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from The Brightest Firefly by Dacia M Arnold

A Mirror Negative

A Mirror Negative






In July 2017, I finished my very first novel. As a reward, and much needed mom-vacation, I booked my first writer’s retreat. Ghost Town Writer’s Retreat in Georgetown, Colorado is where I met the foundation of professional friends I have today. This horror writing gathering thrust me into circles of well-established authors as well as beginners like myself.

The following story is my first attempt to write dark/ horror fiction and finding a balance between good and evil.


She moaned and shook, lying on the cold, dank concrete in an abandoned basement. Her swollen abdomen contracted. The young woman rolled to her left and right in the pitch black. A gush of thick black liquid poured from her and onto the floor, flowing deep into cracks in the foundation, searching for something to soak, absorb, cling to. The tarry substance covered the red-inked pentagram drawn onto the ground she lay on. Legs opened wide, her once low grumble escalated into a scream of excruciating pain. From her birth canal came both light and darkness. Louder her shriek grew until a brilliant radiance along with a colorless void burst from between her thighs.

The glow fought to fill the room, banishing the damp cold and mildew from what it touched. The cherub she birthed rose into the air, stretching thick baby arms and legs. Small lips parted into a yawn and then to a smile as she looked down at her surrogate. The woman lay motionless staring at the tiny winged baby radiating purity and warmth. She raised a hand to her as a tear fell from the corner of her eye in awe and fear of the innocence before her.

The ebony waters continued to leak from her womb. In the murky pool lay a ball of thin limbs, a scant torso and a head too large in proportion to the ink colored body. Instead of a cry, a hoarse screech came from the ugly being on the floor. He was cold and only knew pain. From a still, haunted corner of the room, long clawed fingers attached to thin vile arms groped the ground toward the crying pathetic mass, grabbing arms, legs, and pulling the defiled atrocity into the darkness with them.

But good was winning, faster than the condemned could retreat to their permanent darkness. Just before the greedy hands pulled the tiny demon to the place where they dwell, a ray of light touched his right knee, paling the once black surface. Then they were banished to the place where the others hide. The battle still waged between the foul wickedness of the dark void and the righteous purity of the light. The tar began to boil on the ground, hissing. Its mass ebbing and flowing in aggressive defiance. It bubbled and popped in a turbulent contest. When touched by the light, the liquid splashed into the air, licking the cherub on her right knee, leaving a black mark where the skin had once been pale.

The young woman watched in horror as the battle continued. She fear...

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