Haunt
What a nightmare—the squealing brakes, the shouts, the crash.
It was enough to jolt Jenny out of bed and out the door in record time. She wasn’t sure what drew her to the old mansion, only that she had to go.
Leo had always hated that place.
Tag - urban/paranormal
Moonlight and Blueberries
When she finally focused on me and our desolate surroundings, her blue eyes widened and fear swept her features. Even so, her face held the beauty of perfection: pale and delicate, looking silver in the moonlight, just like I knew it would.
“I am offering you a better fate than the one you chose for yourself.”
Murmurations
The field beside my childhood home attracts starlings. When I was young, I’d sit on the wooden fence and watch them. My father was always working in the garage behind our house, but whenever he saw me there, he’d stop and join me.
“Those are murmurations,” he’d tell me as dark clouds of starlings rose against the gray winter sky.
Ghost of The Golf Course
What is it about living teenagers that makes breaking into places after hours so appealing to them? I mean, look at me. I get rules. Don’t be seen, don’t be heard, don’t make mist unless the forecast calls for it. And curfew? I follow curfew every night. I’m only allowed out after dark, anyway.
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One Shot
This close to a master bloodfencer, the crude piece of metal in my earlobe burned like hell. I itched to take it out, but it was all that guaranteed my sanity.
Sweat slicked the grip of my hydropistol as I watched Lord Dreadsower, the bloodsucking, self-proclaimed deity of this town, swoop into the alleyway to meet my partner.
The Thirst
My throat is so dry. My tongue so swollen. All I can think of is the great thirst within me. The need to find the one thing which will satisfy my soul—or, what was once my soul before it was stolen from me.
Blood. I need blood. And I need it now.
Blood Moon
I sidled closer to the battle trophy, my palm itching to finally hold the rune-etched hilt.
The dead warrior’s blade had been there as long as I could remember—stabbed into the center of the cave’s floor. Every day I’d gaze at it, and the warrior’s name would dance in my thoughts to a tune only I seemed to hear.
If These Walls Could Talk
They were arguing again. He could hear their voices rising, drowning out the sound of Johnny Carson on the TV. He pulled the covers over his head and tried to ignore them.
“Ugh, this stupid cabinet. I can never get this door open,” She said.
Slip
“You know, it’s not easy to find something that shouldn’t exist.”
Bradley shook awake. Ropes held his body to a chair, old and coarse bindings. Sitting alone in what appeared to be an attic lit solely by moonlight from windows to the right and left, he could not trace the deep voice to a source.
Dead Magic
The man came to a stop in a beam of sunlight struggling through the dust-smeared windowpane, and the glow peeled a mask of shadow off his face, revealing white skin pulled tightly over his skull and teeth visible through paper-thin lips.
I clutched the countertop to keep from staggering. Okay. Not Indy. “What are you?”
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Bitten
Only someone with a death wish would risk trespassing on werewolf territory during the full moon, but Tari was good as dead anyway.
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The Feathered Corpse
In a world where mythical creatures lived and worked alongside a human population, anything could happen, and it usually did. That’s why they called me, Special Agent Ramses II, and my partner, Bernie Clayberg, with Mythical Crime Scene Investigations.
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