Short horror stories with sometimes wholesome twists.
My son loved books. If the only thing the kid ever got as a gift was books, he’d have been the happiest person on earth. No idea where he got it from; his dad and I could barely bother skimming short news articles, much less intentionally sit down to slog through a book. Cole, though.... Continue Reading →
I’d been told and told and told not to take the path through the woods. It was a gnarled route of twists and turns, a slice of solid dirt cutting through deceptive swaths of peat that covered dark, swallowing depths. Nan warned me every morning before I left the house. “Don’t you leave the main... Continue Reading →
They gathered ‘round the ouija board, fingers poised, nervous laughter rippling through their small group. Anya, the de facto leader, silenced them with a sharp look. “This is serious,” she whispered, her tone harsh as the candlelight against the dark. The other three nodded, more solemn now, although Kita couldn’t wipe the smile entirely off... Continue Reading →
Nursing and being a nun aren’t really such different things. As the former, I help look after the body. As the latter, I help look after the soul. Nourishing both is important to leading a healthy, happy life. When I was a young woman, fresh out of my nursing program and fresher still out of... Continue Reading →
My family came over from the old country only a generation ago. Gran waddled off the boat in 1954, nine months along and ready to drop Dad the moment she set foot on American soil. She had the courtesy to wait until Granddad got her to their apartment in the Irish quarter, at least. Despite... Continue Reading →
I’d never been so certain of anything as I was in that moment. The first bell hadn’t rung yet and I was standing at my locker with Jade. I was still new to the school, an unfortunate position to be in for your senior year, and she was the only friend I’d managed to make.... Continue Reading →
The first word that came to mind when I met Jeremiah Goodwin was small. He was a short man with close-cropped, pale hair and a hunched posture. He looked almost childlike sitting in the office chair, save for the fact that his hands were shackled to his waist. I’d been told it was for my... Continue Reading →
Locals call it the Long Drop. It’s a half-mile of weathered steel that stretches across a river five hundred feet below. Built in the early 1930s, the bridge is still in use, although there have been attempts to close it. Even a few to destroy it full stop. It remains, though. The Long Drop has... Continue Reading →
I’ve been telling people for years to stay away from the bogs outside the village. They rarely listen. It’s not their fault, I suppose. We are a curious species by nature and when you hear a tale as unbelievable as that of Twelve Hands, you’re bound to want to try and see it for yourself.... Continue Reading →
