H L McQuaid

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (27)

27 Stories

2829 karma pts

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“Rooted” by H L McQuaid

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #90

Content warning: racial violence, violence against women On a fresh spring day, a girl in a deerskin dress pushes me into the dirt with her small brown hands, hiding me from the squirrels and deer and mice who savour the taste of acorns. A voice calls out, “Nokomis!” `Her footsteps pad softly away. *** A taproot burrows deep into the soil anchoring me to the earth. A green sprout reaches toward the sun. When I'm a sapling, buds grow and unfurl into leaves, which turn from green to yellow and red, falling in a fiery carpe...

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“Ghost Writer” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #89

The end circles to the beginning, the stars winking in the blue velvet night, the cool grass tickling, the voices whispering, when you stop to listen.I rub the sleep from eyes, annoyed that I must have nodded off again while trying to finish the last chapter of Rosamund’s autobiography. I stare at the words on the screen until the letters float like disembodied apparitions. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve backspaced that sentence into oblivion, and yet here it is again, haunting me. And even worse, I can't figure out why it's infiltrated...

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“The Spinner of Golden Tales” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #88

Aedna sputters to the surface, blindly thrashing her legs and arms. The Pinkietoads leap from their lily pads, diving underwater, watching in wide-eyed wonder at the strange creature flailing in their pond.At last, Aedna opens her eyes. The pond is ringed by trees, but not the kind of trees she knows. The silvery bark sparkles in the sunshine, and the purple leaves whistle in the breeze as she swims awkwardly toward shore, finally standing when her feet find the muddy bottom.Two grey-ish green trolls, out for their afternoon stroll, gawp wit...

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“Retreat” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #87

CW: bears and swears“You sure we’re going the right way?” Jon asks as the Land Rover bumps along the rutted dirt road. Though it’s only late afternoon, the tops of the trees stretch overhead, their limbs intertwining like fingers to form a dark canopy that filters out the light.“I’m fairly certain,” Andreas says, with a hint of a Swiss accent. “Though…” he pauses as he holds his phone closer to the Rover’s moonroof. “I’m not getting any signal here.”“Kara,” Jon says, glancing in the rear-view mirror to the red-headed, thirty-something woman ...

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“The 10-hour city” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #85

“That’s the thing about this city,” I say as the shot of tequila burns its way down my throat. "Too many fucking bridges.” The bartender nods in sympathy, the green bottle poised for another tip into my gullet. “More?” he asks.I tilt my head back.“Closer,” he says, raising the bottle, “I can’t reach ‘at far.” I lean towards him, and he pours another shot into my mouth.“More,” I sputter. But he’s already walking away, along the two-foot width of the wooden bar, stepping over a shot glass, and weaving between two pints of lager and a...

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“Fearless” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #84

The deaths, when they came, were often as varied and idiosyncratic as their infected hosts. An impressive escalation in car crashes and drownings was surpassed by steep increases in accidental poisonings, jet-pack mishaps, and problems with parachutes. Balancing the scale, was a precipitous decline in hate crimes, domestic abuse, and border disputes.In my leather-bound notebook I’ve been curating a list of escalating and receding elements I’ve seen, heard or read about since the pandemic took hold a year ago.Increasing stand-up comedianspoet...

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“The Lorelei” by H L McQuaid

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #83

“From her steep castle of sorrow and slateLorelei reigns over men and their fateThe river below, its faithless embraceRests her grave, and unquiet birthplace.”“What’s that from?” asks the skinny girl. “It’s a legend, the legend of Lorelei,” says Captain Plauz, keeping his keen eyes peeled on the perilous currents of the River Rhein as he pilots the paddleboat. “Just ahead is the watery grave of many sailors, littered with the flotsam and jetsom of ships that crashed against the jagged rocks.”“Why’d they crash?”“Well, that’s a longer sto...

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“Building love” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #81

If it weren’t for the taxi cab jumping the curb, Evelyn might never had met him. His steadying presence saved her from falling onto the cold concrete of the uncaring sidewalk.“Oh, pardon me!” she said, her hand flattening against him as she regained her footing.He regarded her placidly.She withdrew her hand, blushing slightly, leaving a smear of mustard on his sleek limestone-colored coat.“That will never do, let me wipe it up. I’ve got a napkin here somewhere, just a moment. I don’t suppose you could hold my hot dog for a minute?” Evelyn sa...

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“The Early Bird” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #78

The banner flaps wildly in the wind, threatening to free itself from the flimsy poles that hold it in place. ‘Welcome to the ANNUAL WORM FARMERS CONVENTION’ it proclaims in muddy brown text, though ‘WORM’ is composed of squiggly letters, some of which have eyes. I open my notebook, adding an item to an ever-growing list, Q: Do worms have eyes?As I snap the notebook shut, I remember a conversation with my Dad when I was ten years old. I was sitting listlessly at the kitchen table, staring at a blank piece of paper when he walked in.“What's up...

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“Skeleton Crew” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #77

It started snowing at 11am. Though I have a birds-eye view of the parking lot from my second-floor window, frost coats the edges of the glass, leaving only a small porthole to peer through. I can see the snow piling up near the electric fence and slowly creeping its way across the battered pavement towards the warehouse where I'm stationed.There are no cars in the lot. Everyone was sent home months ago because of the pandemic, except for the five of us—the skeleton crew—who needed to be onsite in case anything breaks and needs fixing.Aedna a...

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“Max's Intrepid Podcast” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #76

“And we’re live in the McLeod kitchen where we have Elouise McLeod, an elderly woman, wiping her blood-soaked hands on the white apron that covers her yellow dress dotted with tiny blue ducks. And leaning against the—”“I’m not elderly! And you well know it’s tomato sauce, not blood on my hands. Though I might have your blood on my hands if you continue doing whatever it is you’re doing, Max.”“Leaning against the kitchen table, is Dana McLeod, a sullen teenager, clad in blue jeans and tattered t-shirt, engrossed in her phone. Perhaps she it s...

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“The Pandemonium ” by H L McQuaid

Submitted to Contest #73

My fingers stumbled to find the mute button as Boris’s blue-streak of obscenities filled my small flat. Gazing intently at my clients on Zoom, I tried to discern whether they’d heard anything. Was that a repressed smirk on Cressida’s perfectly-lined lips?Despite Alex repeatedly assuring me that Boris could be subdued with a blanket over his cage, I could hear him screeching through the bedroom door. I walked in and yanked the blanket off, hoping to surprise him into silence. He stared at me sideways, one black beady eye boring into me. He cl...

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Author bio

Short story writer and screenwriter. Just finished my first short sci-fi film based on Beth Jackson's short story (on Reedsy), "A Positive Contribution". For news on that (https://www.instagram.com/apositivecontribution/). My stories have also been made into audio-dramas, etc. Check out Beth Connor's writing and captivating podcast, Crossroads Cantina: https://crossroadscantinapodcast.com/ The Lorelei was turned into an immersive audio drama on Crossroads Cantina . Listen here: (https://crossroadscantina.captivate.fm/episode/the-lorelei) Listen to 'The Debate' on Katie Kanning's podcast 'Unpublished, not Unknown' https://bio.link/katiek If you're still reading, a bit of background. I went to school for a long time and collected a number of degrees (Cognitive Psychology, Professional Writing, German), some more useful than others. I did some creative writing when I was a teen, but that was interrupted by decades of non-fiction, so I'm trying again. Copyright © 2023 Heather McQuaid - All Rights Reserved. Using content without written permission is prohibited.

Shortlisted 3 stories ⭐️

Contest #104

The Debate – read story

Contest #90

Rooted – read story

Contest #83

The Lorelei – read story