Kale Sinclair
Bio
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
Stories (298)
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Polk
Layers of overgrown black ivy vines popped and snapped as the encrusted door creaked open. A small, red, oval-shaped dog toy with large eyes and a busted squeaker instructed the rest of the group to avoid making contact with the poisonous plant. After describing the details of the unbearable rash that lasted for days if the black ivy touched you, everyone passed through the door’s dangerous threshold with the utmost caution and delicacy.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Fiction
Queen Mother
Large fangs snapped at the stale air around us, intensifying with every slap of the blue whip against its hairy hide. The dark sock moaned and growled inaudible commands at the spider, aggravating the beast until it lunged for my throat with its eight legs.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Fiction
Specimen 6
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. From across the room, the creature inside of the cage appeared to resemble a bulky middle-aged man. It was only until you approached the bars that you could truly see that there was no humanity residing within the beast's DNA.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Horror
The Saint George . Top Story - October 2024.
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. The building was old and in dire need of countless repairs, but the rent was cheap and I desperately needed to find a new place to live. The priest who recommended moving promised me that the paranormal activity would end. It didn’t. It made it worse.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Horror
Nothing Can Change This Love
Cold yellow light spread across the pale coral walls as surging electricity sparked the bulbs to life. The bones and joints supporting Ellie’s ninety-four year old knee’s ached from layers of arthritis with every step. Yet the pain was no match for the evergreen love within her heart. Adjusting her own eyes to the sharp illumination, Ellie began her daily routine.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Fiction
Highway 91. Top Story - September 2024.
The newly paved Vermont asphalt rose and fell like the summer waves he used to watch as a boy growing up on the sea shell riddled shores of Cape Cod. Leaves, ablaze with New England’s one-of-a-kind rich autumn hues, descended from their cold branches and decorated their ascent up the mountain side. They twirled and danced across the quiet back road, morphing into faint red and orange tornadoes as Timothy’s Jeep shifted gears.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Fiction
