Christopher Kelley

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019

Stories (7)

7 Stories

762 karma pts

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“Delphine of the Tombs” by Christopher Kelley

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #187

The last twilight tour ended, and the cemetery hushed to its nightly mystique, scored by the distant echo of tavern trumpets and jazz drummers.The gate closed and locked. And the moon-dipped monuments were, once more, ruled by the dead.Then…a crunch of footsteps.A warm body strolled the walled-in city of graves. A tour guide named Rocco. He whistled past the oven vaults and above-ground tombs, pausing only to huff and snuff the raised candles along the shell-paved pathways. He also broke his tune to chat with Delphine—another warm body. But ...

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“This is the One: the final entry posted to ‘Dispatches From the Grave’” by Christopher Kelley

Submitted to Contest #152

Everyone uses Saltbox to buy a home, so I really didn’t have a choice.The app’s clever logo splashed on my 6-inch touchscreen then vanished, followed by some sleek Roboto-font text that congratulated me for making the decision to download.Good morning, handsome! the app lied, but I let that go. We all lie a little. Welcome to Saltbox!“Uh-huh,” I said, wondering if anyone at Saltbox actually spied for quality assurance.Would you like to find a home today?I always believed non-consensual small talk to be a criminal offense. Time is our most pr...

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“Drinking with Death or: My Friend Josh, Whose Occupation is the End” by Christopher Kelley

Submitted to Contest #149

Usually, when your average moron plummets from a warehouse catwalk into a dumpster full of sharp objects, he can think of only one thing to say:“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”But not me.I fall under the category of abnormal moron.A moron for two reasons. One, because only a moron would traverse a rickety indoor bridge with an expensive camera to capture footage of an industrial warehouse against his better judgment. And two, because I was falling towards a dumpster stocked with pointy things.Abnormal because somehow, in a pocket of air, while kicking t...

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“Condemned at the 'Cano” by Christopher Kelley

Submitted to Contest #141

The night before the massacre, Devon gathered his crew of ne’er-do-wells to sharpen their claws for a caper. A smooth syndicate of old-fashioned marauders, they lived for spoils and carnage. Taking all credit, leaving no evidence. They were criminal poltergeists with an arsenal. Devon “the Scalpel” stood and filled his lungs, which cued the crew to simmer down. Devon was in charge of planning (and everything else) — his silk-stocking plots always knifelike. World markets soared and plummeted at the sound of his voice. And tonight w...

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“A Wrinkled Heart in Leather” by Christopher Kelley

Submitted to Contest #140

I remember thinking, Am I being mugged by someone’s great-great-grandmother?She was ancient. Her hands looked so brittle and frail, but they hooked me with the weight of an anchor. I stumbled to catch myself, terrified that I might crash-land and crush this geriatric street pirate. I said, “Whoaaaaaa there, little lady!” like some cartoon cowboy trying to calm a wild horse. “Whoa-ho! Ho! Ho-o-o-o!”Twenty people went by. Some on foot, others in cars. They gawked or laughed or accused me—“Hey, leave that old woman alone, creep!”—and then ...

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“After the Rock” by Christopher Kelley

🏆 Winner of Contest #138

Humans can transform from solid to spirit in about half a second. I just found this out. Just a half-second ago. I might be shocked if I weren’t so dead. “Huh,” is all I have to say about it. “Yep,” my wife agrees, equally shockless. She is standing beside me along the sun-baked shoulder of a two-lane country highway, and we are both staring down into the drainage ditch. At the bottom are scattered piles of junk — a nasty trail of breadcrumbs — all leading to a battered tomb. The tomb used to be a car. For a while, it was our car...

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“The Immortal Hack” by Christopher Kelley

Submitted to Contest #78

The Hack slept under a gravestone for many years before being compelled to move. Something rattled his bones (even though they weren’t really his anymore). The rattling reminded him of being possessed at the typewriter – synchronizing his fingers with a set of chattering teeth. He checked his watch for time and saw glowing vapors instead of a wrist. The Hack remembered where he slept and what he was. “I have become my favorite subject.” He n...

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Author bio

Sentry to Halloween and to all things absurd. Abandoned prose for moving pictures, only to come crawling back... wearing a fake moustache. Exiled to the navel of the beer belly of Illinois. Shouts "Gardyloo!" to warn innocent readers of incoming (atrocities) fiction.

Winning 1 story 🏆

Contest #138

After the Rock – read story

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #187

Delphine of the Tombs – read story