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Leo Evans

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2025

Stories (54)
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39 Followers
162 Following

54 Stories

1048 karma pts

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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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Crystal Lake Inspirational Writing Workshop

Submitted to Contest #304

The flickering fluorescent lights of the old Camp Crystal Lake recreation hall hummed a mournful tune, casting long, distorted shadows across the mismatched folding tables.Dust motes, thick as snowflakes in a blizzard, danced in the anemic glow, giving the whole scene a rather… stale aroma.This was the "Crysyal Lake Inspirational Writing Workshop," an exclusive retreat promising to unlock one's inner literary genius.The current session, however, seemed more likely to unlock one's inner scream.At the head of the room stood Jason Voorhees, unm...

16 likes 6 comments 6
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Yours Truly..., The Shadow Syndicate of Playground Justice

Submitted to Contest #304

Ares, pint-sized god of war and notorious night-owl (by necessity, not by choice), clutched his superhero blanket, emblazoned with a surprisingly inaccurate depiction of Hercules wrestling a rubber duck, even tighter.His eyes, usually gleaming with fierce determination, were wide and darting, scanning the shadowy battlefield of his bedroom."Sarah," he whispered, his voice a tiny squeak that barely registered above the mournful creak of his bedroom door,"Are you absolutely, positively sure the plan is sound? Because it's... really dark."Sarah...

4 likes 0 comments 0
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Floccinaucinihilipilification

Submitted to Contest #304

Floccinaucinihilipilification was the undercurrent of their unusual, ridiculously perfect romance.The freshman dorm lounge smelled faintly of stale pizza, desperation, and the lingering, almost spiritual, scent of burnt popcorn.Sarah, perched precariously on an armrest, meticulously polished a small, bejeweled hand cannon.Across from her, Ares, son of Olympus, god of war (and now, apparently, a surprisingly proficient intramural dodgeball player), was attempting to untangle a particularly stubborn knot in his celestial bronze gauntlet.A half...

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Devil in a Pink Dress & Pig Tails

Submitted to Contest #303

The late morning sun beat down on the technicolor battlefield of the kindergarten playground. To the casual observer, it was a scene of innocent chaos: shrieks of delight, the rhythmic squeak of swings, the dull thud of a kicked ball. But to five-year-old Ares, the budding god of war, it was a testing ground, a realm ripe for conquest.He surveyed his domain from the top of the climbing structure, a plastic castle complete with turrets and a slide that served as his personal drawbridge. His eyes, already possessing an unsettling intensity for...

10 likes 8 comments 8
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A Dish Best Served Cold... Again.

Submitted to Contest #303

The glitter cannon was primed. Sarah, perched precariously on a stepladder in the school auditorium’s dusty prop room, double-checked the confetti load for the fifteenth time.This wasn't just any confetti; it was biodegradable, multi-colored, and specifically designed to cling to hair and clothing like a lovesick limpet. Her masterpiece. Her final, glorious act of kindergarten-fueled vengeance against a literal deity.Downstairs, the DJ was already spinning some questionable pop anthems, the bass thrumming through the floorboards and vibratin...

11 likes 13 comments 13
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A Dish Best Served Cold

Submitted to Contest #303

The sun was high. It hit the kindergarten playground. It was a golden light on Sarah’s sandcastle, Castle Sparklehoof. She saw it as a fortress. It had seashell turrets. A moat, dug with care, held water from the dripping fountain. A popsicle stick made a drawbridge. Sarah, five years old, knelt before it. A queen, watching her kingdom.Her subjects were plastic dinosaurs. A one-eyed teddy, Bartholomew. They stood guard."Here," she told Bartholomew, adjusting his ear, "is where the dragon will fall. Princess Sarah will vanquish it. Her steed,...

7 likes 3 comments 3
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How the Maker Became the Myth—or, Perhaps, the Menace

Submitted to Contest #303

Prologue "Remastered Edition": Before the FallNot so long ago, on a ranch far, far away…It started with a thought.A fleeting, insignificant flicker—Barely noticeable.It should have passed, faded.It did not.Instead, it grew.An idea, impossible yet undeniable.A shape forming, something that should not exist.The warnings were there, voices whispered.This was not the path laid out, the future envisioned.Hesitation was drowned in certainty.Doubt was swept aside, ignored.The course was set.Irreversible.Creation became indistinguishable from destru...

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The Kindergarten Conqueror

Submitted to Contest #302

The week had started normally enough—well, as normal as it could be with Zeus' latest decree that all young gods attend mortal elementary school to "build character."Ares slouched in the plastic chair outside Principal Martinez's office, his tiny combat boots dangling well above the linoleum floor.The secretary kept glancing nervously in his direction, particularly at the plastic sword confiscated from the playground that now lay across her desk like evidence in a war crimes tribunal.This was his third visit this week, and he'd only started ...

11 likes 2 comments 2
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