Sam Jacobsen

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Apr, 2023

Stories (5)

5 Stories

117 karma pts

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“The Flowers on Wulver's Peak ” by Sam Jacobsen

"And the poison?" "Spreading, Damien. Like wildfire. She will not live long." The words hung like heavy cobwebs in Damien's mind, echoing for a moment before settling fully. "What must I do then, Father Gespie?" Father Gespie--a man as old and dust--sighed and ran his hand across the face of a pale woman. Groaning, the woman shifted across her sweat-drenched sheets and fell silent. "You must...

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“Socks for the Toeless” by Sam Jacobsen

The house that saved me is haunted.  At night a something moans, and this night never ends, so the moaning never stops.  I was too tired the first night to notice, but by the third I was pretty fed up with it. At the top of every hour (I think, but don’t really know for sure anymore) the moaning is drowned out just a little by some poor woman screaming and being torn apart.  She’s invisible, but I know she’s so...

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“Sunset” by Sam Jacobsen

Dusty Sangria went down on one knee by the first corpse.  Leaning over it, Dusty motioned to remove his hat, but stopped before touching it.  Something in the corpse’s face made reverence and respect seem unnecessary—gnarled and swirled up into a smile the facial muscles shouldn’t have made possible.  Dusty could feel the corpse staring down into his soul, even though it had no eyes. “Howsit then?” “Eh.”...

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“The Book-Spirit of Tirma'Lauda” by Sam Jacobsen

The wind made a call like a siren as it tore across the peaks. Mysterious, inviting, deadly. The peaks wove on for miles--white-black stone interspersed by tumbling green and flowing blue. Tirma'Lauda the people had named it in those distant, distant days when the cosmos had held a different shape. Most folk who passed through it now simply called it 'cold'. It was strange--the skies knew no clou...

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“To Bake Under the Sun” by Sam Jacobsen

Earth is now a whisper--sad, desolate. For many miles, crags drone on in a ceaseless field of black. The rocks left behind are sharp and cracking, their shale falling down into pits of tar and sludge. At the peak of the highest crag is a glowing portal--our slip. It is a gate to another time; another place. We funnel through the slip like lemmings to the cliff, our eyes glazed and desperate. We being the last of us, that is. We come, warped and damaged by radiation, drought, famine, to escape. The seas and forests are go...

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Shortlisted 1 story ⭐️

Contest #196
To Bake Under the Sun – read story