Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock
Bio
Retired Ordained Elder in The United Methodist Church having served for a total of 30 years in Missouri, South Dakota & Kansas.
Born in Watertown, SD on 9/26/1959. Married to Sandra Jellison-Knock on 1/24/1986. One son, Keenan, deceased.
Achievements (6)
Stories (155)
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When the Thief Comes
It was the incessant whir in front of the house that woke me from my stupor & caused me to set the empty cup of coffee I did not remember drinking down on the table. One of the neighbor’s kids had been raking leaves in our yard, but there was no reason he or she (I was never quite sure anymore) would be using a weed whip. I slid my chair back, slowly got up & went to the door to investigate.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock3 years ago in Fiction
Top It Off with a Cherry
In our family, camping took place at the lake. But “summer camp” was almost always a music camp held at one university or another. Our favorite was at SDSU in Brookings, South Dakota where we spent two weeks rehearsing & performing in musicals, choir, orchestra & band. But in 1974 I also attended a five-week orchestra camp in Wisconsin, the last three of which were held at the University of Wisconsin—LaCrosse
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Humans
Deepest, Darkest. Second Place in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Horror Fiction.
“The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.” “Have you heard this one?” Kyra asked the children as they made s’mores around the campfire. It was their fifth & final night at Camp Aafiq, their favorite time for ghost stories.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Horror
An Introduction to Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Her father had told her of slyphs, snyx, snigs & cargots & she still scanned for them every time she searched the clouds. But she had never heard of dragons. Not until he was gone.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
A Rude Awakening
Before I share with you this moment of self-revelation, there are a few things I should probably tell you about myself. I’m a pastor. Well, technically I’m a reverend, an elder in full connection with the Great Plains Conference of The United Methodist Church. But I never liked the title of Reverend for myself. It always made me feel set apart (& somehow above), the members of the congregations I served, not to mention all the folks with whom I worked outside of the church. Whether in deference or with resentment, the title seemed to elevate me in the eyes of others to a place of spiritual & moral superiority that never quite felt right.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Confessions
Once Upon a Lake
Once upon a lake, Time stood still—which may not have been the brightest thing it ever did since it was in a boat at the time. But the lake was so beautiful with the leaves of fall in the riparian forests changing hue & casting their reflections upon the surface of the water. It was a moment when the air was so sweet, the breeze so delicate, the temperature so ideal & the sun, moon & stars in such perfect harmony—& as anyone with an ounce of sense can tell you, there simply is no more wondrous sensation of peace, joy, contentment & grace as to be out in a boat on the middle of a lake with such a day—well, Time just never wanted that moment to end.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
When the Water is Hungry
Normally, he loved the lake. It was where he went swimming & fishing with his friends. The summer camp they attended was just down the path. It was where they gathered on the weekends, building bonfires, eating & drinking, laughing & telling stories.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
Visitations
Corbin was freezing to death, but he was trying not to move. He could hear the two of them—a man & a woman—sitting at the table in the cabin visiting about things he didn’t understand. The man kept tapping various keys on the typewriter as though checking to see how it worked. This was irritating to Corbin as he knew he was getting ink all over the platen that would make a mess on the back of the next piece of paper he rolled in.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
Gifts of the Evanai
She was the kind of person you might see a thousand times yet never notice—unless you were a photographer, in which case you might have snapped a few pics. But you wouldn’t have learned her name or ever sought her out again. Only those in soup kitchens & shelters took the time.
By Randy Wayne Jellison-Knock4 years ago in Fiction
