Greg Birdwell
Bio
Just an old guy that likes writing stories on occasion.
Stories (2)
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Stolen Souls Chapter 1
"What have you gone and gotten yourself into this time," mumbled Graden, hoisting his book-laden backpack over a jagged rock. A small parchment floated away in the breeze, but Graden barely noticed. He was nearing his journey's end, a tall, somewhat foreboding tower carved from the very stone of the surrounding mountains. If he hadn't been told what he was looking for he would have passed right by it. A long sliver of granite jutted into the sky, slicing through the low laying clouds above. Flickers of orange candlelight dotted the top of the tower, blending it into the starry night sky. The sides of the tower were covered with powdery snow, tall evergreen trees, and several shadowy figures. Squinting through the darkness, Graden could make out the shapes of several great rams foraging for food on one of the tower's slopes. He shuddered, recalling his last unfortunate encounter with the large beasts. Pausing for a moment, Graden fumbled through his beltpouch and pulled out another parchment, this one crumpled slightly and folded along one edge. He unfolded it, took a quick glance at the makeshift map, looked around a bit, then folded it up and stuffed it back into the beltpouch. "Yes, yes this is the right place," said Graden, "but where to look..."
By Greg Birdwell4 years ago in Fiction
The Catch
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. More than one night, if Bill Johnson was to be believed. Bill, the town mechanic and the self-appointed “watchdog of this town”, said on more than one occasion that he “seen a light comin’ out of the shack down by Presser’s Crossin’, not any flashlight neither. It was a flame, like a candle or a match or something!” Unfortunately for Bill, no one believed him since he made a habit of calling the local police department whenever a stray cat wandered by or his newspaper didn’t make it all the way to the front porch in the morning. His last report, delivered via a screaming and mostly incoherent call directly to the police chief, was about how a “hooligan up to no good” was trying to break into his house. After sending out a squad car, it was found to be the mailman trying to deliver a package.
By Greg Birdwell4 years ago in Horror
