Spring is full of old superstitions…

Don’t whistle at night
Don’t pick certain flowers
Don’t answer when something calls your name near water

Which one have you heard before—or which one would you NEVER ignore?

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“You ever notice how many rules there are in spring?” he asked.

“Rules?" I asked.

"I'm sure you call them superstitions,” He shook his head. “No. Warnings.”

A pause.

“Something crosses over this time of year.”

“And if you don’t follow the rules?”

He smiled.

“Then you’re the offering.”

Not all water reflects.

Some of it remembers.

This week’s Midnight Bestiary entry dives into the haunting presence of the Rusalka. A spirit shaped by grief, betrayal, and the kind of longing that doesn’t fade. It waits beneath the surface.

Learning you.

Watching you.

Until the moment you step just a little too close.

Field notes. Folklore. And the kind of horror that doesn’t need to chase.

Because it knows... you’ll come to it.

https://bit.ly/4mr4z59

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April is supposed to be about growth… Then let’s grow something unsettling.

My 31 Horror Prompts for April is built for writers who don’t want soft spring stories but something that crawls beneath them.

Inside:

Prompts rooted in folklore, decay, and transformation

Twists on seasonal horror

Ideas that start small… and spiral into something much darker

Grab your copy and start writing what shouldn’t bloom.

https://bit.ly/4m9rQZy

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“Rain like this,” he said, “seeps. Finds its way into places it shouldn’t. Soil. Roots. Bones.”

“Flowers will come,” I said, trying to sound normal. “They always do.”

He smiled at that. Not amused. Not kind.

“They do,” he agreed. “But not all of them start as seeds.”

The rain tapped harder against the glass.

“What kind of flowers?” I asked.

He finally looked at me. “Ones that remember what they grew from.”

Coffee first. Then we watch what starts to bloom.

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I'm so flattered to be the winner! Check out the previous months at - https://www.darkholmepublishing.uk/

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I asked him if he had ever loved anything.
He went still for a long moment, claws resting against the side of his cup, steam curling between us like something listening.

“I knew a woman once,” he said finally.

“Long before the river forgot her name.”
I didn’t interrupt.

Monsters don’t like to be rushed when they decide to remember.

☕ Coffee first. Then we face what’s in the lake.

Something is moving beneath the surface.

This week’s Midnight Bestiary entry dives into the chilling folklore of the Rusalka—not as a myth, but as a presence. One tied to longing, to betrayal, to the kind of grief that doesn’t fade… it transforms.

Field notes included. Patterns observed.

And a question that lingers after you’ve finished reading:
What if the water doesn’t just reflect you… but remembers you?

Full entry live now - https://bit.ly/4mr4z59

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