David Parham
Bio
Writer, Filmmaker, Digital artist.
The ever Changing Complexities of Life, Fear, Mysteries and Capturing that which may not be there Tomorrow.
Complex, Change, Fear, Mystery, Tomorrow & Capture. Six reasons I write.
Stories (66)
Filter by community
Forgotten Man
If you want to know what I do read T...E...H....It’s a nonfiction book detailing somewhat, how the US operates in foreign countries. The offers made, the deals struck and what happens when a leader refuses to play ball. I operate in a similar fashion but the company I work for is completely unknown and I am invisible.
By David Parham3 years ago in Confessions
I Have Sins
“The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Okay kids. I keep reading this statement over and over and I’m just not sure I like it. Pastor Morris sent this spooky little sentence to my cell last night and I spent half an hour copying it, word for word, onto my yellow legal pad. I’m supposed to tell you guys a really scary story using this sentence as my opening statement. Scary Stories around the fire have been a tradition on these outings since I can’t remember when. I think okay no problem but there are five cabins here, not one. Which one do I put the candle in? I kind of wonder if the soon to be retired pastor even remembers camping here 10 years ago? That was the year we lost Billie and Cyrus in the canoe tip over. Their bodies were never recovered. Big lake out there. I know Pastor Morris blames himself for that incident. He hasn’t been on any youth retreats since then. BTW all backpacks are in your assigned cabins so your all set. Thank me later. The food is in my cabin, the cabin with the candle in the window. Sorry. I decided to place the candle in my room because I’ll need the light while looking over instructions and planning for tomorrows activities. In other words I need the light more than you all do. Okay, I’m looking at my to- do list here. We’ve arrived. Check. Back packs are in Cabins. Check. Camp fire lit. Check. Read camp Instructions. Okay, one, don’t go anywhere without your camp buddy. Two, camp buddies have to be girl, girl and boy, boy. No boy-girl combos. That’s how Billie and Cyrus got in trouble. They wanted some alone time and thought the adults wouldn’t bother them out in the middle of the lake. We all know how that ended. We later learned that Billie may have been pregnant. Not sure about that but as youth pastor kids do talk to me. The silver lining there is that we managed to get the canoe back to shore. Billie’s father was happy to have his little boat back. Three, no foul language. I know you kids like to push the boundaries when it comes to expressing yourselves and that’s fine, I was young once too. Please express yourselves as though you were in church. However if something slips out we’re not going to judge. Let’s limit our foul language to the words, damn and hell. Those are in the Bible. I think any word that can be identified by a single letter in front of the word word is offensive. Talking about the f-word, c-word, a-word, b-word, the really bad stuff. Camp instructions. Check. Camp location. You are located in a beautiful wooded area, deep, deep in a forest known as Ridge Pike. Ridge Pike isn’t exactly the agreed upon location, that was Camp River Glenn about twenty miles due east. We passed Camp River Glen on the way up here. And also, ignore that little saying a lot of people repeat, ‘Go to Ridge Pike and end up on a spike.’ I’ve always liked Ridge Pike better, nobody can hear you scream out here. The road we drove in on is, Turner Road, named after little Jimmy Turner. Jimmy was the lad who walked into the woods one day but never walked out. Turner road serves as a gruesome reminder that the forest, while beautiful, can also swallow you up if your not careful. Always have your camp buddy close by. It’s a quick eight mile walk up Turner road to the nearest gas station. Which may or may not be open. And no phones, no cell towers, sorry. Two years ago, Trudy Tyler made it to the station screaming incoherently. She was bare foot, scared, cut up, and of course she asked to use the phone. Sorry Trudy Tyler. Rude awakening. No communication devices. And the restrooms are permanently out of order. Thank goodness I found her. Oh and FYI there is an institution for the criminally insane between here and the filling station. Very dangerous place. Every once in a while someone escapes. But you will all be fine if your camp buddy is with you.”
By David Parham4 years ago in Horror
12th Ticket Anastasia Talks
Tom Mallam to Jimmy Mallam Hey Bro. The following pages contain interviews, news stories, journal entries, minutes of business meetings, private letters, at least one death bed confession, and conversations between various residents in the Welch town of Mills, UK. Convo between Pike Phipps and Coy Lushington are especially curious. These papers were sent to my office by, Toni Gates, widow of Lenard Gates. Evidently Gates received this scrapbook of sorts from his mother, Anastasia Gilina Boltov. St. Boltov’s Mansion.
By David Parham4 years ago in Fiction
The Valley Below
LEARNING TO READ. There weren't always dragon's in the valley, but nobody in Norqurn could remember a time without them. The village elder's, responsible for passing on information to keep people safe told, what most folks believed, were the most accurate tales. Tales written on sacred scrolls and read, word for word, to groups of ten or more souls. The readings went on during the warm days when the sun stayed late in the sky. These words and facts had been passed down for generations. Villagers, listening to those oft read verses, sometimes repeated them leaving out important information or adding details passed down by travelers and roaming bands of hunters who all had stories of their own to tell.
By David Parham4 years ago in Fiction
8th Ticket. Tom
I continued shuffling through the letters we sent each other looking for the beginning, middle and end of our relationship. All this correspondence held a vast array of emotions. One minute I’m laughing five minutes later I’m crying. It was exhausting and after 24 hours of reading I wanted nothing more than to fall back into bed and sleep. Why was I torturing myself with this stuff, why was I holding on?
By David Parham4 years ago in Fiction
7th Ticket. Set Me Free
This time around I’m going to let the investigation come to me, if it comes at all. I’m finished turning over every leaf, bumping up against deadends and hours spent wondering. “Not this time, Mel.” I said out loud into an empty room. “Get Outta my life why don’t ya babe.” My Diana Ross ringtone alerts me to mom’s call.
By David Parham4 years ago in Fiction
