This story is my fictionalised encountered with Tom this morning. Most of the events are true, but I’ve embellished here or there. Sometimes I’m sure I can hear him speak. Continue reading
Child of the Dead is an interesting piece. It not only showcased my first real attempt at writing (sometime during the tenth grade, I think?) but revealed my love of horror creation. Well, it at least showed me my love of horror writing. Continue reading
There is something missing, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
I’ve been struggling with this for a while now, and the pressure is mounting. It’s in these rare circumstances that your life begins to flash before your eyes. I mean you always hear about it, but never think it’ll happen to you. Continue reading
Right now, our common purpose was waiting for the world to end.
The three of us sat around the table in silence. A flame overhead flickered. It seemed like an eternity even though we probably didn’t have too long. It had been a while since anyone had spoken, and our eyes were focused on the object lying in the centre of the table. Well, that’s a lie. The object used to be whole, but now lay in many smaller objects. Continue reading
I walk down the stairs. The house is old, well over fifty, and continues to settle as it creaks and groans every so often. The room below is dark, and the smell of dankness rises towards the open door. Another smell, slightly more pungent, fills the air as well. It hits me hard as my nostrils tense up at the scent.