Love Bite, flash fiction by Jo Gatenby at Spillwords.com

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Love Bite

Jo Gatenby·October 21, 2025

Literature English Halloween

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Love Bite

written by: Jo Gatenby

Zoe stretched languorously, sated, body and mind. Little aftershocks of pleasure from her dreams coursed through her. Rising, she recoiled from the bright sun that stung her eyes.

Her thoughts slipped back to her dream lover. She yawned, longing to sleep again, to be with him. He felt more real than people she saw every day. The other morning, she awoke to find she’d even bitten her own wrist while dreaming of their lovemaking.

Sitting at her dressing table, Zoe smiled at her pale reflection, then frowned at the dark circles under her eyes. Her gaze snagged on something curious; she leaned forward to examine a discoloration marring her delicate neck.

She froze. Then she slowly touched the two small holes piercing her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared at the blood staining her fingertips.

Her eyes rose to the mirror again—but her reflection was gone.

About
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Jo Gatenby

Jo Gatenby writes whatever the voices shouting in her head tell her to. She has published several flash fiction and short stories, as well as four children’s books. Her first fantasy novel will launch on Nov 8th, 2025, published by Balance of Seven. Thanks to her grandmother, she is a status Algonquin of the Pikwakanagan First Nation, in Canada.

Jim Bartlett

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

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