James Beach

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022

Stories (4)

4 Stories

86 karma pts

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“The Magician” by James Beach

Submitted to Contest #224

On warm evenings the magician sat within the open third-floor window and hung his bare feet over the bustling lamplit city street, and on nights when the moon was fully risen and the night sky was swept clean by the long breeze he would disappear from the window and descend the stairs to the sidewalk where he’d set up a small red-clothed table against the corner of his apartment building. He was a small old man, graceless in his movements and conversation, but he adored the company of people. The way their eyes lit up when he did his magi...

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“Hell in Heaven's Spite” by James Beach

Submitted to Contest #204

The rolling hills shone red under the dying sun. At the horizon the sun rested, throwing the last of its light onto the shelf of the plain before sinking into darkness. Atop the crest of a low mesa, a man gazed down at the sunset from his saddle. The buckskin horse underneath him breathed deep and sighed as he flicked his tail and stamped his feet to fend off flies. Crickets chirped in the grass and cicadas sang in the trees. The rider checked the chambers of his .45 Colt and re-holstered the pistol. Dusk quickly ad...

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“A Visit” by James Beach

Submitted to Contest #182

The grave was shallow so he hadn’t been digging for a long time when his shovel thumped against the top of the casket. He froze for a moment, then resumed, seeking the casket’s edges with the shovel’s blade. In the flat-wick lamplight his forehead glistened with sweat and the wide whites of his frantic eyes glowed yellow. The night was quiet and cool. A thin fog had crept through the high surrounding hills and rested over the sunken streets of the town below.He had unearthed the whole of the casket lid and was stooped over to pull ...

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“Dusk in October” by James Beach

Submitted to Contest #174

He stood in his father’s office and looked at the priceless paintings on the walls. There was a terrific Caravaggio which he remembered being afraid to look at as a child; there was a Cézanne depicting a human skull atop a bundle of white cloth next to ripe fruit; and others, of a similarly bleak and ghastly aura. Against a wall opposite there stood a display case built with cherry wood which held his father’s prized bird guns, an over-under and a side-by-side. He knew his father always kept them loaded. He looked down at...

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