The head in the wall was crusted and decayed, mummified in its plastic shroud, the withered face open-mouthed in a scream—or maybe the jaw had loosened as the muscles decayed. The plastic is what held in the smell, though I do vaguely remember sometimes an odor permeating, especially during steamy […]
The Children in my House’s Walls Read More »
My son, Richie, was almost 3 years old with beautifully thick and curly brown hair that seemed to hang in place flawlessly without any serious effort. He was a growing, healthy, and happy child, with a rapidly developing vocabulary, as any parent would hope for. That, however, was before Frank
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For months, I caught glimpses of Claira from the safety of my cubical. So beautiful, faultless. Through innocent eavesdropping and pattern recall, I unknowingly learned almost every detail of her life; when she had lunch, who her friends were, and where she would be at any given moment of the
I Followed Her Home Read More »
My name is Julien Serrault. It is the 7th of January, 1882. I am an innkeeper outside the mountain town of Briancon, at the base of the French Alps. The inn does not do much trade, and in the winter months I am sometimes alone for days at a time.
Mayuko’s Gameboy suddenly turned off. She rolled her eyes and let out a loud sigh: the stupid thing ran out of batteries, again. Mayuko shoved it inside her backpack and looked around. Surprisingly enough, the wagon was completely empty, aside from herself. Usually, the train would be full of exhausted
November 6th, 2015 Oh boy. I’m not really sure how to properly start these types of stories, but, I’m going to try to get to the point as fast as possible. See, I’m kind of on a timer here. I’m currently writing this on one of the computers in the
You Can’t Trust Everyone Read More »
