Lobo Miasma
Bio
Cosmic‑horror flash fiction from the 13th Transmission. I write from real sightings, legends, and documented events through an investigative, unsettling lens. If you’re a believer in mysteries, you’ve found your tribe. Ready to awaken?
Stories (5)
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The Unnamable of State Route 87
The Night on State Route 87 It was a usual drive on a well traveled road in Arizona. State Route 87 was a route William Church knew like the back of his hand, often traveling to and from Phoenix. So well in fact that he felt safe enough to bring his wife and travel with her across the desert. Something he went back and forth with in his head seeing how the desert heat and endless terrain can often be unforgiving. What if the truck broke down and they were left stranded? The drive time was about an hour on a night where the moon rose faster than anticipated, and stars started to shimmer bright, twinkling like a mother smiling back at you, on this night a little too bright for the vast expanse.
By Lobo Miasmaabout 8 hours ago in Horror
Charles Hall and the Tall Whites: Wrestling with Phantoms
There is a place in the Nevada desert where the silence is so profound, that at night, it seems to stretch the senses of our reality. This was the place where young Charles Hall found himself debating his very own Sanity. It was the 60’s when Nevada was all about free booze, women and black jack, but for Charles Hall gambling was not to be done with his hard earned cash but for the fortitude of his very soul. Hall was a weatherman for the air force at the Indian Springs Nellis Air Force Base. His duty was simple: to monitor weather conditions and log the entries. Yet, as the sun of sin dipped below the desert horizon, arcane shadows were cast of twisted deformities across the arid landscape, Hall soon questioned if he was alone.
By Lobo Miasma11 months ago in Fiction
Flying Saucer: Fiends in the sky
On June 24, 1947 when the heavens were clear and the winds whispered gently through the valleys of the Pacific Northwest, pilot private Kenneth A. Arnold would embark on a journey that would forever scar his soul. Arnold was going to an air show in Pendleton, Oregon on his single-engine CallAir A-2, a modest vessel for traversing the boundless void above. He departed from Chehalis, Washington Yet, fate — or something far more sinister — had other designs.
By Lobo Miasma11 months ago in Fiction
