We last encountered today's contributor Samson Stormcrow Hayes in June, when we published one of his poems. Today he is back with a new flash fiction story – Take Two – which has a suitably horrific theme that makes it perfect for Christmas – well at least perfect if you were brought up with the Yuletide tradition of telling scary stories late at night in front of a flickering open fire. Samson is a member of the Horror Writers Association and since we last encountered him, he has had a poem accepted by Apex Magazine and a story accepted for SNAFU: Future Warfare, a science fiction anthology coming out early next year. He can be found at  www.StormcrowHayes.com  and http://stormcrowspeaks.blogspot.com

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Take Two
by Samson Stormcrow Hayes

Trevor arrived at the set after a three drink lunch in which he fired his agent. He regretted ever agreeing to this low budget film, but his career had taken a sharp downward spiral over the past few years. He needed the work. He found the set designer and asked, "Everything ready for the ritual killing scene?"

Paul smiled and flung open the door to the closed set. "I think it looks pretty good for a low budget movie."

The altar was covered by a pendant with a pentagram. On top of that were a dozen candles, a skull with giant demonic horns, a jar full of eyeballs, and all of it bathed in blood red light.
    
It's a little... over the top, don't you think. Can we tone it down? Just a little."
    
"I took it right from a book on witchcraft. It's exactly what Danny asked for."
    
As if on cue, Danny the director, rushed into the room. Raising his arms triumphantly in the air, he shouted, "Paul, it's perfect. You've outdone yourself."
    
Trevor shook his head. To think, he once produced award winning dramas.
    
"Is everyone back from lunch?" asked Danny. "Okay, let's shoot this thing."

The actors took their positions. Trevor moved to an adjoining room where they had a single cheap monitor set up.
   
"Action!"
    
The Satanists carried in the squirming "virgin."
    
"More smoke, more smoke," whispered the A.D.
    
The actors chanted as the virgin screamed. The lead Satanist grabbed a knife and mimed cutting open her wrists. Thick blood rolled down her arms.
    
Trevor leaned over to the prop guy they hired from Craigslist. "Your fake blood is too thick. It looks terrible."
    
"It's not fake," he whispered back.
    
"What?"
    
"It's pig's blood. My dad works on a farm. It was easier than making it out of corn syrup."
    
Trevor shook his head. He knew they shouldn't have hired local amateurs. The Satanists continued their chant, then they each reached into the jar, took an eye, and swallowed.
    
"Tell me the eyes are fake."
    
"I didn't know anyone was going to eat them."
    
Trevor imagined the possible lawsuits if anyone found out.
    
Suddenly, a flash of light nearly blinded everyone.
    
On the altar, stood a giant creature with four squat legs and two long arms. Its eyes were literally flaming, and buckets of slobber leaked from its giant frog-like mouth.
    
"Ixth Thakt Brxtllt!" it cried.
    
"What the hell is that?" screamed Trevor.
    
Two of the actors were swallowed whole while a claw grabbed a third before the demonic thing disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
    
Danny shouted, "Cut! Tell me we got that?"
    
The cinematographer shook his head. "Blood on the lens."
    
Trevor shouted in disbelief, "We just accidentally summoned a demon and you're worried about the shot?"
    
"It looked amazing. It was absolutely award winning!"
    
"Award winning?" Trevor realized that a low budget spectacle with big effects could put him back on top. "You think so?"
    
"I know so," assured Danny. "Let's see if we can bring that thing back."
    
"Okay," Trevor nodded.
    
"Places everyone," shouted Danny. "Take two!"

It is our great pleasure to welcome back one of our regular contributors: Marge Simon. Marge is a writer/poet/illustrator whose work has appeared in venues such as Strange Horizons and Dreams & Nightmares, and she has won several Stokers for poetry collections. Today she returns with two pieces of microfiction although the first one bridges the border between fiction and prose poetry. You can find Marge at http://www.margesimon.com 


Beauty & the Beast: Postscript
 
Everything was true about this tale, except for the actual ending. When Beauty’s tears fell on the Beast’s claws, they softened, and when she kissed his cheek, the fur vanished like a receding tide. In a blink, her lips were on the mouth of a frog. 

But that’s okay, because she loved him, whatever he was. The only drawback being that the kiss of a frog is not quite as rewarding as the tongue of a Beast in certain places, not to mention – well, whatever you are thinking, you are probably right.


The Best of Times
 
The elders told of a time when citizens carried no guns. It was not a peaceful era; it was a time of great stress, boredom and unhappiness. There were too many people and so many products and games they craved for escape.  People argued over everything.
 
Today, we shudder to imagine such a situation. We can have all the products and games that we want. We never worry about anyone taking them away from us. We no longer have wars or disagreements about anything. And we can have as many guns as we want. True, we only have two bullets left. Yours …and mine.