Category: Short Stories

Departed

One day, he just stopped coming around. It wasn’t something I noticed at first, I mean how often do you notice when the dead don’t appear. But a part of me had gotten used to his regular visits, and as the days stretched into weeks and then months I slowly realized that I might never see him again. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be happy, or sad. There aren’t any real etiquette guidelines for dealing with the dearly departed, at least none that I’ve ever found. I think I finally realized I missed his presence during the long and lonely days of winter break. My housemates had gone home for the holidays, but since my family was closer I planned to wait until Christmas Eve to drive to my parent’s house. It’s funny how different an empty house feels compared to a full one, especially one that has stood for over a hundred years. The soft noises as it settles in the cool of night, or the creaking third stair take on a different tone. Sounds that I took for granted on a normal day became ominous in the lack of companionship. The stories I’d heard as a kid made more sense. It was those days I found myself missing my grandfather’s spirit most of all. He had always been so protective of the house; never letting me wander alone as a child, always watching to make sure I didn’t break anything. Even when I was older…

Mirror, Mirror

The only sound was that of my heart, slamming in my chest, louder than the panting of my lungs' desperate attempt to restore oxygen to my system. If muscles made a noise, however, their cacophony would have quickly overwhelmed the sound of the blood pulsing through my veins. Each screamed in its own way, protesting the exertion. Even my breasts were sore from impacts to the soft tissue from my frantic flight. Primal instinct compelled me to run; to flee until daybreak broke over the horizon. Yet the logical part of my brain insisted that it would have been impossible for the evil unleashed to have caught up to me. It hadn't yet fully awakened, there is no way it could have known the direction I ran, something deep within said. Can you be sure? something even more central to my core demanded. I forced my inner turmoil to be silent, and decided that moving was the best option. Yet, I did slow from the terrified sprinting to a brisk walk. I knew one thing, that I needed to find my way out of the catacombs underneath the city. I reached out and felt the cool stone of the walls. Smooth. In my panic I had at least fled in the right direction. I felt in my pockets. I had dropped my flashlight in the deepest part of the maze, but I was pretty sure that I had shoved a pack of matches into my pants. My fingers touched the…

Word Bytes – Rejection Day

Word Bytes number 2, entered into this Writing Contest where the rules stated to come up with a phrase for a multitude of something. Once again 100 word limit. ------------------------------------------------------------- Her finger hovered over the mouse button. She knew what she would find when she double-clicked. She closed her eyes; her hand made the requisite motion. December first, every agent's nightmare. She cautiously opened her eyes again, hoping this year would be different. However, her wish was not granted. The number next to her inbox was higher than ever, the quorum of querists far exceeding the usual amount. With a despondent sigh she opened the first. “Dear Agent...” This day's not off to a good start, she thought as she prepared herself to send the ream of rejections.

Word Bytes – Witchcraft

The past few weeks I've been participating in fun little 100 word or less contests on Janet Reid's blog. It's a fun diversion, and a challenge for me since I rarely write so short. Anyway, rather than let them just disappear into the depths of blog comments I decided that somebody here might get a kick of how horrible different they are. So I'll try to remember to post them here after the contests close. And since they're so short I've decided to call them Word Bytes, kinda a pun on sound bites... you get it? No? Oh well. Below is the first one I entered to the Scariest Writer Writing Contest, have fun. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Witchcraft is a beautiful thing, however awaiting the witching hour is often a labor of love; the interminable pause before you see the moon shining bright in the midnight sky. I look up. The time is close at hand. A thin wisp of cloud obscures the disk hanging in the blackness. My gaze returns to the circle in front of me. Carefully gathered stones glimmer in intricate patterns. Silver light floods the clearing. I cross the threshold, my white gown trailing over the rocks, an ancient dagger in each hand. It's time. My blood will unleash eternal darkness.