Shelbi Billingslea
Bio
Just found out last year that I’m a writer. Though, all I’ve ever done is write.
Stories (3)
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Mr. Grim
“The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Mr. Grim had returned. The local serial killer who’d been missing in obscurity for almost seven peaceful years was back in his wretched childhood home, among these very woods. The towns people coined him Mr. Grim because like the Grim Reaper, once he sees you, you’re dead. He’d brutally butcher, bludgeon, pound or strangle anyone he so laid his eyes on; improvising his instruments of death based upon mere convenience. They say his father was an abusive alcoholic who would make him undress and beat him bloody with a switch, then lock him out of the house, forcing him to sleep in the frigid cold fields, here, just yonder. His mother was a schizophrenic who never uttered a single word, not even to defend her son when his cries filled the cabin, the thoughtless lashes ripping through his skin, piercing through his heart.
By Shelbi Billingslea 4 years ago in Horror
Valley of the Dragon
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” says Nigel. “Back when the witches were in favor, nobody even knew what a dragon was. It was the women, covens, that held dominion over the land. With their steaming cauldrons and spells from long past, witches were revered for their earthly intuition. They were the architects of humanity, men, the builders. People sought the witches' counsel and would leave sobbing of the miracles their eyes had seen. Covens could heal wounds the doctors could not. There were bountiful harvests, true fellowship, but no dragons.”
By Shelbi Billingslea 4 years ago in Fiction
