Tag Archives: horror

Haiku Friday – Nightmare & Horror

29 Dec

Hi, everyone! Welcome!

My best friend, Sophia won’t stop wailing and howling in the middle of the night. “It burns, it burns!” she screams. I visit her at her mother’s house, where her ashes are kept in an urn, but it doesn’t help.


spiral-short story-Poetry-haiku-Haiku_Friday-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Vashti Quiroz Vega-RonovanWrites-Horror-Nightmares

Night terrors visit

Sleep’s become a memory

I fear the darkness

The blue in his eyes

became the new shade of my

nightmares––Don’t wake me.

Festite-The Writer Next Door-horror-nightmare-Poetry-the fall of Lilith-Vashti Q-Vashti Quiroz Vega-Haiku_Friday

Nightmare and Horror are this week’s prompt words chosen by Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes.

Ron hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your haiku poem. He is an author and poet and also does author interviews and much more on his blog. Be sure to check it out. Read Ron’s Haiku Prompt Challenge Guidelines for more information.

Have a wonderful New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, everyone!

Haiku Friday – Heart & Petals

28 Oct

Happy Haiku Friday and a warm welcome to my blog!

Heart and Petals are this week’s prompt words chosen by Ronovan Hester of Ronovan Writes.

Ron hosts a challenge that anyone could participate in called Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge every Monday, and you have until Sunday to create a post featuring your haiku poem. He is an author and poet and also does author interviews and much more on his blog. Be sure to check it out. Read Ron’s Haiku Prompt Challenge Guidelines for more information.

bleeding-heart-haiku-friday-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Poetry

Bleeding Heart

by Vashti Q

I see and I hurt

So my soul bleeds on paper

Core soft as flowers

I’ll live with a bleeding heart

Until the last petal falls

why_so_sad__beautiful_by_r_becca-d42gaqy-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-Poetry

Illustration by Rebecca Blair (DeviantART)

“The more you suffer the deeper grows your character, and with the deepening of your character you read the more penetratingly into the secrets of life. All great artists, all great religious leaders, and all great social reformers have come out of the intensest struggles which they fought bravely, quite frequently in tears and with bleeding hearts.”

~D.T. Suzuki

“The moment that you feel, just possibly, you are walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind, and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself…That is the moment, you might be starting to get it right.”

~ Neil Gaiman

Vashti Q-The Writer Next Door-bleeding-heart-haiku-Friday-Poetry

In light of the season I thought I’d throw in a zombie. Check out my zombie story The Search for the Last Flower and have a fun and safe Halloween!

Writers Quote Wednesday – The Cursed Tree

13 Apr

A warm welcome to my blog. It is Writers Quote Wednesday and I offer you a quote and a story. Enjoy.


“And I came to believe that good and evil are names for what people do, not for what they are. All we can say is that this is a good deed, because it helps someone or that’s an evil one because it hurts them. People are too complicated to have simple labels.”

~Philip Pullman

scary_trees_The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-quote-short story

The Cursed Tree

by Vashti Q



The earth rumbled, and the sky turned an ominous dark grey. Large black clouds swirled across the heavens, colliding with each other. A sweet, pungent smell drifted through the air. Once the rain arrived, other odors came. The pounding water shook the plants and trees and carried their odiferous particles in the air. Jagged lightning bolts split the skies, spearing trees and turning them to ash. Deafening thunderclaps made the garden tremble. God was angry. Man had betrayed him. The Garden of Eden would no longer be home to Adam and Eve.


Only one tree still stood among the devastated land: the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It, too, was cursed and would not last long in the tumultuous storm of God’s rage. A powerful gust of wind removed a seed from this tree and blew it out of the garden and into the world.


The tiny doomed seed drifted to the area of a large, roaring river and landed near its bank. The winds continued to bluster, covering it in moist soil. Buried and forgotten, the small seed took root.


In time, the seed pushed through the soil a green, quivering stem adorned with tiny, prickly leaves.


“What is it, Cain?” Abel scrunched his nose.


“What does it look like? It is a plant of some kind.” Cain peered at the rudimentary tree.


“I know that, but what kind of plant? It looks different from all the other vegetation. I do not like it.” Abel’s thick blond hair fell on his face as he leaned forward to take a better look.


“I think it is a newborn tree, and I do like it.” Cain stared at it. “I am going to build a barricade around it to protect it from the animals.”


“Why?” Abel asked. “It is ugly.”


“I want to see it grow. Besides, sometimes things that begin as ugly can grow to be beautiful.”


Abel’s brow joined in thought. Cain brushed his brother’s hair from his face. He could not stand that his younger brother never tied his hair back. On the other hand he always kept his dark brown hair tied back and neat.


Cain kept to his word and built a barrier around the small tree. The boy visited the tree daily and made sure it was doing well. He even spoke to it. “I know you probably do not understand my words, or maybe you do. I know not. Nevertheless, I shall take good care of you and see what fruits you bear.”


“Thank you,” the tree responded in his mind. He jumped, startled by the strange voice in his head.


Cain looked around and saw no one. His deep cerulean eyes gawked at the small tree before him. “D-did you speak to me?”


“I did,” the tree said.


Cain gasped. He took a few steps back. “How is this so? Trees do not speak.”


“Just because one never spoke to you does not mean that trees do not speak,” the tree said.


Cain stared at the tree.


“Protect me and help me grow and I shall bear extraordinary fruit just for you.”


Wide-eyed, he nodded in agreement.


He continued to visit the tree almost every day. He pulled any weeds growing near it. He made sure the tree’s soil was moist and that it was receiving enough water. He also took care of the surrounding land. He planted fragrant flower bushes and verdant plants to grow along with the tree. Soon, he had created a small paradise with the tree in the center of it.


He had many conversations with the tree and it was a good listener. As Cain grew up alongside the tree, he did a lot of complaining about his brother Abel, and the tree paid attention.


Years went by, and both Cain and his tree grew big and strong. He had grown into a handsome young man—tall, with long, dark hair, eyes blue like the twilight skies, and creamy skin the color of golden powder sand. He loved the land and knew how to work it well, and working it made him strong and muscular. Every seed he planted yielded luscious fruits, vegetables, and beautiful flowers.


One day, he came to visit his tree. Cain carried a basket filled with delectable fruits and vegetables. He grumbled under his breath as he kicked stones in his path. He let the basket drop to the ground. The crops spilled out and rolled in different directions on the lush grass. He fell to his knees and wept into his hands.


“What is the matter? the tree asked. “Why are you so troubled?”


“Nothing I do is good enough!” Cain’s eyes were dark and glistened as he continued to weep.


“What do you mean? Everything I have seen you do has been extraordinary. Because of you, I thrive.”


“My father does not think so,” Cain said. “Only my brother, Abel can do right in his eyes.”


“It seems that your golden-haired brother does nothing but cause you grief.”


“Even God shuns my crops and acclaims his sacrificed lamb. I am the eldest, yet I have always walked in my brother’s shadow. But there is nothing I can do.”


“Kill him,” the tree said, “you can kill him.”


Cain gulped air and stared at the tree, openmouthed. “No! I cannot slay my brother!”


“Why not? You are much stronger than he is.”


Cain looked bewildered. “I-I just cannot kill him.”


“You have never killed but your brother has killed many times.” The leaves on the tree trembled. “Every time he sacrifices a lamb or a goat, he kills.”


“This is true, but it is not the same.”


“Why?” The tree’s stentorian tone surprised Cain.


“Because taking my brother’s life is taking a human life.”


“A life is a life! Why did you protect me so, if you did not hold this to be true?” Cain’s heart leaped to his throat as he pondered the tree’s words. “If your brother Abel can take a life, then so can you.”


Cain jumped to his feet, nodding. He stared ahead––his blue eyes glittering with the prospect of revenge.


“Sacrifice your brother Abel so that you may walk in the light. Once Abel is gone, you shall grow mighty in your father’s eyes.”


Without another word Cain rushed to find his brother. He found him on a nearby hill tending after his sheep.


“Brother!” He called.


“I am here, among the sheep.” Abel’s long, golden hair a mess and flapping in the wind.


“You are always among the sheep. It is no wonder you smell like one.” Cain wore a mischievous expression. Abel chuckled until he saw his brother held a large rock in his powerful hand. He looked at his brother’s face, then at the rock, and then at Cain’s face again.


“That is a large, menacing rock you carry.” Abel’s voice was tremulous. “What do you intend to do with it?”


Cain gripped the rock until his knuckles turned white. He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils.


Abel, who sat on the ground, climbed to his feet. He stared at him with wide eyes and took a step back.


Cain narrowed his eyes. He looked at his brother’s hooded russet eyes, at his messy hair and his sun-kissed skin. He puffed and slammed the rock on the ground. “What do you know of fear?” Cain turned and ran away.


He ran all the way back to the tree.


“I could not do it,” he said breathless. “I hate him. He is my brother and I hate the air he breathes, but I cannot kill him.”


“Do you remember the promise I made to you?”


“You promised to someday bear extraordinary fruit for me. What has this to do with my current circumstances?”


“Have you noticed the small flowers that have grown on my branches?”


“I have. Apologies, I have been meaning to compliment you on those, but so much has happened that––”


“Apologies are not necessary. I only mention them because in four weeks time a fruit will grow amidst each bloom. A remarkable fruit.”


“Remarkable in what way?”


“You bring your brother to me in four weeks time, and have him taste my fruit. One bite will accomplish what you could not.”


Cain returned home and was at his best behavior. He was obedient to his parents and kind to his brother. He must be pleasant and amicable toward his brother so that when the time came, he would not fear to follow him.


There was a consequence to Cain’s feigned behavior. As he became nicer to his family, it seemed to him that they too became more pleasant to be around. He began to enjoy his brother’s company and his parents’ new praises and attention. Being obedient to his parents and kind to his brother had its rewards. He was enjoying his time with them.


Four weeks flew by and the time had come to take Abel to the tree. Cain observed his brother as he protected and guided his sheep. Once more he felt remorse. He dragged his feet back to the tree.


“I have changed my mind,” Cain told the tree. “I know longer wish to see my brother’s life extinguished.


“It is too late now!” the tree bellowed, causing Cain’s head to ache. “He must taste the fruit I bear!”


Cain shook his head. “No! I no longer desire his death!”


“For years all you talked about was your hatred for your brother,” the tree said. “You spoke of your hatred for him while you watered me. You spoke of your hatred for him as you pulled weeds from around my roots. You said over and over again, as you pruned and cared for me, how your life would be so much better if your brother were not around!”


“Things are different now. I am an obedient son and a loving brother. Since I have been good, my parents show me more love and my brother is kind to me.”


“How long do you think this shall last? You are not being yourself right now. You are being who they want you to be, and the day you grow tired of being an imposter, they, too, shall go back to the old ways. Remember your parent’s preference for your brother. Remember how they all looked down on you, as if you were lesser than they.”


Cain’s heart grew heavy. His face and body slackened. He stared at the tree through eyes blurred with tears. “You are an evil tree and the fruit you bear is an abomination.”


“If I am evil, it is only because you have fed me the hatred that consumes you. The fruit I bear is a product of your hostility and your odium.”


Cain’s eyes opened wide, his breathing became shallow and erratic. He turned away from the tree, unable to stand its evil presence any longer. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. When he arrived home he saw his mother watering the root vegetables he had planted for her.


“Mother!” he yelled. Eve jumped. “Where is my brother?”


“I do not know. He went looking for you.” Eve looked at him with confusion. “You look pale and distraught. Is there something wrong?”


“I must find him.” He hurried to the hill where Able spent most of his time with his sheep. He was not there. Instead, Adam tended the sheep.


“Father, where is Abel?” Cain asked. “I must speak to him.”


“Your brother went off to look for you. He said he would look for you by the river where he thought you would be tending your favorite tree.” Cain gasped and his legs faltered. He plopped onto his knees.


His father hurried over. “What is the matter, son?”


“Nothing, Father.” Cain clambered to his feet. “I have been running around looking for him, and I am a bit tired.”


Adam responded, but Cain did not hear his words, for his pulse beat loud and fast in his ears.


“I must go now, Father.” Cain hurried to the small paradise he had created by the river. Standing next to his tree was his brother, holding a half-eaten fruit in his hand.


“You did not tell me your tree has yielded fruit.” Abel smiled. “It is the sweetest and most succulent of all fruits.”


Cain approached him slowly, shaking his head––large tears falling from his eyes.


“Did you not catch the stench of evil and death that comes from this treacherous fruit?” Cain’s face was marked with anguish.


Abel flinched and dropped what remained of the fruit to the ground. His face turned ashen and he dropped to all fours. He sat on his haunches, and his tongue wagged out of his mouth. He rocked back and forth. His mouth foamed and he held his hands in front of him like paws. Then he ran around in circles on all fours, making growling noises and tearing plants apart with his teeth before eating them. He approached his brother and sniffed him.


Cain retreated from him, his face twisted in disgust. “He is wild, eats grass and runs around on all fours. He is mad and has the mind of an animal.” Cain’s face was red with rage. “Why have you done this?”


“It is what you desired,” the tree said. “You could not kill him because he was human, but now he is but a mere animal. Kill him. Or do you prefer he live like this for the rest of his existence?”


“No!” Cain shook his head as his heart pounded.


Abel continued to growl and paw at him.


Cain stared at him. Tears flooded his face. Abel was human only in appearance. He saw that now. He could not allow his brother to go on like this, and he would not put his parents through the shame of watching their beloved son walk on all fours and eat grass. He would do what he must in order to make this right.


He grabbed a large jagged rock and walked over to Abel. He lifted the rock over his head. “Goodbye, brother.” Cain brought the rock down on his head again and again until his brother’s skull became one with the ground, and his warm blood covered his face and hands and colored the verdant grass red.


Cain saw what he had done and shouted to the heavens as he pulled the hair out of his head. “My brother’s blood calls out for revenge, so punish me, oh God! I deserve your worst. But before you do, please, allow me to watch the destruction of this evil tree. I implore you!”


The earth rumbled and the sky turned an ominous dark grey. Large black clouds swirled across the heavens, colliding with each other. Deafening thunderclaps made the ground tremble. A jagged lightning bolt ripped through the sky and speared the tree, turning it to ash.

Copyright © 2014 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.


Colleen Chesebro is a writer, poet, and book reviewer. She hosts an inspiring event every Wednesday on her blog, Silver Threading, called Writer’s Quote Wednesday. Anyone can participate by choosing a quote by a favorite writer and posting it on your blog.


Writer’s Quote Wednesday – HORROR – Scare Me Happy

3 Feb

Welcome everyone! It’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday! I’m a huge fan of Horror, so instead of having one quote today I’ve decided to post several quotes from some of my favorite writers in this genre. I hope you enjoy. 😀

The Basement-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Quiroz-Vega

I grew up reading Stephen King novels. He’s still one of my favorite authors. It started one day when an older cousin had finished reading one of Stephen King’s books. She put it down beside her and called her friends and proceeded to gush about how great it was on the phone. I became curious about it, because she seemed so excited.

I picked up the book and turned it in my hand gazing at the front and back covers. My cousin quickly took it from me and told me that I was too young to read it. Well, I rolled my ten-year-old eyes dramatically and that was it, from that moment on, all I wanted was to read that book.

Later on, I managed to sneak the book out of my aunt’s house and take it home with me. I had to hide it from my parents, because I knew they would never allow me to read a ‘Horror’ novel. I read the book from cover to cover in record speed––I couldn’t put it down.

Did it scare me? YES! Of course it did, but more than that, it taught me to have courage and to not be afraid to feel certain feelings. Horror books helped me confront the scary things of childhood, because––don’t fool yourself parents––childhood is frightening. Kids are so vulnerable and powerless in a world full of bad things. Horror provides a place in which children can move with their fears in a safe way that can teach them how to survive monsters and be powerful, too. Stephen King scared me happy!

When I returned the book to my cousin she didn’t even know it was missing. I told her I had read it and enjoyed it. She was surprised but let me borrow a couple more Stephen King books. That’s how I became a Stephen King and Horror fan.

“The charm of horror only tempts the strong”

Jean Lorrain

“Alone. Yes, that’s the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.” 

Stephen King

“Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake?”

Justin Alcala

“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.”

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“Horror fiction shows us that the control we believe we have is purely illusory, and that every moment we teeter on chaos and oblivion.”

Clive Barker

“I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“Read. Read. Read. Just don’t read one type of book. Read different books by various authors so that you develop different style.”

R.L. Stine

“You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don’t have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn’t mean they apply to you.”

Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

“Here is a list of terrible things,
The jaws of sharks, a vultures wings
The rabid bite of the dogs of war,
The voice of one who went before,
But most of all the mirror’s gaze,
Which counts us out our numbered days.”

Clive Barker, Days of Magic, Nights of War

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” 

Stephen King

5 Reasons Horror in Children’s Literature Is a Good Thing

10 Novels That Are Scarier Than Most Horror Movies

Required Reading: 30 of the Best Horror Books

Colleen Chesebro is a writer, poet, and book reviewer. She hosts an inspiring event every Wednesday on her blog, Silver Threading, called Writer’s Quote Wednesday. Anyone can participate by choosing a quote by a favorite writer and posting it on your blog. Check out her weekly wrap-up every Tuesday and be inspired by all the quotes.

Ronovan, from Ronovan Writes and Colleen have joined forces! He has been linking his #BeWoW blog share (Be Wonderful on Wednesday) now to include: Be Writing on Wednesday. If you would like to combine both posts feel free to do so and link them to Colleen’s post. She will make sure and add you to the quote wrap-up she does each Tuesday. Please make sure and check out Ron’s blog for more writing inspiration and motivation!

A Town’s Perception – Short Story

31 Aug


A Town's Perception


Hello everyone! Thank you for visiting my blog today. I’m featuring a short story inspired by a nightmare I had. The nightmare was somewhat bizarre, as night terrors often are, but what I remember of it became the creative impulse that led to this story. I’ll call it a Sci-Fi/Horror.

WARNING: The story is a bit macabre.


( ^ Click PLAY to hear soundtrack ^)


A Town's Perception_Vashti Quiroz-Vega_The Writer Next Door

A Town’s Perception

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

It began with the moon.

One evening I lifted my eyes to the skies, and the moon appeared to have doubled in size. After that, all sorts of curious phenomena began to occur. Everyone in my small town was in a panic.

Strange swirls of indescribable colors were seen in the night skies. During the day the sun shone blood red and colored the skies pink. It was as if we had been transported to a different planet overnight.

When I saw the ships in the sky, I knew it wouldn’t be long before they came for us, and I was right.

In the middle of the day, they came. I watched them disembark their ships, small groups at a time. They resembled men of diminutive stature with large heads. They appeared to waddle rather than walk. They wore weird metallic suits with respirators attached to their faces.

I rushed to my daughter’s side. She lay on the bed in her room, stared ahead at nothingness and wailed, as she had done for days.

My poor child. Her mind was not equipped to handle this invasion. I held her tight. I would not allow her capture. Who knew what these small creatures were capable of doing to her—-to us.

I pushed the barrel of the gun up against her temple to keep my hand from trembling. The cold metal did not stop her wails. Poor thing, her voice was so hoarse. I would extinguish the fire in her gullet.

I pulled the trigger. She fell on her side, her eyes still open wide, as if she could still see this nightmare. I shut her eyelids and finally gave her peace.

It was my turn. I’d convinced myself, like so many others in this town, that this was the only way out. I was the last to take action since I was taught to always have hope, but even those of us who always have hope had given up.

The priest took most of the townfolk. After his last sermon, he instructed the congregation to get on their knees and pray. While the town’s people prayed, the priest left the church and locked the doors behind him. Then he set the church ablaze.

Pitiful man of God, his mind also handled the crisis poorly. He burned those people alive: men and women, young and old. He had invited my daughter and I to attend his last sermon, and I agreed to go, but my daughter was not doing well, so we stayed home and were saved from a horrific death.

I live a block away from the church, and I heard the screams and howls of the burning souls. I ran down the street and was met with a fiery inferno. The stench of burning flesh and hair made me retch. I released the contents of my stomach right there on the street. What did it matter? There was no one around to watch me. I saw the priest stagger from the back of the burning building. My stomach was tied in knots.

“Demons! The demons are upon us,” he shouted. “If you remain they will take your soul!”

“What are you talking about?” I gasped and pointed a shaky finger at the combusting church. “There are people burning alive in there.” I ran toward the church’s double doors. The heat of the blaze stopped me. I sobbed unable to act. Those were my neighbors. My friends.

“You have to burn! Otherwise the demons will take your soul. I burned them because the fire will purify their spirits.” He stared at me with wild eyes.

My hands flew to cover my mouth upon recognition of what he had done. My legs faltered, and I fell to my knees. I trembled uncontrollably as the priest took steps toward me. I extended my quaking arms before me.

“Stop! Stay away!” I made an attempt to get to my feet, but my knees buckled.

“My dear, you must not remain alive. The demons will take your soul.” His voice eerily calm. He continued to trudge in my direction.

“You’re right!” I shouted. My head nodding briskly. “I know I must die. I must tend to my daughter’s demise also.”

“What? Your young daughter is still alive?”

“Yes, she waits for me at home.”

“No, no, no!” The man of the cloth pulled on his sleeves and shook his head like a madman. “You must go to her! It may be too late already. The demons do not waste time. A young soul like hers is a prime target. Go to her! If her soul is still intact, take her life immediately and then take your own.” He took a lighter out and flicked it on. He bent over and put the small flame against the hem of his cassock.

I tried to scream as I watched the fire spread and grow on the flammable cloth of his priestly vestment, but I opened my mouth and sounds did not leave my lips. I gathered all my strength and lifted myself off the ground. I wanted to run. Instead I barely escaped the wailing priest who floundered, engulfed in flames. I staggered past him. The crackle and pop of his burning flesh lingered in my ears never to be forgotten. Noxious smoke attacked my nostrils. The stench was so great, I could taste it.

The very next day, the little men came.

It’s time now. My daughter is gone. The entire town is gone.


A gunshot is heard. Men in white lab coats and facemasks run into a young girl’s bedroom. On the twin bed, dressed in pink, lies a pre-teen girl and a thirty-something-year-old woman. Both females are deceased due to gunfire wounds to the head.

“We’re too late,” one of the men in lab coats said.

“Well, maybe it is for the best,” his partner said. “There is nothing we could have done to reverse the effects of the chemical agent.”

“It’s a shame what happened in this town.”

“Yes, but how could we know Compound K would have this effect on them?”

“No––we had no way of knowing that the solution we prepared to cause infertility in the men and women of this town would turn into a powerful, hallucinogenic, mind-altering drug when combined with their water.”

“We’ll have to look into the town’s filtering system before we try this again in the next small town.”

“I agree, but let’s not allow this small speed bump to deter our cause.”

“Doctors,” a young man interrupted, “you asked for bottled water?” The men nodded and each took a bottle. They hardly took notice of the fellow. The young assistant leaves.

“Of course it won’t deter us. Our cause to save the planet by ending overpopulation goes beyond a few casualties.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call five hundred people a few casualties, but such things happen in the name of science.”

“Absolutely.” The scientist gulps down his bottled water. Suddenly, he sputters. His eyes widen. “Th-thi-this water was bottled right here in this town!”

The other scientist fumbles with the bottle, trying to see the manufacturer’s name.

“How could this small town have a bottled water company?” Wide-eyed and hands trembling, the scientist stares at the lettering on the bottle. He reads, “‘We take pride in our fresh, clean mountain water and we use the highest quality water filtration systems.’ They bottled this water four days ago.” He drops the bottle, and it crashes to the ground.

“No!” his partner yells. “We put Compound K in the water supply seven days ago!”

“Maybe it won’t affect us in the same way as the townspeople. We’ve only drank a small portion in comparison to what they must have drank in the course of several days.” His voice wavers and his body shudders at the thought of having ingested the solution that caused all the townspeople to go mad and kill themselves. The other scientist stares at him, unnervingly silent.

Unexpectedly, the first scientist cries out and recoils. “Stay away from me! Don’t come near me. You will never take me alive!”

“What is the matter with you?” Staring at his partner and looking perplexed the second scientist takes a step back. “Oh, no.” His face slackens as realization hits.

His partner continues shouting, “You’ll never take me alive, Nazi!” He grabs a lamp and charges.

The scientist wrestles with his crazed colleague and seizes the lamp from him. The madman bites him on the shoulder. The scientist beats the man on the head and shoulder repeatedly until the lunatic finally unclenches his teeth and falls to the ground dead.

The scientist falls back against the wall, panting. He slides down the wall, landing in a crumpled mess on the floor. He holds his head in his hands and stares at his partner’s limp body, whose blood meanders toward him. Rivers pour from his eyes. His body shakes and convulses.

His eyes do not reflect what his mind sees.

The flames of hell surround him while demons dance around and torment him with everlasting pain.


A Town's Perception

Copyright © 2013 by Vashti Quiroz-Vega. All rights reserved.

Haiku Friday – Bust & Must

14 Aug



Hello everyone! Welcome to my blog. It’s Haiku Friday, and I must admit that this week’s prompt words, selected by Ronovan from RonovanWrites, have a fun and somewhat naughty tone. Well, Ron definitely knows how to challenge us every week with his selections. The prompt words this week are Bust and Must. Visit his blog and check out all the creative, fun, and cool haiku, and take part in his Haiku challenge. (New prompts every Monday)

I went back to my Horror roots for these haiku. I hope you like them.


Amazing sculpture by Aris Kolokontes (BOULARIS -DeviantART)

Watching Me

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

It’s eyes track me

I must escape the red glare

Of the monstrous Bust

Boxing Helena-Alfred Hitchcock-The Writer Next Door

Boxing Helena (Romance/Horror Film)

Mind of a Deviant

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega

A face so fetching

Limbs and torso are not a must

Why not form a Bust


Writer’s Quote Wednesday

1 Jul

Hi everyone! I’m posting this very late today and I have Comcast to thank for that. Since I moved to my new house I’ve had nothing but problems with Comcast and my WiFi connection. It works one day and then it’s out two, three, or four days. I’m getting really frustrated with this situation. Well, my internet is finally working––lets see how long this will last. Okay, I’m done venting.

Writer’s Quote Wednesday | Silver Threading

Writer's Quote Wednesday

Horror Quote

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'”

Do you enjoy reading horror novels? What are some of your favorite horror writers/novels?

The Best of 2014

5 Jan

The year 2014 was a year of high highs and low lows for me. I kept busy with my writing and blogging which made the lows bearable. One thing’s for sure––I ended the year on a good note. And I plan to make 2015 a positive year––no matter what happens.


“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” ~ Buddha


My second book, The Fall of Lilith, should be out a little later this year. It is the first installment of my Fantasy Angels Series. I’ve written a few short stories for this blog––The Cursed Tree, Fall From Desire, and A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance, using the same style in writing I used for The Fall of Lilith and the rest of the series to give you a taste of what it would be like to read the series. Soon I will post an excerpt from the book.


This year I would like to bring you more short stories in the genres I write, which are horror, fantasy, and suspense/thriller. If you know anyone who enjoys reading, especially in these genres, please let them know about this blog. I appreciate the support. I would also love to do more interviews, vlogs, spotlights on writers, poets, artists, and talented people in general.


To celebrate the new year I would like to list my most popular posts of 2014. Please feel free to click on the links, read, like, and comment.



 The Search for the Last Flower – (Horror) 12 Part Series about zombies

the search for the last flower


The Cursed Tree – (Dark Fantasy) 3 Part Series

The Cursed Tree


Fall From Desire – (Dark Fantasy) 2 Part Series

swamp-fallen angel-Vashti Quiroz-Vega


A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance – (Dark Fantasy) 3 Part Series

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance


The Train Ride From Hell – (Horror) 4 Part Series



Murder She Wrote – (Horror) 3 Part Series

Murder She Wrote_Vashti Quiroz-Vega's Blog

Most Popular Articles

 I Love Animals! 

Ahhh! Fresh powder!

 Why I think The World Should End

why I think this world should end

 Work-In-Progress Blog Challenge

The Fall of Lilith-vashti-quiroz-vega

Do You Judge An Author by His/Her Genre?

mehitobel Wilson

Fantasy Angels Series – (Dark Fantasy)

Author-Vashti Quiroz-Vega-fantasy-stories

The Mysterious Origins of Valentine’s Day


Are We Eating Beakless, Featherless Mutant Chickens?


Writer’s Journey

Book Reading/Signing

The Basement_book signing_vashti quiroz vega

Rainbow Bridge 

RIP-Rascal-Vashti Quiroz-Vega

A Sad Father’s Day?

cemiterio-s-joao-batista-vashti quiroz-vega

The Basement: Robbie’s Rite of Passage

The Basement-Vashti Quiroz-Vega

Popular Guests, Spotlights, and Reblogs

Stephen King

Stephen King 126

 Teachers Appreciation Week


 SPOTLIGHT: Photographer Robert Lino

robert lino_photographer

Risky Issues and Lorraine Reguly


Interview With Vashti Quiroz-Vega Author of The Basement – Reblog from Ronovan Writes

Vashti Quiroz-Vega_writer_author

I hope you can stay a while and read one of my stories or articles. Please leave your thoughts in the comment section below. Contact me via my contact page or email if you’d like to be a guest blogger or be interviewed or featured in a spotlight on my blog.

Stephen King

26 Dec



Stephen Edwin King is an American author of contemporary horror, supernatural fiction, suspense, science fiction, and fantasy.


Hello, my name is Vashti and I’m a writer of horror, fantasy, and suspense/thriller. It’s no secret, to those who know me, that I’m a huge fan of author Stephen King. I’ve read most of his books, including the non-horror ones. It is always a bit scary for an avid reader, such as myself, to go watch a movie adaptation of a book I’ve loved reading. Too many times things go horribly wrong. Like when a director or screenwriter change too much of the storyline and mix in a great deal of ‘hollywood’. Like they’re going to tell a better story then Stephen King, really? The directors and screenwriters that have remained within Stephen King’s storyline have gotten it right. Don’t mess with a good thing people.

Anyway, I get goosebumps and chills up and down my spine when I’m asked who Stephen King is. I take a few steps back and imagine a green gooey alien behind his/her skin mask. You’d have to be from another planet not to have heard of Stephen King. He is the bestselling author on the planet and a very wise man. Today, I’m going to list some of my favorite Stephen King books, movie adaptations, and quotes. If you’re not familiar with who Stephen King is you will by the end of this post and maybe you’ve been a fan of his all along and didn’t even know it. 😉

Stephen King 126


My Favorite Stephen King Books:

1/  The Green Mile

2/ Salem’s Lot

3/ Misery

4/ The Shining

5/ The Stand


My Favorite Stephen King Movie Adaptations:

1/ Misery


2/ The Green Mile

imgthe green mile3

3/ The Mist

The Mist

4/ The Shining

the shining_stephen king_horror

5/ Stand By Me




My Favorite Stephen King Quotes:

1/  “Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.”

2/  “And as a writer, one of the things that I’ve always been interested in doing is actually invading your comfort space. Because that’s what we’re suppose to do. Get under your skin, and make you react.”

3/  “Get busy living, or get busy dying.”

4/  “I am the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries.”

5/  “Books are uniquely portable magic.”


Stephen King

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega


Mysterious valleys

Distinct from all the rest

The Mind of a king


Are you a fan of Stephen King? What Stephen King books have you read? What movie adaptation is your favorite?

Haiku Friday – Happy Holidays

19 Dec

Hello and happy holidays to everyone! Welcome to Haiku Friday. Today I’m posting some Christmas horror haiku. I’m actually in bed with the flu right now. It’s the fourth day so I’m feeling better. The last three days were bad. Maybe next year I’ll get the flu shot––maybe. Anyway, enjoy!



Vampire Santa Claus

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega


Blood drips from white beard

burrows deep into the soil

Until next Christmas



Attack of the Christmas Trees

by Vashti Quiroz-Vega


Verdant crown

Pine needles like sharp quills fly

Grotesque man-tree trimmed in lights