Latest Posts Under: Short Story

July 29, 2021 0 Comments

The Oarsman

Hungry waves lapped against the creaking hull. A soft wind carried a heat and odor that denied Wim the relief he hoped it would bring. Hand to head, he struggled to seat himself upright, his temples beating in time with the methodical slap of an oar behind him. First to the left, then the right. Each row like the beat of a drum, emphasizing a rippling moment as it stretched across the stream of time. Ever forward.
October 12, 2020 0 Comments

The Butler Did It!

The butler did it. If you care only for the conclusion to this mystery–the content of tomorrow’s headlines–you have your answer. Please leave me as quickly as you came. But I know better than to hope for such abatement of my pain. What good is a headline without details to fill your columns? Your papers need sensational facts, clues of the case laid out in an easy-to-digest timeline filled with wild but always accurate speculations. I care not for your papers or the idle gossip they promote and spread farther and quicker than any known contagion.
May 12, 2020 0 Comments

The Proxy

“The eyes! Why do they glow?”

Tia forced herself to exhale. She pressed her damp palms against each leg and made her first mental note. The dark room before her didn’t glow with luminescent red spikes; It wasn’t an Ustron. That was good. Very good. Less chance she’d be eaten before her father downstairs could hear her scream. But there were many other dangerous spirits that could belong to that voice.
April 30, 2020 0 Comments

Cassio P.P.I

My name is Cassius O’Shaughnessy, yeah real tongue twister. Most of my friends just call me Cassio. I’m a Paranormal Private Investigator. And don’t even ask if I’m one of those ghost hunter nutballs. I lose credibility every time one of those quacks go on TV. I’m a detective, not a freakin magician. I don’t call upon spirits or play with one of them wee-gee board things. I don’t carry a wand or wooden stakes or silver dust, just a pen and notepad.
December 17, 2019 0 Comments

The Day

The sun came out that morning. Seattle was overcast and rainy 370 days of the year, and it chose that day. The Day. To finally show a bit of warmth and light. What a cliché. But I refused to change plans two months in the making. Should it have taken longer? Should more consideration have been involved? It wasn’t the first time the passing thought pestered my concentration.
February 1, 2018 0 Comments

Hope-al

I know this is the first time you’ve heard from me in quite a while, but this will also be the last. I don’t know how I’ll get this letter to you; we aren’t supposed to have correspondence with anyone outside the camp, but I can’t have you searching for me. If you were to come here, everything would be ruined. This is my choice. It might not sound like it at first, especially when I mention… well, just hear me out. Before you do anything, read until the end.

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