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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2024
The sea whispered secrets against the jagged rocks as Nia stood on the cliff’s edge, her hair whipping around her face like a wild, untamed flame. The salty breeze stung her eyes, but it wasn't the wind that blurred her vision; it was the tears. The horizon stretched endlessly before her, painted in hues of gold and crimson as the sun slowly sank into the ocean’s embrace. She knew this place too well—the old lighthouse at Sable Point, where she and Luka had spent countless summer days, dreaming of futures that now seemed like distant stars. ...
I remember the taste of blood. That’s how I’ll begin because it’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? The blood, the carnage, the hunt. You think you know me, the Big Bad Wolf, the beast that haunts the dreams of children and prowls the darkest corners of the forest. But let me tell you a different tale—one that doesn’t end with a hunter’s axe in my back or a belly full of stones. No, my story is much darker than that, and it begins long before a little girl in a red cloak came skipping through the woods. Do you know what it's like to be born a...
In the quaint village of Everspring, tucked between emerald hills and a flowing river, lived an old clockmaker named Eldric. His shop, “Timeless Treasures,” was the heart of the town, a place where time seemed to pause whenever one stepped inside. The air was always scented with the tang of brass and the subtle sweetness of cedarwood, the ticking of countless clocks forming a soothing symphony. Eldric was a man of peculiar habits. He had a long, gaunt face with a silver beard that hung like a waterfall, and his eyes, a steely blue, sparkled ...
Vera and Alex had been dating for nearly four months, and while they were certainly enjoying each other's company, their dates had started to fall into a comfortable routine—dinners at cozy restaurants, quiet nights binge-watching shows on Vera’s couch, or long walks through the same park they both knew by heart. The comfort was nice, but lately, both of them had been feeling a subtle itch for something different, something more adventurous. They just hadn’t quite figured out how to say it to each other. So when Alex sent a text on a lazy Sa...
Submitted to Contest #275
Under a bruised sky, where the last gasps of daylight smeared the horizon in shades of indigo and blood-orange, Talia Meyers found herself wandering a desolate cobblestone street in a forgotten quarter of the city. The evening was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth mingled with a sharp tang, metallic and strange, like the lingering trace of something ancient and electric in the air. She couldn’t recall how she’d ended up here, only that she’d been chasing the ghost of something—a shadow, a whisper—just beyond her reach. And that’s whe...
As Márton and Evelyn ran, the echo of their footsteps grew louder, each beat transforming into a strange, relentless rhythm that seemed to match the ticking of the clock above. The sound was more than just an echo—it was as though the station itself had begun to pulse in time with them, a heartbeat of a creature lying in wait. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching like dark, inky tendrils, and the walls around them twisted and warped, as though reality itself were fraying at the edges. They reached the end of the platform, both breathles...
The haunting began the night Magda’s father died in a derelict hospital overlooking the fog-draped coast of Whitby. It was early October, and the biting winds off the North Sea swept through the town with an unnatural chill. Magda sat beside his bed as he took his last rattling breath, her hand cold in his weakening grip. “He’s coming,” her father whispered, his sunken eyes wide with terror. “Who, Papa?” she asked, leaning in to catch his final words. “He’s… watching. He never leaves,” he murmured, his gaze flickering to the darkened window ...
There was something in Eliza’s garden. At first, she thought it was her imagination. Shadows, sounds—those could all be explained by the wind or the creaking of the old boards in the house. But for months now, something had kept her awake, pulling her to the window to look out over the small, wild patch of greenery behind her cottage. Then, one night in early autumn, Eliza saw it. She was curled up in her armchair with a cup of tea, her book lying forgotten in her lap, when she felt it—a sensation like a whisper above her heart, a pull to lo...
The night Pooky arrived in Rosewood, he slipped down through a shivering breeze that rattled the late autumn leaves on the edge of the little town. None of the lights were on at Number 12 Sprig Lane. And that suited Pooky just fine. Pooky—a small, wild creature from the oldest myths, known for his mischief and secret tricks—was tiny and white with large, liquid-black eyes and rabbit-like ears that seemed to bounce with every movement. He sniffed the air with a small nose that wriggled adorably, and his whiskers, sharp and silver like spider ...
Submitted to Contest #274
The house on Carver Hill loomed at the edge of town, set apart from the safety of light and sound. It stood where the cracked road met the twisted trees, and those trees bent inward, almost protectively, casting the house in a shadow so dark that even the bravest souls hesitated to approach. The house seemed alive, pulsing with an eerie energy, and over time, townsfolk learned to steer clear of it. When they did talk about it, they did so in whispers, lowering their voices as if the house itself might be listening. Strangest of all, the hous...
The late summer sun cast a lazy golden light over the playground, but Alex’s palms were sweating. He had spent the afternoon trying to climb the park’s tallest tree, determined to reach the branch that towered over his head. His older brother had climbed it easily the week before, standing triumphantly on the top branch and looking down on him with a grin. But today, the tree seemed taller and more impossible. After another failed attempt, Alex slid to the ground, feeling a tight, hollow ache in his stomach. He sat in the grass, the feeling ...
The footsteps behind her quickened. Casey felt her pulse speed up in response, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she fought the urge to look back. Every instinct screamed at her to check if the figure was still there, but she resisted. She had learned not to look back. Looking back gave them power. The street was nearly empty, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of streetlights. It was a quiet evening in Eastbrook, the kind of night where the air was crisp and sharp, and the only sounds were the occasional hum of a distant car or the rustl...
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...
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