legend about a hitchhiking ghost for most of its run-time. It's an excellent adaptation of that legend, even to the point where a character voices what most viewers are thinking at a particular point in the film... but where it ultimately ends up makes an excellent horror film in every way.

Check it out below. The four minutes the film runs is going to be time well spent with this film's talented cast and well-paced story that's a fresh spin on oft-told tales.

Tuneful Tuesday with the Melodicka Brothers

The annual Halloween celebration here at Terror Titans got brought to a screeching halt by the horror show that is real life. So, instead we're going to be sharing some of the stuff we had INTENDED to post during the second half of October in 2024 on a sporadic basis throughout the coming year... starting now!

We're starting things with a surpringly good cover by the Melodika Brothers. It's not surprising that they once again have delivered something clever and well-conceived... no, what's surprising is how effective Ricky Martin's famous party anthem "Living La Vida Loca" translates into the horror genre! I mean, it's been there the whole time, but I've just never noticed!

And the video--which tells the tale of a ghost hunt--is excellent!