Deep within the dark, foreboding woods, nestled among the gnarled trees and overgrown shrubs, stood the abandoned cabin, shrouded in mystery. Its cracked walls and broken windows bore witness to the passage of time, and its wooden door creaked ominously as if warning intruders to turn back. Rumors of a […]
I found the following letter in a music text book in our school library.It’s pretty weird, but thought it would be best to share it here…make of it what you will. “Hey.I’ve been mulling over sharing this or not for the past two weeks. I can’t tell anyone, no one
Spending time at the family lodge at the lake was meant to be an escape. A place to reset, a place to rekindle my love for the violin. A love that I had lost to my vices, the drink. Will Bowen, a 28-year-old alcoholic, a sad and pathetic situation. I
A mild night in the New England countryside. An empty field with an omnipresence of untrimmed grass and wild weeds left to grow unabated. The field is surrounded by a lumbering audience of trees. The moon casts its glows of judgment, the dim light graciously cast is swallowed by a
My wife had always been a sound sleeper. She never snored, talked in her sleep, nor was she particularly restless. Oftentimes, she’d wake up in the same position she passed out in with barely a wrinkle in the sheets around her. When the singing in the middle of the night
Roy’s hand dripped over the chalice. Crimson drops made black in the dimness, echoing as they mingled with the blood of everyone else who had preceded us. “What the—” I began, grabbing for Roy’s arm to pull him back, but he shoved me away. “I don’t even feel it anymore.
“Name?” the man sitting across from my asked. I coughed. My mind had been wandering again. The man looked at me patiently. “Name?” he repeated again. “Edwin,” I replied. “Edwin Stroud.” The man pursed his lips slightly as he checked the papers in front of him. “Occupation?” He asked. “Musician,”