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Rebecca Lewis

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2023

Stories (309)

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22 Followers

21 Following

309 Stories

507 karma pts

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Behind the Fangs

I suppose you've heard the story about me. They call me the Big Bad Wolf. But I didn’t start out that way. My name is, or was, Alexiou, though nobody remembers that anymore. Funny, how names stick to you like burrs in a forest once they’re thrown at you enough. I became the Big Bad Wolf, not because I was born bad, but because people needed me to be. There’s this version of my story that gets told over and over, the one with Little Red Riding Hood and her poor, helpless grandmother. According to the tale, I was this snarling, drooling beas...

4 likes

Where the River Divides

The small town of Coldwater was notorious for its bridge — a creaking, swaying relic that connected two halves of a town as divided as the rushing river it spanned. It was both a lifeline and a battlefield, its planks worn smooth by generations of footsteps but splintered from decades of disputes. Coldwater was a town where grudges were passed down like heirlooms, and none was older or more enduring than the one between the Shanahan and Kahan families. For as long as anyone could remember, the two families had loathed each other, though no...

3 likes

Skin of Lies

Lan Hawke had spent his life trying to disappear. At school, he was the guy everyone ignored. His desk sat tucked away in the back corner, where the fluorescent lights didn’t quite reach. Every lunch break, he’d retreat to the deserted far end of the library, burying himself in books, not because he loved reading, but because stories were the only places where someone like him could be a hero. He used to dream that one day someone would see him. Not just look in his direction, but really see him. Yet, the glances he did receive were quick,...

3 likes

When the Lights Went Out

I had never been one for blind dates. Call it cynicism or the aftertaste of too many disappointing Hinge swipes, but when Barbara, a friend from work, offered to set me up with her fiancé's friend, Jung, I had my doubts. She swore up and down that he was funny, smart, and didn’t have a criminal record — the bar these days, right? Against my better judgment, I agreed to meet him on Friday night at a new art gallery that had just opened downtown. Friday rolled around, and I found myself stressing over what to wear. After all, meeting someone...

3 likes

Riding Toward the Unknown

I never liked taking the train. Something about being packed in with strangers, surrounded by the hum of conversations, coughing, and clattering made me feel like I was in a sensory overload chamber. But on this particular Thursday, the train was my only option. My car had given up the ghost that morning, and the thought of taking an Uber or Lyft felt too indulgent on my meager budget. So, there I was, squeezed into a corner seat, trying my best to pretend I was alone.As the train pulled out of the station, I pulled out my book — some self-h...

3 likes

The House in Windmire

The old house in Windmire had sat vacant for a decade before Meghan moved in. People in the small town thought she was crazy for buying it. "The place is haunted," they would whisper when they thought she couldn’t hear. "The girl doesn’t know what she’s getting into.” But Meghan wasn’t naive. She had read every article, every ghost story whispered about the house and its chilling legacy. She wanted the eeriness, the heavy silence, the strange pull it had on her. After losing her twin sister, Shahira, her life had dulled to shades of gray. ...

2 likes

Fragments of Forever

The city glowed a feverish orange under the final glimmers of sunset as Conor sprinted down the narrow, crowded street. His breathing was ragged, each intake of air scraping his throat, but he forced himself to keep moving, dodging pedestrians and hurtling over anything in his path. He didn’t have time for apologies or explanations, and he certainly didn’t have time to stop. The deadline was less than an hour away. He glanced at his watch — a sleek, modern thing he’d bought precisely because it counted down to the second. Forty-six minut...

1 like

Cat’s Path to Forgotten Places part 1

Cora had always been the kind of person to follow a sign, and on that foggy evening, the sign took the form of a sleek black cat. She was trudging home from work, her shoes clicking rhythmically on the damp pavement, her mind dulled from hours in front of a screen. The streets were nearly empty; the fog clung thickly, softening the streetlights and muffling the usual city noises into an almost eerie hush. Just as she reached the intersection, the cat appeared, slipping from the shadows of a parked car, its fur almost gleaming against the h...

2 likes

The Last Fire

They come at sunset, following the narrow, winding path through the trees, their torches bobbing like vengeful stars against the darkening sky. I can smell them before I hear their footsteps — the bitter tang of sweat and fear, the iron-heavy scent of their weapons, the faint whiff of herbs meant to guard them from whatever they believe I am. Superstition and ignorance, thick and choking, hang over the forest like mist. But tonight, there is something new — an edge sharper than the torch flames, a layer of grief and fury woven through their ...

1 like

The Murmuring of the Pines

When I was eight years old, there was a forest not far from my house, just past the field of wildflowers that marked the edge of our yard. The pines grew so tall, their branches heavy with dark green needles, dense and shadowed even in the brightest daylight. The forest was close enough that the wind, which seemed to have a voice of its own, would carry whispers from deep within it, and on certain still, quiet nights, I could swear it called my name. It started innocently enough, those trips into the woods. My friends dared each other to se...

2 likes

The Stonewatcher

The sky was gray as ever over the abandoned town of Tide’s Reach. Quiante glanced up, squinting at the heavy clouds rolling in over the cliffs. The old town had been empty for over a century, left to be slowly devoured by time and the sea, but the lure of history brought her back every year to catalog whatever treasures the town’s slow decay might reveal. She remembered her grandmother’s tales of Tide’s Reach, of a time when the townsfolk honored the sea. Yet, Quiante had always thought of those stories as bedtime myths — until now. She...

2 likes

The House with the White Door

It was one of those memories that came up unbidden, like a face rising in the darkness, when you least expected it but when you felt the most vulnerable. This memory came from a time when I was still a child, and I returned to it over and over like a dog licking a wound. I was fourteen. My grandmother had passed, and my family was in that strange interim between grief and acceptance. She’d lived alone in a small house on the edge of town, with peeling wallpaper and an old clock that still chimed each hour with a resonance that seemed too la...

1 like

The Fate of Feyn Crossing

The town of Feyn Crossing lay wedged between forest and river, isolated enough to be out of the way, but bustling enough to be self-sufficient. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else’s secrets — or at least, they thought they did. Hidden beneath the centuries-old cobblestone streets and winding alleyways was a force few were aware of, though some of the old folks occasionally whispered about it. There was a reason, after all, why they avoided the river after sundown. No one really knew where she’d come from, but one day ...

2 likes

Bound to the River

In the ghostly, early light of dawn, Bo Winters stood by his father’s river, a place he had long avoided. The wide stretch of water twisted through the mountains and vanished into the forest, carrying secrets he had tried to leave behind. He stared into the dark current, every ripple a taunting shimmer of memory. The last time he’d stood here, he was a boy, small and shielded, clinging to his father's rough hand, each tug of the current a quiet threat. Now, he returned as a man, uncertain of the safety he could claim without that guiding han...

1 like

Don’t Tell Anyone

The lights in the museum flickered, casting long shadows over the exhibits, as Ellen descended the marble staircase. It was after hours, and the faint hum of the emergency lights was the only sound that filled the empty halls. Her footsteps echoed through the grand atrium, and she felt the weight of the silence pressing in around her. She was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but a call from her boss at midnight had demanded otherwise. Ellen, an assistant curator for the gallery, was used to odd requests, but this time something felt differe...

2 likes

Author bio

I spend a lot of time pulling at threads most people would rather leave alone. Whether it’s writing fiction, watching films, or reading, I’m drawn to the kinds of stories that sit with you long after they’re over — the ones that unsettle more than they resolve. I like ambiguity when it feels earned, symbolism that doesn’t scream for attention, and characters who are complicated enough to make you uncomfortable. In my own writing, I’m circling around guilt, power, transformation — and the kind of dread that creeps in rather than announcing itself. I’m not interested in stock villains or easy catharsis; I’m after something a little more tangled than that. My stories tend to live in darker spaces — but with enough humanity to still matter. When it comes to film, I lean toward psychological complexity and strong atmosphere. Nolan, Lynch, Tarkovsky, Villeneuve — directors who aren’t afraid to take their time and leave space for discomfort. Same goes for music. I’m pulled toward melancholic, layered, charged stuff- Radiohead, American Football, Cigarettes After Sex, Chopin, The Weeknd. Anything that feels a little haunted. I don’t buy into neat answers. I’m not religious. I don’t think the world was designed with us in mind. But I think meaning exists in how we respond to that — what we choose to make of it. That’s what I’m writing toward, whether I realize it or not.