Anne Reed

“The Wicked Clown” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #277

Cece Pace parked her car along the curb and shut off the engine. She loosened her thick blond hair out of its bun so she could pull her hood up all the way to keep off the rain. Climbing out of the car, she closed the door, which sounded particularly loud in the quiet neighborhood. Most of the houses were dark and empty, its inhabitants either at work or at school. Cece was satisfied that she would work without being observed. She stepped onto the sidewalk and stood for several seconds, looking at the house she had parked in front of. It wa...

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“An Online Encounter” by Anne Reed

Several years ago, I informed a friend of mine, Sadie, that I would be getting married. Of course, I did not know when or to whom, but I knew I wanted to get married and that I was finally ready. I decided to "put myself out there," and thus began a lot of awkward encounters. In my last story, I gave an account of meeting Ryan, and then my parents had the bright idea of introducing me to the son of a friend. I will call him Sherman. Keeping in line with my resolve to be open-minded and meet people, I agreed to meet him. Looking back, I can s...

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“A Learning Experience” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #276

My parents had always been overprotective throughout my childhood and adulthood, so when I had a crush on a man who was my father's age, I decided to keep my mouth shut. I will call this man Ryan. Ryan was a teacher, and in the classroom, he was really the best version of himself. He perfectly combined discipline with a genuine concern for his students. But teachers often seem to have dual personalities, much like a performer on stage. For example, if a teacher is extroverted in the classroom, he is more likely to be introverted in real life...

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“The Auction House” by Anne Reed

Molly Short wore a fleece jacket, jeans, and boots, but she still shivered in the cold rain of October. She ran the brief distance between her car in the parking lot and into the large, bright red building of Beltran Antiques. Inside, she did not immediately look around but pulled her beanie off, her brown hair full of static and clinging messily to her face. Once she brushed it out of the way, she smiled at what she saw: old furniture and old clothes, odds and ends, from floor to ceiling. She had promised herself that on her 25th birthday ...

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“The Boy” by Anne Reed

The Welch Creek was almost invisible in the darkness of midnight, even when one stood within feet of it. The sky was cloudy, and there was no moonlight to shimmer on the waters, but the creek could be heard rushing over the rocks and pebbles.Bailey Mackenzie stood at the edge of the creek, wishing she had not come in the first place. Cold October weather had set in, and she had tucked her auburn hair under a beanie and into the thick jacket she wore. Shoving her gloved hands into the pockets, she glanced at her companion for this midnight ad...

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“The Invitation” by Anne Reed

Macie Clark had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. When morning sunlight illumined the apartment, her head bobbed up suddenly and swayed. Her yellow hair was disheveled, her face pale, and her eyes bloodshot. She had forgotten something. She gazed around the apartment for a clue as to what she had forgotten. Trash and unwashed dishes lay on the counter; the table she had slept on was cluttered with unopened mail; clothes, children's toys, and half-eaten snacks cluttered the sofa and the floor. Still, she knew she had overlooked something ....

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“The Confession Booth” by Anne Reed

Ian Lloyd walked down the center aisle of Saint Monica's Catholic Church, passing by the white plaster columns and empty wooden pews. Moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows, faintly illuminating his pale blond hair. His green eyes were fixed on the coffin that lay beneath the altar area, half-open. On the half that was closed were lit candlesticks, but their light was so little that it barely affected the darkness of the church. The candles did, however, provide enough light for Ian to look down at the dead priest in the coffin...

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“The Puppet” by Anne Reed

Cassie Mills rushed through the carnival crowd, knocking over a child and almost throwing an elderly man's walker out of her way. Although the dark blue sky of a summer night opened up above her, she felt suffocated. She needed to leave this carnival din and go back to her quiet home. But something stopped her from running. Suddenly the carnival lights and sounds disappeared to be replaced by the ground rocking up to meet her. It was several moments before she realized that she had collapsed to the ground, though whether she had tripped or ...

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“The Chase” by Anne Reed

Bonnie Barron woke up slowly. Rolling over in bed, she grimaced as if she knew that today posed a challenge to her. She was uneasy, but half-asleep she could not remember what it was about today that made her feel like that. Finally, she rolled onto her back, took a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling. Then she remembered. Today was the tenth of October. It was the one-year anniversary of her husband's death, and instead of grief, she felt guilt. It was a lot of guilt, and she did not know how long she cried in bed. She had not anticipat...

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“The Halloween Mask” by Anne Reed

Miranda Evans was tired. It had been two hours since she began trick or treating with her friends, and they had all gone home. Now, she turned her sore feet towards home, which was several blocks away. She was also freezing and regretting the thin fabric of the black witch's dress. Shivering and lugging a pumpkin head full of candy, she passed by Halloween decorations and a straggling group of trick or treaters. At one point, however, she stumbled, and her witch's hat tumbled off her curly head. Catching up the hat, she nearly moved on when ...

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“Power Outage” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #210

It was a candlelit dinner. Three tall candles stood between the serving dishes, and the wine glasses glowed a dark red in the dim light. At the head of the table, Keenan Barber stood, his wine glass in hand, and his round, double-chinned face smiling at everyone, particularly his guests. "I would like to propose a toast," he said, raising his glass, "to our guests, the great visitors of Earth, the Binti. May they no longer be called aliens but friends. To friendship!" "To friendship!" chorused the others. Lindar Zetnin, and his wife,...

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“Blood for Blood” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #203

The ICU room was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. In the hospital bed was an unconscious man. He had a full head of brown hair, but his skin was paper white and his cheeks gaunt, so that he looked old. Beside him stood a tall woman dressed in pink scrubs, clashing with her orange hair and bright, red cheeks. Her eyes were blue but oddly flecked with purple. She warily eyed the hospital visitor standing at the foot of the bed. The visitor appeared ordinary, close in age to the patient, who was thirty years old. He had...

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“When the Song Has Ended” by Anne Reed

Angela Foster was familiar with rejection, but only in the giving of it. By the age of sixteen, she had broken up with two boyfriends. By the age of eighteen, she had broken up with three, one of whom she had cheated on first. It was not her fault, she thought, that she ran through boyfriends like the latest fashion trends. She knew she was very pretty, and if boys wanted to date her, then she could not say no, especially if the boy happened to be good-looking. She had been adored for her beauty since she was very young. Her blond hair had...

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“Saved” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #198

Kelly Chase knew there was nothing very special about herself, which is enough to make any child of thirteen resentful. In fact, she was quite sure that she was one of the worst people she knew, and she hated herself for it.  She had started her eighth grade year by being sent in to therapy. However, she refused to tell the therapist anything, including the reason why she needed therapy.  Dr. Hobbs was a calm, comfortable, middle-aged woman who dressed in simple clothing, usually a blouse and slacks. She was neither formal nor ...

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“The Writing Process ” by Anne Reed

Submitted to Contest #197

Here I am again, staring at another blank page - well, not page, I write stories on my phone. You know those moments during the day when you have nothing to do at work so you take out your phone when no one is looking? Then you stare at the blank screen and commit yourself to the gods of writing, if there are any, but you’re fairly certain that if they existed, the writing gods would really enjoy tormenting the people who worship at their altar and - gosh darn it, I think that’s a run-on sentence. It’s so hard when the screen keeps scrolling...

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