Charlie Howell

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2020

Stories (7)

7 Stories

138 karma pts

?

“The Vampire of Suburbia” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #65

Ruben shuts the blinds when the first rays of sun come up.   He was rich once. He lived in a manor, was an elite, wore heavy clothing to stuffy parties. A manor which he could no longer afford to maintain and had sold to the historical society. He was using the money to buy a house a little ways out of city.  Ruben, with his keen hearing, can pick up the sound of every car passing by, hear the very inner workings of the engine. Jadness, Ruben’s familiar, the man who Ruben feeds off, sits on the bed: back ag...

2 comments 2
Read story

“The Late Night Nurse” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #64

My footsteps are as quiet as the night around me as I move through the house. The stairs, which have creaked under the feet of others for centuries, do not creak under mine. I do not rustle the carpet as I pass the room where the mother and father lie in an anxious half sleep. As though sensing my presence, the mother mumbles something but doesn’t wake. I haven’t been in this house in many years, not since I visited the old man, but I remember it well. Besides, I don’t have any trouble finding my way in the dark.&nbs...

2 comments 2
Read story

“The Auditorium” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #59

The weight of summer hangs on the city’s shoulders like a mantle. I was told once, in grade school, that the oppressive heat of Verona was partially what caused the bloodshed between the Montagues and the Capulets. I believe it. The heat makes people irritable and rash. Everyone is on edge, waiting for the rain. I cannot think in this heat. Sweat beads along my brow and makes my glasses slide down my nose.  I was in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream once. What...

1 comment 1
Read story

“The Slow Evolution of Lilac” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #58

We aren’t alive so we didn’t understand when our creator died. Business went on as usual for several days. When he didn’t move out of his bed, we figured this was something humans, living people, did. It was Lilac who figured it out. He hadn’t eaten any of the food she’d brought, and she compared the rot on the fruit beside his bed to what was beginning to grow on his face. I work in the gardens. I understand that when fruit begins decomposing it will return to the Earth. And t...

6 comments 6
Read story

“Yellow” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #51

Trigger Warning: self harm.Ludo lived in color. From the purple lights of the club to blue vodka to the pinks and greens of psychedelic pills, he drunk up life like ambrosia. He worshipped the city, with its LED lights flashing in electronic billboards and the checkerboard of windows that lit up with a honeyed glow. He was alive. Ludo lived in between of real life and fantasy. It was a world he’d built for himself during the worst times. He carefully cultivated the thoughts he was allowed to think and, when things slipped away, he grounded h...

1 comment 1
Read story

“Frog Song” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #50

<I have never been in love, but if I was to compare thee to a summer’s day, I’d choose one like this.>  The dry spell has broken and now it’s even more beautiful than the days leading up to this of shimmering heat. Rain beats the dusty roads to mud and tall grass bends under the weight of the fat droplets. It hisses on the surface of the pond and sets the frogs singing. The song of this amphibian chorus floats through the windows of the treehouse, muted by the sound of the rain pattering on the leaves surrounding us. &nb...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Organic Material” by Charlie Howell

Submitted to Contest #49

Twenty-four hours in a day. Sixty minutes in an hour. I am counting down the seconds. I break time into basic units, crack it into pieces like one tears off cotton candy fluff or shreds cigarettes. I am careful. I budget my time. I live my life in color. Carnival rides at Coney Island, painting on my walls, and that pleasant buzz right before drunkenness. I spend each second carefully, knowing that they are ticking away. But at the same time, I’m always in mental transit, waiting for the next moment to arrive. I wait for the weekends when I ...

0 comments 0
Read story

Author bio

1/3 of a real person? Hopefully will turn something out every week but we'll see. :) Writing gives me something to look forward to.