Jack Newell
Bio
HI!
I'm Jack Newell and currently reside in Sydney NSW.
I'm 29 and the authors that inspire me are H.P Lovecraft, Stephen King and Ayn Rand.
I love writing about the unknown, the dark and the disturbing.
Stories (3)
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GOLD
He sat on the side of his bed, waiting, not knowing what for. To succumb to the thoughts? Or to let them pass? He did not know. But this was not the first time, nor would it be the last. He turned his wrinkled neck to look behind him and through his dirt riddled bedroom window. Mere inches from the glass was a pear tree. By day it was a staple of his front yard and the envy of his neighbors, but under the veil of night it had transformed into a hulking tentacled mass. It stood in the shadows, between the rays of moonlight, silently mocking him, defiling his precious memories of it. As if provoked, moments in time played through the old man’s mind, in vivid, loud flashes just behind his eyes.
By Jack Newell4 years ago in Fiction
Alex
“There are not nearly enough words in the English language to properly explain death. The loss, the pain, the hurt, the emptiness that one feels when that avenue of love has been shut forever, when someone that you could hug one day has become but a memory the next. This is what it means to be human and there is no escaping it, for without loss there is no love and without love there is no life.”
By Jack Newell4 years ago in Fiction
The Light
The Light Written By J.Newell My story begins with a knock at the door. Two police officers, hats in hands and death in their eyes stood before me. They opened their mouths to speak but I already knew what words would stumble out and fall onto the floor. "Mr. Brooks, may we come in?" "Please take a seat Mr. Brooks." "Mr. Brooks, your wife passed away last night." "Mr. Brooks, the cause of death was exhaustion from swimming, your wife swam right out into the lake in her night gown." But I already knew all this. I knew every detail of what happened, because I watched it happen. I watched from the greenhouse window on the third floor of our house by the lake. I watched while sipping on a searing hot coffee as my deluded, insane wife swam out to the horizon in the middle of the night because of a light. A light. Something that haunted her in her dreams and in the waking world, her words, not mine. Something that she became so obsessed with that she risked, and lost her own life to try and prove to me that she was not insane. She said that the light beckoned her, called for her, needed her, and that she would "go to it, make contact and bring it back to me". A brilliant green light, she said, that pulsated with a high pitched metallic drone.
By Jack Newell5 years ago in Horror
