I know he knows I am watching him. I can see Daffid look over his shoulder as he sits on his sofa. He is scanning the dark hallway behind him. He gets up and walks to his bedroom door, turns on the light and enters. He turns off the light […]
Echos of Daffodils Read More »
It started with my 3 year old son screaming in his room in the middle of the night. When I came in to check on him he was in hysterics. Tears ran down his little cheeks as he cried about how the Boogeyman had frightened him. I let him sleep
Rory Larkin often asked himself why he had decided to visit the house on Baileigh street. Was it an attempt to show everyone that he was fearless and rational enough to discard some silly superstitions that reigned over the hearts and minds of Rasperville’s townsfolk? No, no and no. Rory
* Writer’s note – Originally published 2006 in Dark Fire Fiction. I am the author and own the story rights. “It’s time I told you about loss, boy.” We sat, my Pa and I, beneath the old great willow that marked the end of our property and the beginning of
Athene Hibou walked through her childhood home slowly. Her hand trailed gently along the mahogany banister as she climbed the stairs. Subconsciously, she jumped over the squeaky third step from the top. The carpet upstairs was no longer the deep blue she remembered. It was faded to more of a
My name’s Charlie, and I’m 15-years old. I’ve lived in Chicago for just about my entire life before my entire family moved to the small town of ********* (I’m not going to name it for personal reasons). There’s been a story going around this little town, something about children getting
It took me a month to figure out the pattern- the pattern It was using to kill us off. At first it was Jack, who was found dead, lying face-down and submerged in his own bathtub. His mother had been the one that found him, the poor woman. Her lifeless
On one of two big hills sandwiching the sleepy little town of Maldoona, twins Sasha and Tasha, aged nine, sat gazing at the stars. In the throes of boredom, Sasha bit and chewed at her nails, tearing them off in thin strips before spitting them out through her teeth. Tasha
Even years later I can still remember that day. It was the first and last time I ever went out to the movies alone. The last time I went out to the movies ever. I don’t feel like I’m missing all that much really, the movies had never been a
On an early dim morning an elderly woman rested her hand atop a gravestone. “Henry Blackwood-1938-2004.” She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what
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The chairs were the old school folding kind, brown metal with tan cushions that were almost comfortable. They were usually folded and stacked neatly against the wall in the basement of the church on Dionin street. Three times a week they were unfolded and made into a circle: once for
Pray, for devils have no reason Satan waits to curse your ways Have you seen it in his eyes in the sunset? Have you wondered if he’s laughing when he plays? – Kansas, “The Devil Game” This is a set of instructions for how to speak with the Devil. Which,
It was late October in Brookhurst Wyoming in the year 1965. I was eighteen, and I lived with my sister in an older barn house, on the edge of town. I loved that little town- especially in the fall. The deep oranges, bold yellows, and dense reds of the season
Gordon Simmons slammed into his locker. “Ow! What the hell?”, he struggled to shout with his face pressed against the cold blue metal. “Man, Gordo! Your locker stinks worse than you do!”, chastised the bully. Judging by the voice, Gordon could tell it was Jordan Merrick. Jordan was always a
There may be strange details in this story. Not all of them will seem to add up and appear to be significant, but it’s all true. That sort of statement is common with these types of stories, but this time it is meant in absolute earnest. My grandfather was a
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Several months ago a friend of mine alerted me to a puzzling incident on an inner-city bus. Being a bus driver himself, he had heard many of the usual generic stories that would be exchanged around the depot – muggings, broken windows, the occasional couple attempting drunken sex; some drivers
The door slams behind Monica as she stumbles into the hallway of an apartment complex, mascara streaming down her face. “Asshole,” she says. The word hisses out between her clenched teeth. Fiona steps out of the apartment. Through the open door, Monica hears a snatch of conversation. “What’s up with
The Final Hours: Party Girl Read More »
I don’t know why, but for whatever reason, I’ve always been naturally sneaky. Without putting any effort into the endeavor, I was always scaring people, or at the very least making them jump. Sometimes even when I approached from the front, people wouldn’t notice me until I was right upon
I’ve decided to share this here because honestly? I feel like I NEED to talk about this before I go crazy. And this is probably the only place where I could talk about this and not have people think that I’m crazy. My name is Elizabeth Black. I’ve lived in
Ever since I was a young child, that automated recording that plays when you try to call someone, but can’t, has frightened me to the core. You know, the one that goes, “We’re sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected.” And it’s always preceded by that sound,
(The following was found in an envelope on a bus bound for Chicago) My name is Jason Grimes and I am writing this so that when the room is eventually opened people will perhaps understand the things they find within it. And so that I will not be thought of
I sat on my balcony, preparing to smoke the last cigarette of the night. It was late and my bones themselves were tired. As I snuffed out the cigarette and stood with a stretch, a noise caught my attention. It was so faint that I immediately brushed it off as
The Wind Whispered A Secret Read More »
The day was August 5th, 1989, the rain pounded onto the beach like gunfire and the lightning arced across the sky in magnificent blue colors. I sat in my tent on the cliff edge, listening to the boom of thunder while holding in my hands a pair of binoculars. It
I can’t sleep. I have to share because maybe I won’t feel if I share. Dr. Kirsch says to write and get it off my chest. Writing about it might release me from it. What should I title this? “Therapy”? I’m currently seated at a computer terminal in a little,
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