Horror
How to Get Ahead in Business
There were many things about Thursday mornings that she did not like, but what bothered Laura the most about them was that they were not Friday afternoons. She knew how to handle those moments when the sunlight was still in the air and there was a good chance that she could slip away unnoticed by her nosy employers and sympathetic colleagues. But this was not a Friday. It was a Thursday, and she had to sit down and wait in a conference room as one of her many bosses explained what would be taking place in the next few weeks.
By Kendall Defoe 5 years ago in Fiction
Open You
This all started on a miserable day about two weeks ago. Heavy rain and cold winds: the kind of autumn weather that made you want to stay inside with something warm. It was early evening when someone, or something knocked on my door. No doorbell, just a series of heavy thuds that demanded an answer. I wasn't slow getting the door but whoever, or whatever knocked was already long gone by the time I opened it.
By Keegan Harness5 years ago in Fiction
The Barn
Air rushed into her lungs. Her muscles ached. Her head screamed. Her neck throbbed. Flashing open, her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. She was in a barn. An old barn. Made of wood. She was wearing a white jumpsuit with the number “Twenty-One” printed on it. Slowly she rose to her feet. A sudden gasp startled her as she spun around. It was a man, with messy hair, wearing the same jumpsuit as her but with the number “Eleven” printed on it. He was only a few feet from her. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, spinning around, shocked by his environment. His eyes then locked onto hers.
By Moses Banford5 years ago in Fiction
Up in the Hollywood Hills
CLARA 1 pm My back is killing me. I’ve been sitting in this chair for at least five hours now. I scoop up a thick glob of Naples Yellow oil paint with my palette knife and add one last final detail to a sunflower petal. I stretch my arms out wide and turn off my murder mystery podcast. Pleased with myself to have finally finished this painting, I head to the fridge to refill my mason jar with cold filtered water. Gypsy follows and takes a seat on the cool kitchen tiles. “It’s a hot one today, ” I tell my dog. His ears are perked and he’s ready to catch any crumbs. Disappointment takes over his sweet little face as he watches me chug my water. “We’ll have a snack later, Gypsy.” I think we’re both in need of a good long hike.
By Cassandra Rees5 years ago in Fiction
Widow's Rest
This is not a story of fragile women trapped in towers. This is not a story about gallant knights and princes who sweep these same poor, trapped maidens off their feet and into another type of cage, just one more gilded. No. This is a story about wronged women who have no choice but to cut like shards of glass. This is a story about women who want nothing more than to see those who hurt them bleed for the pain they have inflicted. If this is not the kind of story you want to hear then go elsewhere. I am not here to coddle you like a mother does their child. I am not a guide nor a guardian. I am simply a storyteller. Still here? Then I shall continue.
By Cerys Latham5 years ago in Fiction
Shadows
Brian struggled to stay awake. Nursing cold coffee, the caffeine barely able to compete with the lullaby sound from the engine, the soft vibrations as it idled in the dead quiet of the early morning hours. He kept his eyes on the barn, occasionally he would flip the spot light on, and run the perimeter of the barn, and let it beam out across the open fields that surrounded it. He looked at the clock on the dashboard, the green lights blared 05:07 A.M. I’m giving him until 530, he thought to himself, and then it’s time to go.
By Brandon Boyer5 years ago in Fiction
The Box
It was an unusually cheerful day as the postman glided up the walkway. A strong sun commanded the sky, with no clouds around to challenge or dampen its ferocity. A light breeze steadily swept through the calm neighbourhood causing a handful of leaves to excitedly jump at the mail carrier's trousers and cling to the fabric, rustling as he handed me the plain brown box.
By Jake Xagas5 years ago in Fiction
