Desirae Anaya
Bio
What gives the soul direction? What makes the eyes grow wider and the breath escape the lungs? Stories. Stories and storytellers. I see the story that is buried deep within the crevices of stone. It is my duty to expose that story.
Stories (22)
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Crowing Dawn
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Jeremy, Kayla, Royce, and I all looked at each other with concern. "Of course, Mrs. Swell. We won't open it." I said. Mrs. Swell was satisfied with my answer and finished her tour of the old church. I looked at Jeremy and Royce and urged them to continue filming.
By Desirae Anayaabout a year ago in Horror
Dreams
I keep having this dream. It isn't a nightmare, but it's not a good dream either. This dream always begins with an empty bench. The scene is different each time, but the empty bench is not. It is an old wooden bench, the kind that would give splinters if sat on recklessly. I am always compelled to sit on this bench, no matter where this bench was. The only other consistent aspect of that dream is I am the only one sitting on it. Except this time, there was another.
By Desirae Anaya2 years ago in Fiction
A Reversal of Success
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. This reflection revealed a woman in her mid-thirties with long, wavy brunette hair, crows feet around the eyes, laugh lines around her mouth, a complexion that was free of blemishes despite not having make-up on, and her eyes were honey brown. This reflection was youthful and mature all at once. It looked like me but wasn’t me. What would you do if you were witnessing something like this? In a fit of rage and confused panic I threw my martini glass into the mirror shattering them both. This fit did not end there. I needed to smash every mirror in my massive four bedroom condominium. By the time I finished busting the mirrors in hallways, bathrooms, and spare bedrooms, I was breathing like a prey animal being chased by a predator. Without any energy left, I collapsed onto my kitchen floor.
By Desirae Anaya3 years ago in Horror
The Last Train Ride
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Jeremy approached the steps of this abandoned cabin and slowly reached for the door knob. At this moment, Jeremy awoke from this dream with a start. He was in his bed, dripping in a cold sweat. The blankets had fallen to the floor of his bedroom. Jeremy sat straight in his bed breathing heavily, grasping at his mattress sheets. This was the fourth night in a row he has had the same dream about the cabin in the woods. He was very familiar with this cabin. It had been in the foreground of the landscape that he passes on his morning train ride every day. Jeremy had been riding this train for the past five years. It was only recently that he started dreaming about the cabin. Jeremy finally regained himself. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to face the clock. It was 5:52am. His alarm clock would sound in eight minutes. Jeremey fell back onto his pillows and stared into the darkness of his room, wondering why he kept dreaming of that cabin.
By Desirae Anaya4 years ago in Horror
