Mystery

Bird "Watcher"
Another one flew by. A robin? No, it was too big. Perhaps a hawk. No. Closer in size, but not enough noise to be a hawk.
By IEatForMyFriends4 years ago in Fiction
O.W.L.
A professional car sitter, the stakeout extraordinaire. What kind of trouble am I getting into today? Are these famous last words? Like I’m a badass callously running headfirst into danger. Or am I forcing excitement into another tedious, drawn-out, dead-end lead in this stupid investigation? One after another, after another, how’d I get sucked into this? Eventually, I have to have some sort of luck before driving myself completely insane. That’s what I keep telling my editor, but I don’t think she buys it; I’m pretty sure she’s had it, entirely over my bullshit, just waiting for me to fail so she can fire my ass.
By Barrett DuPerron4 years ago in Fiction
Logging Road Lore
Sedro Woolley is a town founded and foddered by the logging industry, but the foothills of the North Cascades didn’t always belong to Weyerhaeuser. The indigenous Salish people of the area fished and farmed in the Skagit Valley long before the first mill was ever erected. The tribes were eventually pushed onto reservations as the United States continued to push their borders to the west. Although this occurred many generations ago, folklore derived from the spiritual beliefs of the Salish remained, seemly imprinted on the land itself. The stories imparted attributes to the spirits, represented by local animals. Ravens were tricksters, wolves were warriors, racoons were clever rascals, and many more. I grew up listening to and learning about these legends. As I finished my last few years of adolescence in 2010, I lived through the lore.
By Philip Romano4 years ago in Fiction
Tom's Retreat
Tommy woke up with a smile on his face. Today was going to be the day. He was determined to get out into the wilderness by himself and indulge in deep spiritual reflection. No phone, no computers, nobody instructing him to clean his room or do his homework. Some would say Tommy was a religious nut, but he felt it was his beat to march to. Tommy got up and grabbed his khaki shorts, and pulled them up just above the knees. He threw on his yellow shirt with his church's name displayed on the front, put some knee-high socks on, and headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and put some gel in his hair to look like the most gnarly rockstar out there. “What's going on?” Asked his younger brother as Tommy walked into the kitchen.
By Steven B4 years ago in Fiction
The Walk
The ground isn’t soft, yet it brings satisfaction to walk it barefoot. The soil is cold and damp, making Sandra’s feet predominantly aware of the freezing sensation traveling from her soles to her thighs, to her neck. She’s barely wearing anything, but her shame, her old scars, and her shadows. The air is damp and its humidity gets impregnated on her skin like a stamp while she looks around grasping her breaths.
By Lucia Carretero Sierra4 years ago in Fiction
01:30
It’s odd how subconsciously one can hear sounds to drive them out of sleep. The sound that drove me out of slumber that dreadful night was a sound like no other, a low, soft, agonised wailing. I attempted to convince myself that it was the wind producing strange noises, a ghosty orchestra of natural chimes, but I was most certainly not convinced.
By sofia4 years ago in Fiction
The Color Of Rage
Those soulless eyes just keep staring at me. I took another sip of my whiskey, glaring back from underneath my sweat-soaked brown hat at the lifeless barn owl taxidermy perched on the sill of the bar's fireplace mantle. It returned my gaze with such contempt that my spine shivered.
By Nathaniel Warren4 years ago in Fiction
The Owl and The Barn
Act One - Alex "Alex! what is taking so long, dinner is almost ready" says my father with a bello of authority. "ill be down in a minute I have to wash up" I replied, while I'm desperately hiding my paint brushes. I have a hard time with my father. Someone who I respect especially how hard he works with the farm. its been passed down generation to generation in Kent county since our family settled here in 1792 but this isn't the life for me. I've always wanted to move away and become a artist but Mr. Albert Tyler wants me to take over the family business to continue the supply chain of sweet corn.
By Shane lovely4 years ago in Fiction
The Barn Owl's Warning
It was dark and a bit foggy when I pulled into the parking lot of the prison. It’s something I’ve been doing five days a week for about seven years now. Working the early morning shift might seem like a lonely task. But I love that quiet time of day. The stillness of everything, even the air, creates a calmness I crave.
By Amber Statler4 years ago in Fiction
Omen
In regard to owls, the folklore can be inconsistent. In some tales, they forebode storms, evil, and death. In others, they predict victory in battle, act as guardians, and are a symbol of wisdom. Are there members of an owl parliament more predisposed to dark powers, as others may be to light? Or is it that they see what we do not, the grey between the black and the white. The confusing, the unknown.
By Sarah Nicholls4 years ago in Fiction
The messenger
The night started differently. My mom and dad decided to go on a date and I was left home to take care of my little sister. “Sam”, she called me to get her some food. As a college boy, my idea of a vacation did not include taking care of my twelve-year-old sister, Emily, but since I have been two years away from home now studying Psychology, it wasn’t the worst plan. Even though she is a really hyperactive girl, I like hanging out with her. After the stressful semester I had, playing games and watching some movies was something I needed.
By Enrique Carcache4 years ago in Fiction
The Olive Grove
He clawed at the shrapnel tearing through his chest, ripping through flesh and puncturing organs with sounds that echoed in the darkness, surrounding him in a gruesome radio production of his own mortality. The void of the blind eternities stretched out before him as his breath betrayed him in ragged, staccato bursts and the sounds of destruction fell away, like water over the edge of a waterfall, into the oblivious silence. His mind slowed with his fading heartbeat and, as the inevitable scythe found its mark, his eyes searched for their final resting place, fluttered, and…
By Sean Bennett4 years ago in Fiction