HHJC

Joined March 2021

8 stories

Bio

Stories (8)

Filter by community

Sort by (Optional)

New user detected
Anna loved to watch Isabel at work. There were the rituals when Isabel first sat down; that long, frizzy hair pulled back into a messy bun, the cup of tea set down by the keyboard, the slight frown as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the screen. Then there were the tics when she worked. Isabel usually needed two tries to hit the ‘enter’ key, always used ‘Caps Lock’ instead of ‘Shift,’ and was much calmer working with words than numbers. Finally, there were the signs that Isabel was slowing down for the night. She would begin to yawn, and her eyes would drift more and more frequently to her phone, until finally, at ten o’clock or so, she would mutter something under her breath, undo her hair, push the chair back, and head for bed. Anna thought that she was most beautiful then.
By HHJC3 years ago in Horror
Waiting Game
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was citronelle and lemongrass scented. Maura wasn’t sure she knew what those words meant, but it had been the most expensive candle in the shop, and without a sense of smell, she tended to go off price tag. Besides, she knew that Emilia would recognize the packaging when she came in. She wanted Emilia to know that she had money now, and more than that, that she was willing to spend it on her.
By HHJC4 years ago in Horror
Last-born
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Before Ayanna had become pregnant, the largest creature that lived in the valley of Ilingay had been the cows and the occasional ofirka, who would pop out of bushes roaring without warning but only to disappear again when you puffed out your chest and held your arms up over your head. The villagers would walk between each other’s houses at night with bags full of sweet-smelling pastries and spices, never even bothering to glance upwards, and children would dart between bushes well into the night, shrieking and playing on small tambourines.
By HHJC4 years ago in Fiction
Cold Eyes
The pond froze over fifty-seven moons ago. Every night, I watch a blur of pale light creep over its surface, until it glows like another moon embedded in the earth. The shifting glows and shadows are the only thing I can see clearly. I know that there are trees around the edges of the water, but in the dark they seem like eyelashes, blurs at the corner of my vision. I imagine that later in the year, they will grow thicker and wider with leaves. I am looking forward to seeing them more full.
By HHJC4 years ago in Horror
Wilting
Before the marigolds were food, they were crowns. In late May, as the deep spring greens were beginning to dry and crackle brown, Elodie and her sister would jump the fence at the back of the garden and run into the hills. They would dig through the roots and weeds around the edges of the trees, until one of them, usually Annabeth, spotted a flash of yellow burrowed in the shrubbery. Then it would be a race to the flowers, white skirts ripping on brambles and thorns, to see who could be the first to snatch the blossoms up from the soil. The winning girl, also usually Annabeth, would dig her nail through the stem, and thread the flower through the stem of another. Elodie imagined that the chains of golden blossoms looked just like the tiaras that the queens of England wore in her favorite storybooks. When the setting sun made their crowns glow like warm pebbles, the sisters would traipse home. They dragged their heavy limbs under the fence and down the short dirt road to their house. Their mother would shriek at the state of their ruined dresses.
By HHJC4 years ago in Fiction
Stitches
When I first started to sew, I could barely feel the needle in my hand. It was because I could not feel the needle that I had started sewing. A month earlier, I had broken six bones in an accident, and lost feeling in three of my fingers. The doctors assured me that sensation would come back eventually. The more I used my hands, the quicker it would be.
By HHJC4 years ago in Motivation
Returns
Mark knew about the happiest days of stranger’s lives before they did. He would find out about engagements and golden anniversaries weeks in advance, when soon-to-be husbands or wives of twenty years walked into his shop to buy rings, brackets, or the delicate dragon tail necklaces that had made his father’s shop famous. Mark only took commissions from walk-in customers. His dad had always insisted on it.
By HHJC4 years ago in Fiction
Muscle memory
I’ve never seen my mother. I haven’t heard her voice either, although I’ve been told many times that she draws out her vowels, and always sings flat. When I was younger, I’d run my fingers over her lips and cheeks, trying to guess what sounds she might make from the dips under her cheekbones and the cracks in her lip. On the nights I would trace her features again and again, she would gently lift my hands away.
By HHJC4 years ago in Families