William Webster

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2019

Stories (18)

18 Stories

295 karma pts

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“Last Camping Trip” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #102

“Pap, who’s this?” Jeremy jumped on his grandfather’s lap.  His grandfather laughed at the photograph with his grandson hugging him. “Where did you ever get this?” “Grandma found in the bottom of a box she was cleaning out. She said to show it to you.” His grandfather studied the picture, leaned forward while holding his grandson and tossed the picture over to Smitty who was in the next chair sipping a beer.  The two men grew up together. They met in Junior High and by the time they got to high school they ...

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“18 Little Market Square” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #96

She stood for what seemed like eternity watching the building across the public square. In the market area, surrounded by tall buildings, she propped herself against the lone tree with her eyes never leaving the area. The large square, just across the Vistula River, had been streaming with people for most of the day until the sun began to set casting long winter shadows on the brick pavers that made up the marketplace. With the sun lowering over the building, the people scattered like a flock of pheasants after a shotgun blast...

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“The Sands of Kaibeto” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #92

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said “I’d rather be alone.” “We are alone.”   Jack wheezed. “We’ve been alone for a long time.” Flecks of blood flew from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He drew in some air. “I thought . . .” He stopped to catch his breath. “We’ve worked things out.” She assured him. “Alone.” He shook his head. “When a dog is dying,” he took a deep breath, “he searches out a place to be alone. Maybe it’s an attempt to unburden others with his death. Maybe it’s to find solace, a qu...

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“10 Seconds Or Less” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #74

In less than ten seconds a dream builds and takes shape and grows within our mind.  But the result of a dream can last a lifetime. Bruce Barrington, in his air-conditioned travel trailer reflected on his dream. He reclined in his captain chair, eyes closed he stroked his beard, and remembered. His three year old beard resembled Dusty Hill’s of ZZ Top. And after the year he had, Bruce was surprised that there wasn’t a speck of gray in it. He started growing the beard when he was twenty three, the day he reached t...

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“REDEEMED IN PHOENIX?” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #70

The screen door slammed behind the two men upon entering the cafe, which sat in Grey Mountain on the side of the highway about 75 miles north of Flagstaff, Arizona. Adam Ackerman, owner of the cafe, stood behind the bar. Without missing a beat he continued to wipe it down as the men walked in.  “We’re closed.” Ackerman said without looking up. Hearing the sound of their expensive soft leather shoes rather than boots, slapping the hard wooden cafe floor, Ackeman knew that they were not his usual customers looking for cheap...

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“REUNITED” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #68

Frank rolled his beige pants up to his knees as Jon watched his father wade into the water. Frank stopped only when the rushing waves slapped against his legs threatening to soak his pants.  With a slight bend to the right he side-armed cast, like a lion tamer using a whip, sending his fishing line over the surf. The lure sailed past the breakers scattering seagulls before smashing about 75 yards away.  Backing out of the water Frank held the rod high above the sea spray in an attempt to keep the Shimano reel dry. Se...

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“The Green Room” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #50

Attached to the wall across from the mahogany imitation dressing table was the floor to ceiling mirror mounted in a black plastic frame that looked into the room and criticized everyone who waited to go on the air. At least that was how Anthony felt. Like a mannequin, he stood motionless in the center of the Green Room fixated at his reflection until he pulled his golf shirt down in an attempt to cover the ripples around his midsection. Not a six-pack. He saw just flab. No matter how he tugged his golf shirt down or ...

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“The Guest Room” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #34

The screen door slammed behind Jason as he threw his computer bag like a shot put across the kitchen to a receiving chair that rocked on impact.  Jason kicked his shoes off. The hardwood floor moved under his feet before the room began to spin around him.  Staggering to the table he collapsed in a chair.  The room was dark and hot and the air sticky.  Sweat beaded up on his shaved head and rolled down his face as rain continued to beat the back porch roof sounding more and more like Thor’s hammer ...

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“Night Train” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #27

In his bedroom three blocks away from the railroad tracks that split the town in half, Richard hears the train whistle.  Every night at midnight, when the train barrels west towards Garret Tunnel and River Junction, it approaches the grade crossing in the center of town and she blows her whistle.  It’s a lonely sound. The engineer and firemen in the cab and brakeman riding solo in the caboose are the only living souls on the train.  Every day engineer Jonathan Luther hauls freight out of Central Station to ...

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“Susan's Discovery” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #24

On the eve of the event, Susan Wells, even though it was summer, slid her hands into her gray gloves before grabbing hold of the handrail at the top of the stairs. Dr. Young dug his hands deep into his white lab coat. “Susan, remember it’s important that you always wear your gloves. Don’t go out without them. They will prevent. . .” “I know Doc,” she interrupted as she turned away from him. “I’ll wear the gloves.”      Sliding her sunglasses on she bounced down the steps with her auburn hair tra...

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“GOING HOME” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #22

“All flights have been delayed,” the monotone announcer repeated over the loudspeaker on New Year’s Eve. Gregory Mason sat on the rigid plastic chairs with his feet propped up on his backpack, “I’m not about to lay on the filthy carpet like the other waiting passengers. I’ll just sit here,” he thought.  Greg waited. And waited.  An eternity seemed to pass by as he waited alone in the crowded terminal.  The snow that began as soft flurries an hour ago now fell down out of a black sky and showed little o...

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““HER STORY LIVES ON”” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #18

“Michael! Why are you pulling me in here!” “You said we needed outfits for the custom party, so . . . Jessica interrupted. “It’s not a custom party. It’s a masquerade event, it’s a fund raiser for the . . .” “Masquerade, costume - whatever you want to call it. This is a great place to find something. Trust me.”  “Here?” “Yep. What better place than in a vintage clothing store.” “I don’t know.” She began to give in to his suggestion when Michael dragged her through the doorway.&...

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“'Into The Woods?'” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #16

“The last time I saw him he was wearing a blue hoodie and he had a pack slung across his back.”   The inquisitor stared long and hard at me with a glare that said he didn’t believe I word I was saying. “So, lets take it from the top. What was he carrying?”   “I told you before, I don’t remember him carrying anything. Jim just walked past me heading down the corridor.” Sitting in the ridged chair that looked like an ergonomic computer desk chair, but felt more like a medieval torture seat, I argued,&nbs...

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“It's Not What it seems” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #15

By 1:00 pm the green bottle of Laphroaig Scotch Whisky remained unopened on the kitchen counter with the golden liquid almost begging me to let it out of the bottle as if it were a Genie with the supernatural ability to grant me three wishes, like tuning back time. Eyeing the bottle with suspicion, I reached for my tumbler when my cell phone lit up. I had turned the ringer off at the funeral. I refused to turn it back on. “I have no reason to turn it back on.” “She’ll never call me again.” Swirling the bottle I mumbl...

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“MY PENTEX” by William Webster

Submitted to Contest #14

The package, wrapped in pink paper, was tied together with a complementing bow and ribbons and placed before Susan. She handled the package in her hands as her parents looked on. Susan had always wanted a camera. Not any camera, but a 35 millimeter, single lens reflect. Caressing the box she rubbed the sides as if rubbing it would make her wish come true. Susan brushed aside her auburn hair and eyed the package hoping beyond hope that the package contained her camera.  Untying the ribbon, she slid her finge...

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Author bio

Married with three grown children who live all over the world. I serve as a pastor of a small church in eastern Ohio. I have written one book, "A Place of GRACE" which was published in 2016. I write a column for the Intelligencer Newspaper in Wheeling, West Virginia. www.facebook.com/aPlaceOfGrace