David Kroesen
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Stories (3)
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The Well
My eyes shot open and stared into the dark room where I had laid down for a nap. I rose quickly, the room spinning as I did. I let a few moments pass while I collected myself before making my way to the window and throwing open the curtains. The sun was setting below the tree line of the forest that surrounded the house, hazy light casting long eerie shadows across the yard. I could just make out the old well on the corner of the property. It was an old stone well you would see in a cartoon. Long since fallen out of use, it was currently capped off with heavy wooden slab. A sense of deja vu washed over me, quickly followed by terrible dread. I shook my head and turned to leave the room. The sense of dread followed me down to the kitchen.
By David Kroesen5 years ago in Horror
Coming Home Early
George stopped and stared at his front door, taking in all the details. The purple paint that his wife had insisted upon was beginning to show signs of wear. The edges were peeling ever so lightly, dirt and grime had built up around the handle. The brass door knocker was beginning to tarnish as well. George hated this door. He had not wanted a purple door, to him it was obnoxious and gaudy. His wife Emily had informed him he was wrong and simply did not understand these kinds of things and in the end he had relented. He admittedly had no eye for décor, but it still did not mean he had to like it.
By David Kroesen5 years ago in Confessions
