A. Scott Harlow
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Stories (3)
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Punchbowl
Punchbowl John stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway on the fifth floor. The carpet was old and thin with brown stains here and there that break up the pattern of blue, gray, and red squares. It always reminded him of the hotel hallways in movies from the ‘70s. He turned down the hallway where his apartment sat near the end, between the fifty-something cat lady who never spoke to anyone and the young couple who don’t seem to understand what time decent people go to bed. Mrs. Beamon, who occupies the apartment across the hall with her thirty-five-year-old son, whom she swears will be famous one day, was sitting in the hall as usual.
By A. Scott Harlow4 years ago in Fiction
A Night at Clairborne Farm
Jennifer fell against the trunk of a pine tree at the edge of the forest and tried to catch her breath. She thought her years on the college track team would have better prepared her for a run this long, but that had been several years ago. Before her, stretched a wide-open field. The clear night sky allowed the full moon to illuminate the tall grass as it blew in the summer breeze. A large house sat a few hundred yards away, but thankfully she was fast enough to have put significant distance between herself and the beast of a man pursuing her. With one more deep breath, she pushed off from the tree and sprinted across the field.
By A. Scott Harlow5 years ago in Horror
For Dudley
A gust of wind caught the hood attached to a tattered woolen trench coat. A thick gray hand reached for it immediately to keep it in place. The creature knew the wind was cold, even though they could not feel it. It was important to keep covered, both to keep their internal organs warm enough to function, but also to conceal the odd and discolored assortment of human parts cobbled together that made up their physical form.
By A. Scott Harlow5 years ago in Horror
