Sandor Szabo
Bio
I’m looking to find a home for wayward words. I write a little bit of everything from the strange, to the moody, to a little bit haunted. If my work speaks to you, drop me a comment or visit my Linktree
https://linktr.ee/thevirtualquill
Stories (29)
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Caretakers: Part 1. Top Story - December 2025.
-------- Author's Note ------- Before going any further, I would like to give a quick heads up. I'm trying something a little different with this story. In the past I've lost momentum writing longer pieces. But, this is a story I've had brewing since 2018 and I think in order to get it out there, I'm going to release it in chunks. I'm not sure how many we'll end up with but what you're about to read is a mystery/thriller set in the same town as a previous story I wrote, "Blue Heron Creek". Thank you for giving this a read and... be careful when you check into Mercy Regional Hospital... The morgue doesn't have the only thing rotten...
By Sandor Szabo12 days ago in Fiction
Season’s Sniffles
Cold and Flu Season Shared ladle, shared destiny Shared waiting room cough ******** A note from an ER nurse ******** Why, during the most contagious time of the year, do we decide to share food at potlucks and family gatherings? I motion to move all of these lovely holidays to the summer.
By Sandor Szabo13 days ago in Poets
Everything I've Ever Written is Regurgitated- And Yours Is Too!
Recently, I was flipping through facebook reels— yes, I’m old— when I saw an ad that caught my attention. On screen: colossal beasts with gleaming mechanical skeletons and ragged, battle-scarred hides stomped through a scorched wasteland, flanked by ragtag scavengers and grim-faced soldiers leveling rifles like it's their last stand.
By Sandor Szabo2 months ago in Writers
The Smoke of Their Torment . Top Story - October 2025. Content Warning.
Mama, I’m so sorry. I’m so damned sorry. I tried to wash up but in this poor lamplight I can hardly tell whats ink and whats his blood. I ain’t bad, mama. I swear I aint. And I’ll always be your boy. Remember that time I caught us that whopper of a catfish. You and daddy was so proud, we was all so hungry.
By Sandor Szabo3 months ago in Fiction
How Much Space Does a Man Need?
I find it interesting that the richer you are the more goddamn space you take up. Palaces swallow acres, while the rest of us rot in the broom closets and cupboards of America. Yachts drag their fat bellies across the water while men claw for a door or a table— rats fighting for a plank in the shipwreck.
By Sandor Szabo3 months ago in Poets
The Haint of Blue Heron Creek. Winner in Leave the Light On Challenge. Top Story - August 2025.
Nate stirred the soup even though it didn’t need stirring. The can said “hearty beef,” but it was thin as brown ditchwater. The floating bits of gristle reminded Nate of drowning insects, bobbing in the creek. Behind him, Ty sat on the kitchen floor, coloring. The waxy scrape of crayon on paper grated on Nate’s nerves.
By Sandor Szabo6 months ago in Fiction
