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J.R. Geiger

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2025

Stories (32)
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19 Followers
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32 Stories

597 karma pts

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The Litchfield House Mystery

Submitted to Contest #310

The cold, fall rain lashed against the frosted glass of "The Written Word," each drop a tiny percussion on the mournful soundtrack of a typical night, here in Cedar Falls, Iowa. Inside, the only light came from a single, dusty lamp on my desk, illuminating a half-empty mug of lukewarm coffee and a stack of overdue bills. I, Jack Macintosh, purveyor and part-time private dick, was nursing a headache as thick as a first edition. Business had been slow, and the only company I’d had all day was the phantom scent of old paper and the creak of the...

3 likes 2 comments 2
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Midnight Prose

Submitted to Contest #310

The gargoyle above Blackwood Manor's oak door seemed to leer at Sarah, its stone eyes glinting in the dim gaslight. She shivered on the porch of Professor Alistair Finch’s mansion. It wasn't just her creative writing professor who had suggested she join his exclusive writers’ group; it was her classmate, John. He'd spoken of its unique ability to "unlock potential," his quiet intensity making her believe him. Sarah, a freshman at Briarwood College, had struggled with her essays. But since joining Professor Finch’s group, several weeks ago, m...

2 likes 1 comment 1
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The Ballad of Mr. Snuggles

Submitted to Contest #309

The dust motes danced in the perpetual golden haze of the saloon, a million tiny specks of the American West caught in the solitary beam of sun slicing through a grimy window. Josey Wales, a man etched from granite and gunpowder, sat hunched over a scarred poker table, his eyes, usually narrowed to flinty slits of determination, now wide with a profound, almost childlike, despair. He wasn’t looking at his cards, nor at the grizzled faces of the men across from him—a bounty hunter named “Rattlesnake” Pete, a one-eyed prospector, and a perpetu...

8 likes 6 comments 6
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The Reflection

Submitted to Contest #309

The white walls pressed in, a sterile embrace that offered no comfort, only a stark, unwavering presence. My finger traced the faint, almost invisible seam where two panels met, a ghost against the unyielding surface. Six feet by eight feet—this was my world. A bed, a sink, a toilet, a shower—all bolted down, all gleaming, all devoid of personality. No pictures to gaze at, no books to escape into. Just the relentless, unyielding white. I shuffled towards the mirror, a smooth rectangle of polished steel. It wasn’t glass, I knew that. They wou...

11 likes 14 comments 14
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Jason... A Boy Who Just Wanted A Friend

This story deals with the bullying, ridicule, isolation, and the untimely passing of a special needs child. Of all the short stories I've written here on Reedsy, this one was the most difficult. Trying to convey some of what he went through while maintaining respect to those with special needs. I hope this story makes you think and makes you feel something. Though just a fictional character in a successful horror film franchise, Jason Voorhees lost his life at just 7 years of age. A lot of people don't know his backstory. Jason wasn't exactl...

4 likes 1 comment 1
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Summertime Crush Part II: Sarah's Return

Sarah’s tires crunched on the familiar gravel of the old camp road, a sound that resonated deep within her, stirring not just memories, but a profound sense of finality. Years had spun by since she last drove this path, enough time for the world to reshape itself, for her once-bright blonde hair to mellow into a distinguished silver, now thin and brittle. Each breath was a conscious effort, each step a testament to sheer will. It was the stark, undeniable truth from her doctor—a prognosis of limited time left—that had finally propelled her h...

3 likes 6 comments 6
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Summertime Crush

Submitted to Contest #308

The scent of pine needles and damp earth still clung to Jason, even after all these years. He sat on the decaying porch of what used to be his mother's cabin, the one at Camp Crystal Lake. It was a ruin now, a skeletal reminder of a past that haunted him more than any ghost. He ran a calloused, scarred hand over the splintered wood, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He wasn't smiling because of the horror, the bloodshed, or the endless cycle of vengeance. He was smiling because of Sarah. Sarah—the name, even in his own...

12 likes 5 comments 5
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Bite Me, I'm Dracula!!

Submitted to Contest #308

The thick velvet curtains, smelling faintly of dust and despair, parted with a theatrical flourish that even after centuries, still felt a little dramatic to Dracula. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the sheer audacity of the afternoon sun. It wasn't the searing, flesh-withering blaze of old, thanks to his latest UV blocking contact lenses and SPF 5000 (blood-infused, naturally), but it was bright enough to make him squint. He stepped out onto the cobbled street of Sighisoara, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "Sunlight," he muttered, "the or...

14 likes 15 comments 15
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Principal Ares: A Sandcastle, A Food Fight, A Talent Show, and Unicorns

Submitted to Contest #305

I stood on the stage in the gymnasium of Olympus Heights Elementary. My perfectly tailored suit felt like a straitjacket. This was it. My new domain. My new war zone. See, a few months back, after a particularly spirited disagreement with Athena about the proper way to conduct a siege (she insisted on “strategic withdrawal” while I favored “indiscriminate slaughter”), Zeus, in his infinite, infuriating wisdom, decided I needed a “time-out.” Not just any time-out, mind you. A mortal time-out. And not just any mortal time-out, but a “character...

11 likes 6 comments 6
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Nightmare Nook, Inc.

Submitted to Contest #305

It was a dark and stormy night, as all good horror stories begin, but this one had a twist.Instead of a lone cabin in the woods or a haunted asylum, our tale unfolds in the decidedly less spooky, yet surprisingly well-appointed, breakroom of "Nightmare Nook Inc.," a burgeoning company specializing in… well, nightmares.Business was booming, largely thanks to the stellar efforts of their top three "fear specialists": Pennywise, Jason Voorhees, and Freddy Krueger.Today, however, the usual hum of existential dread and the faint smell of popcorn ...

8 likes 2 comments 2
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When the Nightmare Ends

Submitted to Contest #305

I took a few seconds to realize I was utterly and completely lost.Not lost in the woods, or lost in a city I didn't recognize.No, this was a deeper, far more unsettling lostness.It was the kind that gnawed at the edges of your perception, a phantom limb ache for a reality that had just… vanished.My last memory, sharp as a freshly honed blade, was of plunging my gloved hand, claws extended, into the chest of some screaming teenager.A typical Tuesday night, really.The usual fear, the usual delightful spray of crimson. Then, blackness.Not the c...

23 likes 10 comments 10
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A Mid-Unlife Crisis

Submitted to Contest #305

At the intersection, I could go right and head home—home to my decidedly un-murderous cabin, the one with the leaky roof and the surprisingly comfortable armchair.But turning left? Turning left would take me back to Camp Crystal Lake, to another boring, utterly predictable summer of kids screaming and camp counselors dying.And honestly, the thought made my perpetually grimy hockey mask feel smothering.I just wanted to be home watching the game, relaxing.The old pickup truck, a rust-bucket I’d inherited from some unfortunate hiker, idled with...

5 likes 0 comments 0
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Silent Resignation

Submitted to Contest #305

The musty air of the underground lair hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth, stagnant magic, and something vaguely resembling burnt toast.For a year, Jason had endured it. A full, agonizing year.He stood, a hulking silhouette against the flickering torchlight, his machete glinting dully at his side. His perpetually grimy hockey mask, usually a bastion of stoicism, felt like a pressure cooker.Before him, perched regally on a throne fashioned from what appeared to be salvaged sewer pipes and discarded traffic cones, sat the diminutive...

6 likes 2 comments 2
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Siege of Sweetness

Submitted to Contest #304

The morning sun, usually a cheerful beacon, felt like a spotlight intensifying Ares’s mounting panic.At five years old, Ares, god of war and kindergartener, was intimately familiar with deadlines.The snack table cleanup, the swift transition from playtime to circle time, the agonizingly slow wait for the swings – his days were a relentless series of ticking clocks. But today, this particular deadline, loomed larger and more terrifying than any before: Show and Tell.His project?A meticulous, historically accurate (or as accurate as a five-yea...

11 likes 6 comments 6
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The Agent and the Killer Writer

Submitted to Contest #304

The faint scent of pine needles and stale blood always clung to Jason, even after a rigorous scrub with extra-strength bleach and a wire brush. It was a scent most literary agents would balk at, recoil from, perhaps even call the authorities over. But Sarah, all five years and thirty-seven pounds of her, just wrinkled her button nose."Mr. Voorhees," she'd say, her voice surprisingly firm for someone who still occasionally wore her pajamas to meetings, "you're smelling up my office again. And what's with the machete? We talked about this. No ...

8 likes 1 comment 1
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