Angel Whelan
Bio
Angel Whelan writes the kind of stories that once had her checking her closet each night, afraid to switch off the light.
Finalist in the Vocal Plus and Return of The Night Owl challenges.
Stories (107)
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Deadly Justice
“The ratings don’t lie – we’re losing viewers by the thousands each week. If it keeps up we’ll be off air for good!” Kramer paced up and down like a raging bull in front of the team, the effect somewhat weakened when he paused to check out his own reflection mid-strop.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Eat The Rich
The Inter-Galactic Review Board were looking over the latest candidates for admittance into the Universal Alliance of Higher Beings. They were running somewhat behind schedule, a recent influx in intelligent life from within the Milky Way galaxy all meeting the criteria within the span of a few Millenia.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
CeeCee
I was only four when it happened. I remind myself of that, when I can’t sleep at night – how little I was. I want to think that I was innocent, but the darkness drags me down. Some days it fills me completely, my blood thrumming through my veins like the somber drumbeat at an execution. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Death of the School Librarian
I haven’t thought about it in twenty years. I guess I blanked it from my mind – it was easier to forget than to wonder what really happened that day. I wish I could put it aside forever, but now it gnaws at me, keeping me awake until the small hours, forcing me to type out my version of the events.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
What About Kai?
Don’t look at the barn! That’s it, just drive on past, don’t think about it! I pressed my foot harder to the pedal, taking the corner fast enough to earn a gasp from Lindsey and Katy. The old road was just as rutted as I remembered it, and as the Simmond’s farm disappeared in the dust behind us, I reduced my speed. I realized I’d been holding my breath. Coming home was always emotional.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
The Bludding
The Gathering happened only once a decade. We traveled over mountains or along winding fjords, only the elderly and the women with suckling babes left behind. I was a swaddling bairn the last time, so this was my first Gathering, and I had talked about nothing else for weeks.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Two Gifts
Silver McPhee woke from a long nap under the magnolia tree in the back garden. She stretched languorously, arching her spine as she yawned. The sun had dipped below the blue ridge, and rich indigo shades of twilight merged and blended with the last orange rays. The Moon would rise soon, and with it all the scurrying creatures of the night.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Love is Patient
My dearest Isaac, I cannot believe it is finally happening – how long we have waited for this joyous day! I awoke this morning and smoothed the quilt over my twin bed for the very last time. Looked around the room I have slept in all these long, lonely years with fresh eyes. It is all so dreary and sad. That narrow bed where I cried myself to sleep many a night, feverish and aching with love for you.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
Bleeders
It crashed behind the barn just before dawn. I was still bleary-eyed, standing on the porch waiting for Red to finish his morning business. The inky sky split in two, torn asunder by an electric-blue ball of fire. It left a trail of light in its wake, and I braced myself for the shockwave that was sure to follow. But nothing happened. I told myself I was imagining things, still drunk on sleep. But the smell, I couldn’t have imagine that – an acrid, bitter scent it was, like burnt fuses, or that time Momma bleached her hair blonde. I felt the hairs on my arms tingle from all the static what was in the air.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
The Homestead
I never intended to return here. As I drove down the bumpy lane I realized I’d been holding my breath, my knuckles white as I clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. I put the radio on, hoping to calm myself with the latest summer hits, but somehow the channels were scrambled and an angry male voice spat fire and brimstone through the crackling speakers. I turned it off. I didn’t need any more reminders of my destination.
By Angel Whelan5 years ago in Fiction
