Emmett Swann
Bio
I am a writer/director posting short story versions of my screenplays. Please follow along as I create dark worlds and explore them in both written and visual mediums.
Stories (3)
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Out of Sight. Content Warning.
The short, wide hallway acts as a corridor of captured memories, its walls adorned with an assortment of picture frames, housing a chronicle of Jason and Lizzy's past. Within those frames, a past version of themselves smiled, kissed, and intertwined in intimate embraces. A delicate tapestry of self-portraits, encapsulating their love. Beyond this section of corridor, the cream-colored walls diverge, revealing two paths. One leads to a commodious living room, where a large flatscreen TV illuminates the area, projecting a rerun of a John Wayne western. This is a comfortable place, embodied by a plush sofa and a recliner, where Jason lay asleep. The other path guides one towards a solemn, dark brown wooden door, safeguarding the couple's jackets, no longer needed in the warm summer season. A palpable air of antiquity clings to the house and its weathered door, paying homage to generations past. The tarnished brass handle, slightly askew, beckons visitors with a stoic invitation, permitting only a sliver of light to shine in.
By Emmett Swann9 months ago in Horror
It Comes For You
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Its faint light flickered from bright to dim, fighting for its continued flame. The wind howled through the surrounding trees, and slight gusts blew through the many jagged slits in the decrepit windows. A slightly illuminated figure paces back and forth in the wrecked kitchen of this crumbled dwelling. Their wide open, seemingly empty black eyes flutter from window to window, surveying what little can be seen in the vast darkness that had engulfed the surrounding thicket. Cabinets and drawers alike are thrown open and their contents are tossed aside with desperate haste. Mold and mildew have set in on anything edible, a result of the inevitable expiration that befalls all things. He slams the last drawer shut and lets out an exasperated sigh as he leans against the old, scarred wood of the counter. He releases short bursts of air from his nostrils as he rubs his hands down his face, the pressure indenting the skin, hanging loose as they reach the end of their descent. His left leg limps as he shuffles past the dilapidated table. He sets a fallen chair upright, then throws himself down upon it. It creaks heavily under his weight but manages to stay intact. He glares at the cracked wooden floor while fiddling with the frayed ends of his hastily cut shorts, contemplating how much longer he can survive under these grave conditions. The abrupt call of an owl disrupts his macabre thoughts, and he peers out of the window, seeking the source of the sound. He squints, attempting to make out what little movement he can spot in the black of night. His eyes widen in terror. He scrambles to blow out the flame on the old, melting candle, his only source of light. The last match he had scavenged lays next to it, used, as if waiting for the candle to join it in the darkness. He kneels so that he can just barely peek above the counter, searching the blackness where he had seen It.
By Emmett Swann4 years ago in Horror
