Home > Flash Fiction, Horror, Review, Were > Review – Hemlock Grove

Review – Hemlock Grove

My wife and I just started watching season two of Hemlock Grove, a paranormal drama from Netflix. I have to recommend this. The show is well done, there is good acting and in most cases, it trumps any werewolf or vampire movie you want to watch. No, it doesn’t beat them all, there are a few that do a really good job, but in truth, those seem to be few and far between.

If you are a fan of the monsters, then you should be watching this show. Best werewolf transformation scene ever.

On the writing front, I am editing three different things at the same time and plotting two more stories. This is frying my brain in new and unusual ways. I don’t enjoy editing. I am happy to make revisions, but editing is my bane. I love my editors for taking the time to tell me what to fix so that you guys will enjoy the story more.

So, of course, three at once. I am a special kind of idiot.

On an un-related note, the wife and I may get to work as staff on another comic book and toy convention. That was a blast and I can’t wait.

L. E. White


Martin sat on the floor, back in the corner so that each smooth, plastered surface pressed against one shoulder.

With his back in the corner, it couldn’t get him from behind.

He looked down at his empty hands and then turned them over, looking at the grime that left dark lines under his nails and spider web patterns across his knuckles. He wondered how long it had been since he had first gotten sucked into this game.

The job advertisement in the paper had seemed too good to be true. He had agreed to a physical and mental aptitude test a week later and been excited at the prospect of a check.

A week later, he was in this maze of hallways and offices. Martin was covered in small wounds and bruises. He was naked and grimy, with blood splattered all over him.

He had blood up to his elbows, like he had dipped his arms in red paint.

He was sure something was in this place with him. Martin had heard a strange whistle a couple of time, followed by screaming and some gigantic wild beast roaring or howling. He didn’t know what made that noise and he was sure he did not want to find out.

He had run into other people a few times. They would either run away screaming or run to him, so happy to see another person that would collapse at his feet, sobbing and saying how great it was to see him.

Until they saw the blood. Then, they would look at him with wide, terrified eyes. They would stand still, mouth open, and then every single one would ran away. He didn’t want to be alone, but after chasing and losing a few of them, he would just let them run.

Every time he stopped chasing them, he would hear the whistle. Every time he heard the whistle, he would pass out. When he woke up, Martin would find himself alone. Most of the time, there was also a slick smear of blood somewhere in the room with him.

A door, almost in the opposite corner of the room opened, and a beautiful woman with dark red skin walked in. She was wounded and covered in blood and gore like he was, but she did not look afraid. She looked at him, and for a minute, Martin wondered if she was crazy. She looked at him like a piece of meat.


Her lip curled up, though he couldn’t tell if it was snarl or smile, and she tilted her head to one side. “Is he the last?”

“The last what,” Martin asked.

A hollow voice sounded through the room from an intercom speaker that Martin had not known was there. “He is.”

“Good,” she said, and then she stepped towards him.

He watched her drop onto her hands and knees, facing him. He started to ask what she was doing, but his voice failed him when she grunted in pain. A ripple in the muscles on her back ran down her arms to her wrists before the skin on her knuckles split and she howled at him. He sat in the corner, shivering, as he watched a creature out of his childhood nightmares tear its way out of the woman. It rolled on the ground, whimpering and whining, and Martin started to lean forward, as if he might be able to help it stop the pain.

Then he heard another whistle. It was deeper and felt like his bones began to vibrate while it played. As a memory of hearing it before tried to reach him, his own skin began to split and fall off his hands. Searing pain shot through him as the skin peeled away, revealing thick, wet, dark fur.

He felt a deep roar tear its way out of his throat before darkness swallowed him again.

Categories: Flash Fiction, Horror, Review, Were
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