he flower, if indeed it could be called a flower, looked like nothing on Earth.
Iris squinted at the purplish inkblot staining the vast green landscape of her garden shrubbery. It seemed to have bloomed overnight in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable hedgerow.
Without her glasses to aid her, Iris struggled
Read it now
Always last to everything.
Jonah is the last of his class to change, both physically and developmentally.
He hears the cries from out in the hallway. The scuffling playfights, the macho name-calling. Everything he seeks to avoid as he slinks from the dressing room into the whitewashed cubicle, towel tight around his waist,
As old Stanley Gibson stood in the hall, buttoning his overcoat, the phone rang. A scowl flashed across his features. He hated any interruption to his routine. He thought of letting it ring and setting off for his post-lunch walk anyway, but his deep-seated sense of correctness overrode the temptation.
Read it now
You check your phone. “I have time to read Havok. Always love Wacky Wednesday!”
It’s a dark and stormy afternoon in more ways than one.
“Awkward…” mutters Jed, the new kid at school.
I fumble my keys to let the four of us into the house. “I had no idea a horror movie would end up making us the third wheel.”
Kristen yawned and answered the doorbell—fuzzy pink robe and all. A smiling, thin, sharp-nosed man in a garish suit stood on her mat.
“Good morning!” His grin grew even wider. “I represent Catharsis Effigies Inc., and I’d like to interest you in our one-of-a-kind product.”
“Sorry.” Kristen shifted to close the door. “I have a really full day.”
I don’t usually enjoy parties. But a rave? I had to experience one of those.
Hannah dragged me down the coast to a cozy little beachside town removed from society. Cars and RVs were packed into a giant parking lot on the outskirts. People from all over came for the rave.
An unkempt and rather grisly-looking man slumped in a chair with the computer screen reflecting off his glasses. His elongated fingers began to type furiously at the keys as the clock mocked him with how little time was left.
Dear Mama,
I’m sorry. It’s cold here, the food is bland, even the wind feels listless.
Hammer toe. Trigger finger.
The noonday sun bakes my skin. I swipe at the sweat on my brow, and place my hand over the hollow of my belly. Will it rumble? Does it remember how?
“Not a peep,” I say aloud. “That ship sailed ages ago. Ha!” I laugh at my own joke,
“Henry, it’s okay. You can come out now.” Margarite peered under the bed, only to find it empty.
Henry Willoughby was proving to be quite the challenge. He reminded her more of her original husband than any of the others so far, right down to the puppy-dog eyes that had lied to her face when she’d asked him where he was going that night.
I don’t trust the picture box. The people in it stare as I walk by. They want me trapped inside with them. The animals watch me too—dogs and cats, even the family fish in the tiny glass bowl. I am observed as I observe them.
Read it now
The window was open just enough to let in the cool night air. It swam across her listless body and stirred the stench of rot that hung in the small space. She inhaled deeply and stretched her arms, feeling the weight of the heavy chains that wound around her wrists and attached to the thick metal rings bolted to the floor beneath the bed.
Read it now
He wants to dig up the body.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper to my father beneath the light of the moon.
Read it now
Recent Comments