Horror
The Doll From New Orleans
I used to think of myself as a major doll collector. Dolls from all around the world decorated every room of my house. My friend, Michelle, was the biggest supporter of my collection, bringing me a new doll every time she came back from one of her many business trips. With her help, I practically had every kind of doll there was; handmade, machine made, porcelain, plastic, cloth, wooden, creepy, cute, large, or small, I had it.It wasn’t until her most recent trip that I started to change my mind.
By Ada Bartley3 years ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 11
I felt like going for a walk. I mean, I always do, but this particular time I really felt it, like I was strongly carried against a tide of weak reluctance by something persuasive. I skipped breakfast (a lonesome cup of coffee) and would have left without Diva if it wasn't for the fact she bit into the hem of my jeans. As I put on her harness, fighting her excited squirming, I couldn't help but think how unlike me it was to forget her. Whatever had got into me it was intoxicating. I was focused completely on the walk, specifically, for whatever reason, to St. Catherine's Park.
By Conor Matthews3 years ago in Fiction
Spaghetti Family part seven, the chasm of tears
I feel pinned down and burning all over. I know instinctively this is Lesley, and her face scans the house in an authoritative manner stomping about, as I realize I’m no longer able to speak as I try to open my mouth and tell her to get out.
By Melissa Ingoldsby3 years ago in Fiction









