Jamie Allen
Stories (4)
Filter by community
Nightmare Magician
The crowd were all seated and ready. The chatter of nearly 1,000 people in the warm glow of the theatre's lights carried with it the anticipation of witnessing something special - a magic show. The bright red, vermillion and gold decor spoke to the occasion and glistened, as the 8 pm start time rolled around.
By Jamie Allen5 years ago in Horror
Any Time
I’m in a bunker, on my own. It’s dark and damp, no more than the bare basics, even by 1915 trench-warfare standards. The outside world is a wasteland. As far as the eye can see is no man’s land, including the trenches themselves. None of this is a place for any man. Crows are the only inhabitants of the rancid cesspit between us and them - a world of dead trees, dead horses, dead land and dead men. The broken souls and tattered sanity of so many lay as thick as the mud under the fog which seems to seldom lift. Perhaps this is for the best, for what use is it to witness such a menagerie of lost life at every waking moment. From my cell in the trenches the most I see is the changing shades of grey light beyond the wooden door.
By Jamie Allen5 years ago in Horror
Cash and Blood
Part 1 - The rules Jason had never seen a gun in person before, but the one on the table was definitely real. So was the graze on his temple where the pistol had been jammed a few moments ago. Sitting at his small kitchen table, under sterile white light, he felt like he was in an interrogation room - the kind where you leave by confession or not at all.
By Jamie Allen5 years ago in Criminal
Pen-pals
The old wooden door opened with the scraping and creaking that comes with age, from the warping effect of many rainy days followed by warm ones. Its maroon paints flaked and a few pieces fell off as one of the things entered. In one corner of their little room they sat. They knew what it meant if a thing came in: they wanted something. Commotion began in all of the other rooms too, the bleating chatter of a group working out what is going on, or what may be coming. Its footsteps sounded wet, which fitted with the drumming of the rain on the roof, and the small stream being allowed in by the crack in the corrugated panels. Where it fell it made a small path on the soft floor.
By Jamie Allen5 years ago in Horror
