Horror
The Raggedy Man and the Ebon Soul
The hotel was a dump. Run down, old and dirty. Not far from the Atlantic ocean in a cold empty part of Maryland that closed down shortly after labor day. The fact that the hotel was still open seemed almost a miracle. But there were indeed occupied rooms, as the cars outside attested too.
By Michael Mayr4 years ago in Fiction
The Old Woman and Her Handsome Boy
The Old Woman sat in the restaurant and she fidgeted…yes, she actually fidgeted for the first time since she was a girl. She was nervous, so nervous she could barely stand it. Her daughter had offered to come with her to lend her support, but she had felt it was better this way.
By Michael Mayr4 years ago in Fiction
A Daughter's Dread and a Father's Lament
Hello my beloved child, I am sure you are quite surprised to receive this letter from me. However, I assure you, you are not as surprised as I am! For I did not escape your treachery my dearest daughter. Your betrayal was quite thorough, and I, along with your beloved mother, elder brother, and dear little sister, were slain by your foul minions. But unlike our family, my child, I was denied oblivion’s sweet embrace. You see, while I felt compelled to enter the light, I could not. My anger, my pain, my...rage? It would not let me leave. Your treachery Adelia...it has kept me here. In this world of hate, pain and sorrow. Why is that I wonder?
By Michael Mayr4 years ago in Fiction
Homestead Horror
Moaning and shivering, I slowly realized the uncomfortable lump under my ribs was the nightgown I hadn't put on before collapsing across my bed. I rolled over and grimaced toward the unseen air conditioning vent that blew too hard on my freshly shaved head. I realized that, in addition to being bald, I was covered in a sheen of sweat. No wonder, given the dream I had just awakened from. Scenes from the dream flashed through my mind, and I shivered again.
By Ben Waggoner4 years ago in Fiction
Death Dreams Dire Wolves: Part Seven
Chapter Thirteen: Promises Manzer and Beatrice struggle to recover from the intensity of the event that just took place in front of them. The intense blast of energy that had put the both of them on their backs not only affecting their sense of sight but of location as well as they struggle to identify where exactly it is that they rest. It's almost as if someone lit a firework in between them that set a certain boundary into motion, one that comes with dire consequences if ever crossed. Despite the lack of cognitive and visual perceptions the back room of the shop that they are in no longer has light in it to give them any sort of guidance or locational substance. So the two are left to clumsily feel around the room with their hands.
By Epitome Publishing4 years ago in Fiction
Bad Dreams, Worse Ideas
A crunching sound exploded with each step, as his foot broke the icy surface of the snow covered path. Last night it had snowed, enough to obscure any past footprints or markings on the path. As dawn broke, the snow storm slipped from full flakes to falling ice. Coating everything with a glimmering thin layer of ice. In the quiet of the forest the crunching of his steps felt louder than expected. There was a bit of satisfaction with the sound. Breaking the silence seemed to make the cold fade for just a moment.
By Adam Winegarden4 years ago in Fiction
The Pull-Along Duck
I no longer care for the house you live in. The two-story brownstone stood prouder before, tucked away in the corner of a once-prominent cul-de-sac. The sun poured in through the grand windows and lit up spotless woodwork. Now cold air seeps through cracks between plywood sheets. My bare feet stick as I steady my weight on the living room floor.
By Dina Alexander4 years ago in Fiction
Station Master
Tall, skeletal plants hunched in each corner of the hotel lobby, licking the ceiling with their yellow leaves. They screamed in dry desperation, clawing at the air for moisture. Henry had the sudden urge to set the plants alight, to put them out of their misery. He gulped as he passed them by, his own throat itching for a drink.
By Paul O’Neill4 years ago in Fiction
