Horror
The Twelve-Minute Day
There are two days in your life that are not twenty-four hours long. The first is the day you are born. Jesse was unceremoniously dumped into the world at twelve minutes before midnight on December 31st, 1999. They spent twelve minutes in one millennium, and then the rest of their life in another. Their friends liked to joke about how Jesse was almost not a 90s baby.
By C.J Truman4 years ago in Fiction
That Sinking Feeling ...
Slipping into the water, from the charter boat, anchored off Bracebridge, Ontario, into the Muskoka Lake down the mooring line, into the dark depths below, Graham descended. Hand over hand, as gracefully as possible, with 36 pounds of lead strapped to his waist onto this weight belt and another 4 pounds of lead in 2 pound ankle weights each at the bottom of each leg.
By Graham Cooke4 years ago in Fiction
Eleven Eleven
Eleven as a number has never held any meaning to me, I couldn’t care less about it after I learnt to count. If anyone asked me to recite facts on the number eleven before today, I honestly wouldn’t have known a single thing about it. What I can tell you is that in the last few hours I have learnt more about the number eleven than I ever cared to know. It is the smallest two-digit prime number, it’s the number of players on each side of soccer, cricket, and football, it is the number of sides on a Canadian dollar coin, it is the tenth most popular lucky number in the world, World War I ended on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour – funnily enough so did my life.
By Emma Finucan4 years ago in Fiction
Fog swamped
Three kids in their early teenage years named Jake, James, and Nathan would get together and hang out near their neighborhood swamp to hang as a group. They became friends at a 4th of July party, when their parents introduced each other. Soon after that they would find out out they lived near by each other, and also went to the same school. Every weekend after school. They would gather up and on their walk home take a dirt back road in the housing track to take a short cut. There was never a problem, all year it would be ther alternative route to talk loud and chuck rocks at the pond and safely return home.
By Jericho J weiss4 years ago in Fiction
Seeing in my Sleep
Bubbles surfaced, and popped, on the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal, where yet another murderer had just claimed the life of a young female businesswoman. The bubbles had stopped by the time police divers fished the lifeless corpse of Reyla Hockinson from the water. Nearby, Chief Walden Warheim fielded questions.
By Skyler Saunders4 years ago in Fiction
The Ferryman
The ferryman looked over his shoulder at me, feral eyes glowing red. Then, as if in answer to my question, his gaze returned to the horizon. A dark line of cliffs barely visible there in the dim twilight. His long-fingered hands gripped a set of oars, his skin a dark grayish blue like the murky ocean water we were to cross.
By Kelsey Reich4 years ago in Fiction
The Witch Pool
Maman walked for miles to see that body. She was angry, real ugly angry about it, too. She let her shoulders hunch like the weight of the anger was drawing her down into the earth. Her footsteps were a harsh stomp and her mouth tugged down at the corners into a nasty scowl. When the wind whipped, long strings of gray hair escaped the chignon and tore about her like a storm. It was an ugly sight when my mother was mad, everyone said so. Especially me.
By Claudia Neaves4 years ago in Fiction
