The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2


Kick in Halloween with the latest issue of The Haunted Traveler. We opened up and looked for the strangest and the most horrific tales from this universe, bringing them here in a single collection for the readers to get a little twisted. The Haunted Traveler is a horror and science fiction literary anthology that releases twice a year. Published through Weasel Press, the anthology seeks to roam around with the stories you'll never forget. Those dark little tales that are sort of etched in everyone. We love the dark and twisted and we really want to be scared. Check out our website to see when we're open next. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more.


The voice returned; a maniacal babble somewhere

between a shriek and laughter, or an echo of

both. The mourners toppled around him, clinging to

the earth with brittle hands. Jeff spread his arms out

wide, standing tall as the crows fled their nests in a

hail of winged coal. Death came, angered at His calling.

He crawled from the open grave, riding an

abattoir stench that gagged with a toxic sweetness; a

huge snake-like body propelled by green and rotting

limbs, with screaming faces instead of scales and a

gaping maw jammed with yellow tusks that dripped

corruption on the steaming grass. He looked upon the

sunburnt day with a panoptic glance; hundreds of eyes

surveyed the scene, each one as malicious, as indifferent

as eternity.

With a gleeful snap Death swallowed the fallen

mourners one by one, barely chewing as the old and

infirm sank down his gullet to be digested in hell.

Jeff tried not to move, not to vomit, lest he draw attention

to himself. He was in no hurry to test the efficacy

of his sister’s spell at such close quarters. The angels

circled overhead, gurning like gargoyles, the beat of

their wings fanning back his hair, their oily laughter

cording his veins.

Beneath the feeble yelling, and the raucous

gluttony of Death, he heard a scrape and a thud. The

lid began to slide from Gemma’s coffin, screws popping

like burning oak knots, and he panicked in case

he forgot the words he had rehearsed so often, the profound

farewell he had been perfecting since Rhonda

had first suggested this brief resurrection.

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