Natalia Plos
Their flight is almost silent. The irresistible call of blood guides them through the darkness.
He sleeps, unaware of his fate. He is prey.
They are already ready to taste the blood of the victim. Their flight ends so absurdly — the resounding clap of his broad palm and his words. “I hate mosquitoes!”
“So, did you sell my house?” Craig asked.
“It’s not that easy to sell a haunted house,” Allen grumbled.
“Why can’t you grow some pretty flowers in the windowsill or sweep the floor? There’d be lines for a house with an automatic cleaning function.”
“Evil haunts don’t do that,” Craig shrugged. “I’m a very respectable and dangerous evil haunt.”
“Can’t you move into another house?”
“I can’t.”
“Well...” Allen said wistfully. “There’s still a chance you’ll find someone who likes you. And who will understand that talking to an evil haunt can be more pleasant than talking to most people.”
Natalia Plos is a horror writer. Her stories appeared in Stygian Lepus and Dark Myth Publications.
I felt weakness in my body, and then a crazy cold reached the depths of my bones. With a heaviness, the doors of the cryo chamber opened in front of me. Warm air rushed in and blew on my face, helping me regain my senses. I remembered where I was.
Two men in white robes watched my awakening.
“How many years have passed?” I asked them slowly.
“348 years. It is now 2373.”
“You woke me up. So you have found a cure for my illness?”
“We are sorry. Your account has run out of funds to support your body.”