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Susie Bennett

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2025

Stories (25)

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Library

11 Followers

12 Following

25 Stories

318 karma pts

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The Lighthouse Keeper

The old lighthouse keeper, Silas, had a secret as deep and swirling as the ocean surrounding his solitary post. For fifty years, he’d stood sentinel, a weathered figure against the crashing waves, guiding ships away from the treacherous Devil’s Teeth. But the light he shone for others was a stark contrast to the darkness he kept hidden within himself.His secret wasn't a crime, not in the eyes of the law. It was, in Silas’s estimation, a betrayal. A betrayal of trust, of nature, and of the very essence of himself. He clung to it, wrapped it i...

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The Village Healer

The biting wind whipped at Elara’s threadbare coat as she hurried through the market square. The scent of roasting chestnuts usually brought a flicker of warmth, but today, it only amplified the hollowness in her belly. Her gaze darted from stall to stall, not searching for a bargain, but assessing weaknesses, identifying unguarded corners.Elara wasn’t a thief. Until a week ago, the idea would have repulsed her. She’d spent her entire life working honestly, scrubbing floors, mending clothes, taking on any odd job that came her way. But a wee...

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Thomas, Oakhaven, 1950

Submitted to Contest #295

The salt spray kissed Amelia’s face as she leaned against the railing of the ferry, the churning water a mesmerising turquoise beneath a sky the colour of faded denim. She was on her way to Oakhaven Island, a tiny speck of land off the coast of Maine, a place her grandmother had always spoken of with a wistful sigh and a faraway look in her eyes. Amelia had inherited her grandmother’s cottage, a charmingly dilapidated structure perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the endless expanse of the Atlantic.She needed an escape. An escape from...

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Alistair Finch was not dead

Submitted to Contest #295

The rain hammered against the canvas tent, each dropping a heavy drumbeat on the sombre melody of grief. I stood under the inadequate shelter, the collar of my coat pulled high, trying to disappear into the throng of mourners. Or were they mourners? That was the question that gnawed at the edges of my composure. Because here, at the supposed funeral of Alistair Finch, I was increasingly certain Alistair Finch was not dead.Alistair, my enigmatic neighbour for the past five years, had lived a life shrouded in quiet mystery. He was a retired cl...

1 like

Magical Powers

Submitted to Contest #295

The chipped porcelain teacup sat on the dusty shelf, nestled between a chipped gravy boat and a tarnished silver candlestick. It wasn’t particularly beautiful; a faded floral pattern barely clinging to its surface, a hairline crack spiderwebbing down its side. It was, in the grand scheme of things, utterly unremarkable. Except for one small detail: it held wishes.Melissa inherited the teacup, along with the rest of her eccentric Aunt Millie's cluttered Victorian house, a month after Millie’s unexpected passing. Melissa, a pragmatic accountan...

2 likes

I didnt mean that

Submitted to Contest #294

The salt spray stung Paige’s face as she clung to the railing of the fishing trawler, the Sea Serpent. The predawn sky was a bruised purple, hinting at the turbulent day ahead. Beside her, Captain Silas, a man carved from weathered oak and hardened by decades at sea, squinted at the horizon. He barely acknowledged her presence, his focus solely on the churning waves and the promise of the day's catch.Paige, fresh out of the Academy with a degree in marine biology and a head full of idealistic dreams, felt a knot of apprehension tighten in he...

7 likes

Wanderlust

The salt spray stung Juliana's face as she clung to the railing of the "Wanderlust," a fishing trawler that had seen better days. The rhythmic creak of the old wood and the endless expanse of the grey sea were her only companions. For the past year, the ocean had become her refuge, a vast, silent canvas reflecting the turmoil within.Juliana hadn't always been silent. Once, her voice had been a bright spark, a melodic thread woven into the tapestry of her life. She had been a storyteller, a performer, a teacher who captivated children with fa...

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Forge of Dragons

The wind howled a mournful dirge through the jagged peaks of the Dragon’s Tooth Mountains, a chilling counterpoint to the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel echoing from within the Forge of Dragons. Mary, her face grimy with soot and her muscles screaming in protest, raised the hammer once more. Sparks flew as it met the glowing ingot on the anvil, each striking a spark of hope in the encroaching darkness.Generations of her family had tended this forge, a sacred place nestled deep within the treacherous mountains. It wasn't just any forge; le...

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Memory, loss, and finding beauty in unexpected places.

Submitted to Contest #294

Okay, here’s a story in the form of letters, playing with themes of memory, loss, and finding beauty in unexpected places. Letter 1:Dearest Amelia,I hope this letter finds you well, or at least as well as can be expected. It feels strange, writing to you after all this time. Decades, isn’t it? Since our last hurried goodbye at the train station, smoke has swirled around us like a melancholic waltz.I'm writing from the Isle of Skye. You remember how we used to dream of visiting, poring over photographs of jagged mountains and misty lochs, pro...

18 likes

Celestial Airways

Submitted to Contest #293

The departure lounge throbbed with the nervous energy of a thousand dreams about to take flight. Bill, clutching his well-worn copy of "his favourite newspaper," felt strangely detached from the pre-flight bustle. He wasn't going on holiday, a business trip, or to visit family. He was going somewhere else.The ticket in his hand, crisp and white against her trembling fingers, confirmed it. "Celestial Airways: One-Way Passage to the Elysian Fields." It sounded like a luxury vacation package, but Bill knew better. This was a one-way ticket...

4 likes

This is the valley of Whispering Stones

Submitted to Contest #293

Please close your eyes for a moment. Truly, shut them tight, and let me guide you through a world you can’t see but can feel, hear, and perhaps even taste. This is the valley of Whispering Stones, and I want you to experience it as vividly as if the sun were warming your face.Imagine first the air. It's thick, not heavy, but laden with the scent of sun-baked earth and wild thyme. The wind carries a sweetness that clings to the back of your throat, a hint of wild berries ripening on thorny bushes. In the early mornings, a damp coolness rises ...

3 likes

The Whispers of Grey: A Story in a World Devoid of Colour

Submitted to Contest #292

The world used to sing, I'm told. Not literally, of course, but in a symphony of vibrant hues. Emerald forests swayed to the rhythm of sapphire rivers under a sky that bled from cerulean to fiery sunset. Or so the stories say. Now, the only song is the rustle of grey dust devils across the plains, the murmur of grey wind through the skeletal branches of grey trees, and the echoing silence of a world leached of its soul.I am Elara, and I live in a time of Grey. It’s not a metaphor; it's the stark reality that has consumed everything. No one k...

2 likes

Mysterious Painting

Submitted to Contest #292

The dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the gloom of the Curio Emporium. Elara coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. The air in the antique shop was thick with the scent of beeswax, old paper, and something vaguely…funereal. She loved it.Her gaze swept across the shelves overflowing with chipped porcelain dolls, tarnished silver snuffboxes, and first edition spellbooks with brittle spines. She was on the hunt for something unique, something that whispered of untold stories and forgotten magic. Something w...

11 likes

love without the word!!!!!!

Submitted to Contest #290

The salt spray kissed Elara's face as she leaned against the weathered railing of the ferry, the familiar tang a comfort. Ocracoke Island was her sanctuary, a place where the relentless churn of the world seemed to slow, measured by the rhythm of the tides and the cries of gulls. Every summer since she was a child, she’d made the pilgrimage, escaping the stifling heat of Charlotte and the even more stifling expectations that came with it.This year, though, felt different. This year, Leo was waiting.She first saw him mending nets on the docks...

6 likes

The Scent of Old Paper and New Beginnings

Submitted to Contest #290

The bell above the door of "Pages & Parchment" tinkled merrily, a sound Amelia had come to associate with the comforting rhythm of her life. It wasn't a grand, sweeping symphony, but a gentle melody of turning pages, hushed whispers, and the subtle scent of aged paper—a fragrance more intoxicating to her than any perfume. At 42, Amelia had found solace and purpose within the overflowing shelves of this independent bookshop, a refuge from the whirlwind of a life that hadn't quite unfolded as she'd envisioned.She straightened, tucking a st...

18 likes