Horror
THE FINAL HOUR
THE FINAL HOUR Written by James D. Merrick , March 28, 2015 6:00 AM. Tilton Town. Allan’s gloved hand inserts the ignition key. The Malibu coughs, belches into the morning gloom, then sputters to life. It moves slowly away from the sleepy apartment building and sloshes down the potholed driveway onto rain-slicked County Road. It’s heading toward the truck dispatch office perched on Tilton Mesa and Allan’s delivery assignment for today.
By James Dale Merrick5 years ago in Fiction
BARTON'S PLACE
Youth is the spattering of dreams over a blossoming mind trying eagerly to discern that which is and which isn’t. The holy dreams are permitted well past youth unlike the gift giving dreams that maturity will wean. Given enough time, that which is and which isn’t can become entangled, and the past becomes like a dream, where uncertainty plagues the further behind one tries to gaze. When I look back, there is one thing that remains clear from my youth; my mother’s last words to me when she said,
By Brian Keith McMurray5 years ago in Fiction
Meeting Place
2021 The sweet scent from a solitary, mature jasmine vine grappled onto the dusty walls of the abandoned barn hung in the gentle, twilight breeze. A vine planted by lovers long ago, adrift in hopefulness but trapped in reality; destined to find shelter within these four walls until the end of time.
By Jasper A. Flintsmith5 years ago in Fiction
Existence Beyond Mortality
I sit here. Fermenting and stiff. My jaw slack, eyes milky-white and glazed with unfocussed detachment. My spirit lingers somewhere in my peripheral, mocking me in its fleeting existence between the physical and other. Occasionally I feel it dart between stale air, through old damp wood and into fresh, foggy mornings. The low clouds sometimes roll through the cracks between the huge doors and cloak me, drifting to place small beads of water on my brow as if I sweat again in the morning chill. I cannot tell if the colours are muted naturally here or if my perception through filmy eyes cannot draw in enough light anymore to see them truly. Sounds are also muffled but there is not much to make sound here either. There is one small span of the wall I can see and by whatever grace it happens to be a section where one of the slats of wood has fallen away at some point leaving me with a glimpse of the sky. In this fogged hour it is a swirling grey but I have been blessed again with the vision of a red-breasted robin to sing the sunlight through. It is perched and twitching in caffeinated agitation as it calls its grievances to the world. I find myself silently hoping that my other half, my lingering spirit, does not frighten it away by accident; or through some inconsiderate interaction that would surely not impress the tiny bird.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Fiction
The Judgement Barn
Rain fell in torrents as the escaped convict slopped through the flooded woods outside of St. Louis. The sing-song of the bloodhounds had faded from the forest when the dogs lost their scent in the storm. In what he considered a sham trial, Haynie had been convicted for the murder of a grocery store clerk. The execution date was only a week away, and he planned to miss it.
By J. S. Wade5 years ago in Fiction
The Old Barn on the Dirt Road
Three teenagers, George, Benjy, and Craig, walk down the same dirt road everyday after school. On this route, the Old Barn that they walk past is rumored to be haunted and nobody has stepped foot in there for 8 years. One day Craig stopped in front of it on the way back home from school. “Nope, we’re not doing it Craig, come on man.” George said. “Stop being scared, man! The rumors are just rumors… Do you believe everything that somebody tells you?” Craig exclaimed. “Look, Benjy isn’t scared,” Craig insisted. Benjy has a blank stare on his face. Benjy looks at George and then at Craig. He raises a subtle smirk on his face. “Yeah yeah see! I knew Benjy wasn’t scared.” cheered Craig. Craig is exuberating excitement now that he sees the look on Benjy’s face. “Today is the day! Let’s Gooo! Time to see if these rumors are true!” George gets a little angry, “But he didn’t even say anything!”. Craig starts to walk towards the Old Barn, “Should we wait until it’s night time? I feel like it’ll be a little bit better.” Benjy looks at Craig and says, “Yes''. Craig turns around surprised and hollers, “You heard it from the man himself, George. It’s going down tonight! Yeah!... Let's be back here at 8pm tonight sounds cool? Cool. Alright alright lets gooo!”. George releases a sigh, “This is a bad idea.” The three of them continue to walk down the dirt road and eventually go their separate ways once they get past the dirt road.
By Keenan Mitchell5 years ago in Fiction
No Release
We're wandering around Dew Valley campsite at 3 AM, but it’s too overcast to see the stars. No matter how dark the sky gets—no matter how fierce the wind pressing at the flounce of clouds, piercing holes in that thin skin—there’s no clear view of the constellations he promised me. Strangers fumbling in the dark, we just about manage the hills and dips of the field without a light source to keep us upright. To keep us from tripping over all the things we can’t see in the murk. Love could have lit us from the inside out, perhaps, if we had any love left between us.
By Maisie Krash5 years ago in Fiction
