Horror
The Embalmer's Husband
With the passing of her husband, it was no surprise to anyone that Rita withdrew from public life and the glare of the spotlight into which Estan’s job had so often dragged her. Preferring always the intimate company of her husband in their cottage, it was testament to conjugal devotion that she was invariably found on his arm at any and all social functions he was called on to attend. A loyal wife from the instant she uttered her vows, Rita’s devotion had been repaid by Estan’s unquestioning acceptance of her pastimes, which some might have said bordered on the macabre and were certainly well ensconced in the realms of the unusual.
By Jodie Adam5 years ago in Fiction
The End Begins At The Edge Of The World
The long daylight hours had slipped away from the world into what Ødger was sure to be a short, cold night. Ødger eyed the Knarr sailing well ahead of his own as the wind rushed into their sails and blew salty air through his thick beard. He gripped his gloved hands tighter on the hilt of his sword, squinting against the sea spray, trying not to lose the dim light of the ship ahead sinking into the darkness.
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Fiction
The Sandman
“Have you heard those stories about the Sandman and his children? You know, the folklore about how the Sandman rips out children’s eyes and feeds them to his kids? Or maybe that is just a horror movie, I can’t really remember now . . . anyway, I don’t think they’re true,” I said, swirling my wine in its glass with a small frown dipping my brow.
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Fiction
The Perfect Dress
The shop had been there as long as Lily could remember. She thought back to when she was seven years old and her sister took her there for the first time. It was enormous, with frosted glass windows and pointy spires on the roof, like miniature church steeples. She had paid particularly great attention to the door. It was a large wooden door with an oval-shaped, stained-glass picture of a pink and red rose. The glass met the door in perfectly smooth connection. The handle curved outward and then down, like a swan, craning its neck to eat the last crumb of bread thrown at its feet. A small lever above the handle would release the lock and it clicked when you held it down with your thumb. The door made an eerie creaking sound when it opened, almost like the doors in the scary movies, but this door wasn’t scary.
By Amos Glade5 years ago in Fiction
Hellfire and Kindness
My world is one of black and white. Of good and evil. My world is after mankind's destruction. Sobs and hysteria echo about the empty valleys and cities now where there was once endless noise, a mixture of good and bad and anywhere in between. Laughter is rarely heard and when it is, it is looked down upon with terror as if the very idea or thought, or sound of joy might bring more devastation to the surface of our world.
By Hope Martin8 years ago in Fiction
