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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024
Submitted to Contest #273
The narrow road wound through trees so thick that they blotted out the sky, casting everything in shadows. Seren Hartley gripped the steering wheel tightly as her car bumped along the uneven asphalt, the silence of the forest around her thick and oppressive. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, 4:45 p.m. It would be dark soon. "How much farther?" she muttered, her eyes flicking to the GPS. The destination marker pulsed on the screen—Bitterwind Road, less than two miles ahead. The invitation had arrived unexpectedly in her mailbox...
Journal of Kit HarringtonOctober 1st, 2023 9:12 PMI never thought I’d keep a diary, but I don’t know where else to put my thoughts. I need somewhere safe to store them, somewhere no one can find. This book seems like the best bet for that. It’s old, worn, a leather-bound relic I found at a used bookstore a few weeks ago. I wasn’t looking for it; it found me, really. And maybe that’s what I need now—something to find me and make sense of this mess in my head. It’s been two months since *it* happened. Two months of avoiding eye contact, of sle...
Zane Carter didn’t trust anonymous invitations. As a journalist, he'd long learned that anything cryptic usually hid something dangerous beneath it. Yet the unmarked envelope that had arrived on his desk a week ago seemed to draw him in, as if he’d been waiting for it his entire life. **“Come to the island. We know what you’ve been searching for. You will find the answers you seek.”** There was no name, no return address, just a flight ticket to a remote Pacific island and GPS coordinates. He debated ignoring it. What sane person would follo...
Elena’s breath came in ragged gasps, the cold night air slicing through her throat as her boots pounded the uneven dirt road. Moonlight filtered through the skeletal trees lining the path, casting jagged shadows that reached out like claws. She didn’t dare look back. Run. Don’t look back. It wasn’t just the noise, though the low, persistent hum that followed her was maddening. It was something more than that, something she couldn’t fully explain. But she knew one thing—she was being hunted. The night had begun innocently enough. A gathering ...
Submitted to Contest #272
I have forgotten the exact year I died. Time dissolves in the darkness, becoming an endless night. I remember flashes—the sound of wind howling through the trees, the sharp sting of frost on my face, and the cold, relentless grip of death as it sank its teeth into my soul. But the details blur, fragments of a life I can barely remember, overtaken by the hunger. I think I was a man once. I think I had a name. I lived, I breathed, and I walked among the living. But now, I am something else, something far older and more sinister. I have become ...
The lighthouse had been quiet for years. That was the first thing I noticed as I stood at its base, staring up at the weathered stone tower that seemed to pierce the sky. The second thing was the absolute stillness. No birds. No wind. Only the distant sound of the sea, crashing into the jagged rocks below. I had taken the job without much thought—after all, who needed company when you had isolation as beautiful as this? My friends had warned me that I’d go stir-crazy, but I craved the solitude. The daily grind of city life had worn me thin, ...
High on the cliffs overlooking the tumultuous sea, Blackwood Manor stood like a sentinel, its silhouette sharp against the stormy sky. Once a grand estate, it had become a decaying relic, whispered about in nearby towns. The stories told of strange happenings, flickering lights in empty windows, and the mournful cries of a woman lost to time. Elena, a budding photographer with a passion for the paranormal, was drawn to the manor by its dark allure. She had spent years documenting abandoned places, but Blackwood Manor held a special intrigue...
The rain fell like a curtain over the city, blurring the lines between buildings, sky, and earth. Water gathered in puddles along the cobblestone streets, reflecting the flickering streetlamps in distorted ripples. Inside a small, dimly lit café tucked away in a quiet alley, Ellie sat by the window, staring absently into the storm. Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup, her mind drifting in and out of the present moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for something—or someone. Across the room, the door opened with a s...
Lena Hawthorne had always thought of herself as ordinary, leading a quiet life in the small town of Riverview. Her days were filled with the familiar rhythm of work at the local library, weekends spent gardening, and evenings curled up with a book. The attic of her old Victorian house had long been forgotten, a dusty repository of her childhood memories and relics from her parents’ lives. One rainy evening, however, curiosity got the better of her. She climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, the wood creaking under her weight. Rain drummed a...
The city streets buzzed with the late-night hum of life winding down. Neon lights flickered, casting fractured reflections across the rain-slicked pavement. Car horns echoed, but Lila felt none of it. She walked with her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, the faint scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to her hair from her shift at the bar. It was one of those nights—restless, heavy with an energy she couldn’t explain. She stopped at the crosswalk, watching the traffic light blink from red to green. A sudden gust of wind sent a chill...
The café on the corner of Old Town Road and Maple smelled the same way it had nearly a decade ago—roasted coffee beans mingling with cinnamon and faint traces of pastries fresh from the oven. A comforting aroma that held memories of quiet afternoons, whispered secrets, and dreams shared over cups of warm lattes. Eliza adjusted her scarf, more to calm her nerves than to ward off the October chill, and glanced at her watch again. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the wooden table, betraying her anticipation. She hadn’t seen Meredith in a...
**Ingredients:**- 1 curious traveler (eager to escape civilization’s edges)- 2 loyal companions (one sharp-eyed, one steadfast)- 1 seasoned guide (weathered by the wild, with her own secrets)- 1 tattered map (damp with rain and mystery)- 4 cryptic signs (etched in bark, whispered by the wind)- A scattering of uncertainty (blended into the forest floor)- 1 rugged wilderness (dense with towering trees or open as a vast tundra)- A handful of natural threats (gathered from the land: predators, storms, cliffs)- 1 hidden valley, ancient cave, or l...
Owen sat down at the small, square table in the corner of the restaurant, its polished wood gleaming under the soft amber glow of a pendant light above. Across from him, Maya folded her hands, her eyes scanning the menu as though it contained all the answers she was looking for. But the food didn’t matter tonight. The real menu lay unspoken between them—the decisions they had to make, the paths they could no longer avoid. He sighed, pushing a stray curl of hair away from his forehead. “You’re still thinking about the apartment, aren’t ...
Seren stepped into the frigid night, the snow crunching beneath her boots as she distanced herself from the manor. The cool air bit at her cheeks, but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts swirled chaotically, a mix of anger, regret, and something else she couldn’t name. She had come to avenge her father, to make Gregor pay for the pain he had caused. Instead, she found a man burdened by the weight of his choices, shattering her resolve. The path through the woods was familiar, yet she felt lost. Each step away from the manor felt like a step awa...
The kitchen was dimly lit, the overhead bulb casting a soft, yellow glow over the tiles, making the shadows seem longer than usual. Outside, the rest of the house lay in silence, the creaks of old wood and the ticking of a clock somewhere the only sounds cutting through the stillness of the night. It was late—past midnight—but Jason didn’t care. The quiet was a relief after the day he’d had. He entered the kitchen, his shoulders still heavy from the tension he carried home with him. His work shirt was wrinkled, his jeans loose and worn, and ...
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