Jennisea Redfield
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Stories (96)
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the Shed
There was only one rule: Don’t open the door... I should have listened. I was a girl, just shy of ten, who often stayed with my great-great aunt. She was an odd woman, with a cigarette either dangling from her pruned lips or held carelessly in her left hand. Her house always smelled faintly of cigarettes and the solid stink of Dog. My mother left me with her regularly, and yet my aunt would always escort me outside.
By Jennisea Redfieldabout a year ago in Horror
The Wendigo. Content Warning.
The sun was starting to set. Normally, as it fell beyond the mountain-lined horizon, the flaming star painted the sky a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, pinks, and occasionally blues. But today... it was grey. A solemn, cool grey. The bleak color dyed the meadow, the long grass, and the emaciated trees nearby into something edging on the brink of ominous. What little wind there was made the grey grass whisper and the skeletal trees rattle. I could hear no birds, no crickets, no frogs, or the squeaks of bats. Not even an owl. If I concentrate, I don’t think I could have heard my own heart.
By Jennisea Redfieldabout a year ago in Horror
