Free Fiction # 2: Flash Fiction Trio

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A Deity in Therapy, For the Love of Art, and What Kind of Monster? originally appeared in Flashshot Magazine.


A Deity in Therapy

kozzi-woman_with_black_dress_and_tiara_iron_gothic_fantasy_shapes_cath-1973x1925 Nyx spread her cloak of starlight across the therapist’s couch then settled her raven head against the leather arm.

“Why would one as old as you need a mortal’s help?” The doctor scrawled a note in his journal.

She laid a hand made of midnight clouds against her brow. “When you are the mother of many discordant deities, it tends to wear you down. My dark children clamor to me for advice. To settle their ceaseless disputes.”

The psychiatrist nodded.

“At least my offspring who roam the day are blessed. Such a carefree existence in the light.”


For the Love of Art

file0002109015389 She slid the hammer over his throat. A winter wind fluttered through the open window and plucked the hair from her cheek.

“Wouldn’t you prefer the blade?” Her face held the beauty of deep concern.

“No.” He smiled and kissed her slender wrist. “I want it to be messy. My death should be like my art—chaotic.”

Biting her ruby-painted lip, she drew the claw-head up and back over her head. “I’ll paint a cityscape with your brains, lover.”

“That will be nice, dear.” He nodded, before the blunt, round steel smashed his skull open.


What Kind of Monster?

file000313992053 Ramona shivered as she secured the manacle around his thick wrist. “No idea?”

He shook his bent head. “None.”

Water trickled down the dungeon walls and blended with his blue-black hair.

“The transformation begins.” She swallowed. “We’ll soon find out.”

“No, we won’t.” His voice sounded like metal dragged over broken glass.

Ramona watched as his body contorted into something between animal and human. “My god,” she cried. “What are you?”

“I wish I knew.” He leapt forward and broke the chains, then he tore her throat out.


For more free fiction, check out Happy Birthday, Clandestine.


Copyright 2004 – 2016 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved.

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Happy Birthday, Clandestine originally appeared in Alien Skin Magazine.


Happy Birthday, Clandestine

60083093_249674a67c He led her down the rough, pine board stairs. A spicy mixture of herbs, incense, and old dirt perfumed the air.

“What have you gone and done this time?” She squeezed the arm of her shaman lover, anxious for the surprise he promised.

“I hope you will like it.” He stroked the length of her chestnut tresses and she shivered.

Her bare feet touched the cool, earthen floor, and she fiddled with the black silk blindfold, willing him to take it off with her eager thoughts. “I’m sure I will.”

A humming, thick and low, poured up through the terra firma and into her feet.

“Have you modified it?” She cocked her head and listened while he removed the scarf from her eyes.

“I bought a new one for your birthday.”

He kissed her forehead and the loose skin there moved beneath the motion of his lips. She pushed him away with a half-hearted hand. The decay of her flesh disturbed Clandestine.

“Oh,” her sadness dashed as her eyes focused, “you painted it.” She kissed him. “How thoughtful, darling.” Running her hand along the length of the freezer, she admired its fresh ebony surface. “It is beautiful.” He’d added golden moons with passive faces, and stars as well.

The shaman wrapped his arms around her waist, and a bit of inner meat pulled free from her ribs. “I’m glad you like it.”

Freeing herself of his touch (it only renewed the memory of her death and impatience), she turned and cupped his face. “I’ll sleep like a queen.”

His smile held melancholy as he took her hands in his. “Shall we open it then?”

She sighed, and a hollowness in her chest argued with her need for regeneration.

“Yes.” Bending her head, she kissed the tips of his fingers. “I think it’s time.”

He moved in front of her and peeled the lid back. A gust of wet, frozen air lifted and brushed against her face.

“I am … a year older.” Coming closer, she wrapped her fingers around the lip of her chamber and stared down at the bed of waiting ice.

He nodded, and she noticed the tears he would not shed.

“It means a year longer,” he closed his eyes and took a breath before he continued, “spent in slumber.”

She knew he was trying to hide the pain from her — such a bittersweet arrangement they had.

“I know.” Kissing the point of his hawkish nose, she left a bit of rosy-lip-turned-grey on the tip of his aristocratic profile. She tried to wipe it off, but he stopped her.

“Leave it, please?” His voice wavered enough to break her sluggish heart.

He helped her into the resurrection tank and she settled into a comfortable position. He zippered her into the body bag quilt, tucking the metal tab securely under her chin.

“It will seem like only a day.”

“Yes.” He laughed sadly, while he traced the hole in her cheek with a slow, lingering finger. “Only a day.” The lazy circles he made tickled her exposed jawbone.

“I’ll dream myself as a redhead this time.” She grinned and closed her eyes, unable to keep them open a moment longer. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” The darkness behind her eyelids deepened as the lid descended. “Happy Birthday, Clandestine.”


Copyright 2004 – 2016 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved.

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posted by | on dark fantasy, folklore, horror, poetry, upcoming releases | No comments

Kate Jonez recently posted the release date for the Detritus anthology. January 13 will be the day you can pick up some Detritus anthology goodness. I’ll post a reminder blog when the release day arrives.

Detritus Anthology Contributors
(In alphabetical order)

Brent Kelly: Ride
Edmund Colell: Shrieking Gauze
Jeremy Shipp: Chewed up
Kealan Patrick Burke: The Room Beneath the Stairs
Lee Widener: Let Them Into Your Heart
L.S. Murphy: The Tick-Tock Heart
Louise Bohmer: Armoire
Mary Borsellino: Shots and Cuts
Michael Colangelo: Arkitektur
Michael Montoure: Heroes and Villains
Neil Davies: Candy Lady
Opal Edgar: Crawling Insect Life
Pete Clark: In His Own Graven Image
Phil Hickes :Mrs. Grainger’s Animal Emporium
S.P Miskowski: The Highest and the Sweetest

Upcoming from Omnium Gatherum. Click the image above to pay them a visit.


I’m also happy to announce I’ll have two poems in I Know What I Saw–an upcoming poetry collection edited by Barry Napier and Rich Ristow. This one will be released by Needfire Poetry, and I’ll have more updates as they come. Another fine collection I’m happy to be included in.

Okay, jaw is aching from another wisdom tooth yanked (but I am so glad that bastid is gone), and there’s holiday cards to get ready. Yeah, I’m that late.

Happy Holidays!

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Today’s guest post delights my satyr cohorts. They’re currently playing poker with Chuggie, and partying hard. I told them to clean up after themselves. That’s all I ask. Anyhoo, on with our guest blogger!

Brent Michael Kelley lives and writes in the Wisconsin Northwoods. He shares a home with such things as hairless dogs, a snake named Darth Batman, and the woman he married on Halloween. In addition to writing about his pal Chuggie, he likes writing story-poems, painting monsters, and making wine. Some say late at night, if you’re alone by a campfire, you can summon Brent by closing your eyes and saying his name eleven times. He insists this is not true and there’s no way it will work… yet.

Pay Brent a visit at: http://www.catbat.com/bmk/ or click on his pic above to check out his facebook.


The Birth of Chuggie

It was 2001 or 2002, I can’t be positive. I was an Art major at University of Wisconsin – Stout. One day my painting instructor told us about her muse, a woman who came and stood beside her while she painted. I admit I was fascinated and wanted a muse, too. Later that night, I went to work summoning one of my own. I’m sure I hoped for a hot chick in a bikini with a little attitude, but that’s not what I got.

First he told me only his name: Chuggie. It soon became clear Chuggie was quite intoxicated, a permanent condition. His voice sounded like gravel. I invited him to come visit again so I could find out more about him, and he obliged. He scowled at everything and always squinted. He had five horns and a chain across his chest.

Soon after, a bunch of classes in the Art Dept. took a field trip to some galleries in Minneapolis. I spent the day milling around with my girlfriend’s BFF, worshipping Dali paintings and scoffing at Mondrians. I gravitate towards dark or surreal art, and I’d taken in many wondrous examples that day. They swirled in my head.

On the bus ride back to school, I began to write in my sketchbook. It was a gloomy, foggy scene about Chuggie clawing his way through the brush and emerging in a field full of petrified wooden posts. He knew right away he’d stumbled into a Desecration. Little monsters skittered out of the weeds and hissed at him through mouths full of needle-like teeth. One told him, “In death, you will serve the Gooch!”

He bashed that one with the metal weight at the end of his chain, and the other vanished into the haze. He couldn’t fight his way back through the brush, so he ventured further into the Desecration. It all had something to do with a knife made of bone called the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu and a purse made from the face of a goat.

Over the years the story surged and receded. It was always in the back of my mind, but I was no writer. It was just something to fart around with when I was bored. I drew Chuggie’s picture. I drew Steel Jacks.

After graduation, I ended up in St. Paul, MN designing signs. My lady was living about 3 hours away, damn near the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Driving to see her, I would jabber on into my voice recorder, working on my Chuggie story with Tom Waits playing on the stereo. It was Highway 64 most of the way, one of my all-time favorite roads in this world. Crows cawed on fence posts and deer grazed in fields as I rolled through. Whether I was coming or going, I always seemed to drive that road at sunset. I have over 30 tapes filled with Chuggie ramblings and angry rants about other drivers. It’s pretty amusing if you listen to the playback at double speed. At my apartment in West St. Paul, I covered my coffee table with white paper off a roll. I filled it time and again with sketches and notes. They’re still around, my sheets of coffee table notes.

I moved back to Wisconsin after a couple years in Minnesota. Moved in with my lady. We bought a house, and a dog. I signed up for a workshop with Mr. Jeremy C. Shipp, where I learned a great deal about writing and publishing. I also made several key literary contacts. We got another dog. Chuggie was getting closer. Hell, I could smell his pipe smoke wafting under the door.

Omnium Gatherum decided to take a chance on my little story last summer. We signed a contract in September or something, then I got to work on the second rewrite. Chop this scene, expand that one, more description here, I don’t know what you’re saying there. Then final edits. Then proofing. Then a final round of tweaks. Boom. Now it’s published. You can buy a copy on Amazon in print or eBook.

It’s JUST. THAT. EASY.

Oh, and since you ask, yes I am working on the sequel. I think I can wrap the next one up in well under a decade, though. Just gotta get back out on Highway 64.


You can grab a copy of Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater for your Kindle or your bookshelf by clicking the links here. Alternatively, click Brent’s book cover or this cheeky satyr to grab a copy.

Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater

In the first installment of Mischief Mayhem Want and Woe, Brent Michael Kelley unleashes the horrors of Desecration on Stagwater.

Norchug Mot Losiat, Chuggie to his friends, is walking Drought. When, in his rambling, he stumbles upon the remote city of Stagwater, he finds love, temptation, and treachery. He fights against men, demons, and his own nature to battle the sinister forces threatening the city. But Chuggie? All he wants is a boat.

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posted by | on dark fantasy, upcoming releases, weird fiction | 2 comments

Kate Jonez recently posted the list of contributors for the Detritus anthology, and its line up promises to be a treat for readers. For those of you who don’t remember the theme behind the Detritus anthology, here’s a recap: tales about the impulse to collect gone terribly awry.

Detritus Anthology Contributors

Brent Kelly: Ride
Edmund Colell: Shrieking Gauze
Jeremy Shipp: Chewed up
Kealan Patrick Burke: The Room Beneath the Stairs
Lee Widener: Let Them Into Your Heart
L.S. Murphy: The Tick-Tock Heart
Louise Bohmer: Armoire
Mary Borsellino: Shots and Cuts
Michael Colangelo: Arkitektur
Michael Montoure: Heroes and Villains
Neil Davies: Candy Lady
Opal Edgar: Crawling Insect Life
Pete Clark: In His Own Graven Image
Phil Hickes :Mrs. Grainger’s Animal Emporium
S.P Miskowski: The Highest and the Sweetest

I’m tickled to be included in such great writer company. I hope you enjoy my contribution to the Detritus anthology, Armoire. The story of a magickally gifted (or cursed) young woman with a cabinet of curiosities.

Upcoming from Omnium Gatherum. Click the image above to pay them a visit.

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