Dane A Weisbrod
Stories (2)
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The Lonely Void
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. On board the ramshackle vessel known as The Gadabout, however, the old adage failed to hold true. Ezra let out a remarkably lengthy, and frankly impressively articulate, string of profanities as a large cube of compressed junk toppled off a high shelf in the ship's storage hold and landed directly on the big toe of his right foot. The pained cacophony he let out was sufficiently noisy to easily carry to the vessel’s other two occupants.
By Dane A Weisbrod3 years ago in Fiction
The Candle on the Sill
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The grizzled man stepped back from the opening, shaking out the lit match in his hand as he did so. “That’s better,” the man said, taking a seat in the decrepit rocking chair in the corner of the small room. Cobwebs that had sat undisturbed now swayed and tore as he began rocking back and forth, an uneasy creaking noise filling the room in response. The light was barely more than a tiny flicker, but it sufficed to cast eerie shadows all about the room. The old, moth-eaten trophies that lined the walls seemed to writhe and dance as if in a perverse mockery of their previous existence. The small, bouncing flame illuminated the age in the man’s weathered face, the grey in his shaggy beard, the discomfort creeping at the corners of his mouth. Yet the light did not reach his sunken and tired eyes. They were as still and unreadable as those of the animals on the walls as he stared at the small mass curled up on the far side of the room. With a series of grunts and groans the figure began to regain consciousness. It was a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. A worn bag lay open next to her, the heavy books that were its contents strewn across the floor. She was likely a student, perhaps studying business, law, or medicine. It was possible that she had grand dreams of helping others, or maybe she simply desired money. It hardly mattered in the end. No, the grizzled man mused to himself, his face expressionless, the only thing that mattered now was that she was here, in this cabin, on this night. On the window sill the candle burned lower. A date carved on to its side which read “August 19th, 2079” began to melt and drip down the side of the candle.
By Dane A Weisbrod4 years ago in Horror
