Jeffery Young

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2022

Stories (22)

22 Stories

536 karma pts

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“On the Discovery of Birbour, Alaska, September 1st of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #251

Taken from the journal of one David Birbour, expeditionist and American explorer, from the Birbour town archives that are housed by Iris Henness, post-woman, doctor, and archivist.Sheriff Boris Osipov, the only law this side of the Plyset Mountains, commandeered the Post Office’s solitary lounge chair to read. He was on duty, yes, but the morning had been blessedly slow. The property disputes, hunting mishaps, and drunken brawls that so plagued Birbour typically dipped between the hours of eleven AM and two o’clock and then peaked in the eve...

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“Dancers in the Rope Pub October 29th, 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #249

“Oh, so that’s why it’s called the Rope Pub!” “Haha! Yep, you betchya!” Iris Henness pulled the Reverend into a darkened room, her arm looped around his. He followed hesitantly, letting her lead him. The sight of her red hair, now in a messy bun, bouncing as she marched elated his spirits more than his surroundings. The Rope Pub was a large, matte black building inside and out. Through its large wooden doors, the only remnants of its past as a storage barn, lay a dimly lit dance floor. The lighting was difficult to adjust to, but as his eyes...

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“A Tale of Two Cities, October 25th of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #248

“Why . . . is everything . . . so stinking . . . difficult . . . in . . . Alaska?” Reverend Hugh Gregory complained between gasping breaths. He was hiking, as he had every day since arriving in Birbour, to visit the locals. The rain pooled in his shoes, completely soaking his socks as it ran into and over them. The weather was fighting his mission, Gregory speculated, and was trying to sweep him back into the ocean. The steady incline of twenty or so degrees proved easy enough the first day, but as the weather continued to sour so did the Re...

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“Clear Skies and Knocking, October 22nd of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #247

The Birbour Cannery’s built-ins were suitable enough living quarters . . . that is if you’re preferable to cold, brisk drafts and mildewed wood. The windows were at least glass, Doctor Malone Trenton thought gratefully. They could be the opened holes of the Tiawit tribal mounds back in the Congo. Only instead of mosquitos the size of humming-birds, Alaska’s primary danger lie in the freezing cold. Autumn had already passed, but the winter was unusually mild thus far according to Mirabell, the cannery’s forthright owner. All the same, it was ...

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“Evergreens and Four Hunters October 31st of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #246

“Matthew!” Luke called out into a tangle of overgrown evergreens.“Yeah?” Matthew was in the bushes some way off from camp. When nature calls, you answer, regardless of the circumstance. He righted his pants, straightened his shirt, and wiped his hands on some tree bark. “What’s got you, Lucky?”“Just get up here!” Came the reply.Matthew smiled. He knew how much Luke hated that nickname, but as far as older brothers go, Luke was among the easiest of the four to push over. Mark and Johnny, the second and first eldest respectively, were much mor...

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“Red Puddles and People, December 23rd of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #246

Reverend Hugh Gregory and Doctor Malone Trenton stood upon the docks, huddled in a circle around a twisted lump. In their companionship was a distraught Sheriff Boris Osipov, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he viewed the lump analytically. His blue coat and hood were soaked like sponges, his brow furrowed over beady eyes. Another person, the town’s medical practitioner/postwoman, Iris Henness, was crouched over the lump. She mumbled to herself incoherently, her deep blue eyes and sharp features cutting the drizzle as it found her. Th...

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“ Blue Glass and Captain Malcolm Monet, October 21st of 1948” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #246

Icy blue waves battered the white hull of the M.M.S. Monet with an unpleasant disposition, warning its three passengers of an impending storm. Malcolm Monet manned the helm with the same cold, stalwart expertise that he had brought into thousands of similar expeditions. The fishing ship obeyed his commands with minimal fuss, its sputtering engine obeying the repairs that safe harbor had only three days prior wrought. The cold northern seas that surrounded Birbour, the destination of Malcolm’s two enigmatic passengers, were tumultuous this ti...

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“Cold Coats” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #232

It is cold and there is no avoiding that. No longer a chance of denying it. I cover myself in layer upon layer of clothing, donning thick jackets and sweatshirts, pants with thermal lining and tight-fitting boxers with the same. Mom taught me to leave no room for wind or air or breathing or any stray snowflake to enter into my little mobile cocoon. I wouldn’t be out of place in one of those Arctic Research stations. Smiling to myself, I wondered if I looked like the Michelin Man or perhaps a resurrected mummy. I hoped that Brendan Fras...

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“The Things in My House” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #219

There are sixty-eight cameras in my house and no blind spots. I had to pay extra for that last bit. Not to mention that I had to spend three days in a hotel while Civilian Militia Security Services, or CMSS, cross-examined every corner of my house searching for any holes in their air-tight security. Long story short, I may have to skip groceries for a while. Regardless, I’m happy. Around two weeks ago I started to notice strange things around my two story–plus a basement and an attic–house. I figured something frisky was happenin...

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“There is a Ceiling Fan Spinning” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #218

Mold and mildew hung like a pungent fog, invading my seared nostrils. Fluffy carpet cushioned my bruised feet. A flash flickered across the room, throwing white light across a painting, a bed, and the man in the mirror. The sky erupted in chase, briefly drowning out the swirling hum of the fan. It was warm. A cool breeze tickled my wet cheeks. Rain streaked violently across darkened window panes. It’d be a great summer night, ripe for a hard night’s sleep, if it had been any other man standing there beneath the ceiling fan. I climbed atop a ...

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“Pale Ring of Flesh” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #191

I closed my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry . . .”“I forgive you.”“Wh-what?!”“You heard me. I forgive you.”“But-but I was so cruel to you . . .”“And I forgive you.”“And I cheated on you! After five years!”“I forgive you.”“I betrayed you . . . and I didn’t even regret it.”“Do you regret it now?”“I do!” She sobbed. “Then I forgive you.”“I hurt you so, so badly . . .”“What did I say? I forgive you.”“All those things I said . . .”“I forgive you.”She paused for a long while, sobbing into her shirt sleeve. “You– you can’t possibly mean that. I k...

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“Graveyard Swirls” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #179

“Hey! What’re you doing out here?!” “It’s just me. Don’t worry, Fred.” “Oh! Mr. Jamie.” The old grave keeper appeared from behind a great tombstone, dimming his lantern-light so as not to blind me. “It’s been quite a while since our last chat, friend.” “Exactly a year,” I responded, pulling myself from my spot on the ground, standing and extending my hand. He took it, greeting me merrily. “I’m glad to see you, Mr. Jamie. How has your year been?” He gave me a near-toothless grin. His coat looked too thin, draping down like a robe ar...

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“Revenge of the Hamster” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #176

“I’m a hamster. There’s no avoiding it. Those stupid coven witches turned me into this cute, fluffy, adorable rodent,” my little black eyes burned with ferocity, my nose twitched with a mighty and rageful inhalation, “REVENGE!!!” I squeaked, the time was nigh. There was an impossibly high door in front of me, those witches having dumped me only a few feet outside after a day of shoebox imprisonment. I remembered human-me stooping over as I entered the coven’s bayou-steamboat lair the day prior. They told my fortune, sang about their f...

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“Pocket Flowers” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #175

Warning: Contains themes of war, violence, death, and gore. Ac Something crashed outside, the night sky filling with what looked like trillions of falling, flaming stars. An alarm blared, signaling another attack, the enemy was on their way. Screaming. Shouts and someone barking orders. Running. Fires crackled as the neighborhood ignited with pillars of fire. Explosions. More screaming. “I-I’m scared, dad . . .” “Don’t worry son. I’ve got you, Koldan,” I whispered, holding my boy close. His body quivered with every gunshot outsi...

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“It Ain't Everyday” by Jeffery Young

Submitted to Contest #174

“The lab gets cold at night,” I said, wrapping the girl with a quilted blanket. She had fallen asleep at the lab bench, again, and her brown hair was splayed out around her like sun-beams. Checking the wall clock, I sighed heavily. “Tess. It’s three in the morning! Why are you still here?” “Mmm?” She moaned, smacking her lips and lifting her head slowly. “Who?” She sounded half-panicked, confused until she saw me, her big blue eyes meeting my soft green ones. “Oh. It’s just you.” I took a spot at the bench next to her, crossing my arms and...

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Author bio

Thank you for visiting my page. My earlier short stories are a little all over the place . . . ranging from existential heartbreak to Christian fiction and all the way to nonsensical horror. My "dated" stories all take place in the same place, Birbour, a fictional town in Alaska. They also contain the same characters and expand upon the town's history, relationships, and lore in their own ways. They can also be read as stand alone shorts. Give them a read! I'd love to hear your feedback!

Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #132

Prayer in the Dirt – read story