Sister Brimstone
The fire in me is born of righteous indignation. I don’t care what holiness you claim or what heathen name you call me. I know what I am, and I stand against those who would abuse.
The fire in me is born of righteous indignation. I don’t care what holiness you claim or what heathen name you call me. I know what I am, and I stand against those who would abuse.
When they found him, he was incoherent. “They come in the night,” he said. Evelyn knelt beside him. She scanned his face. His eyes wandering to the floor as he muttered, “That’s when they come.”
She’s like a perfect storm building on the horizon. You can smell the rain. You think to yourself, “It’ll be nice to fall asleep to the sound of rain tonight.” Then the tornado sirens go off.
This week, another redo. I promise to bring you something fresh next week. But first, I’d like to revisit one of my favorite short stories. It’s simple and quick, with a nice little reveal at… Tender Embrace
I’m sorry for the fiction hiatus. It’s been a long month, full of ups and downs. Most weeks I’ve just been too drained. I’ve started a few stories, but finished none. And this week, I’m… Leaving the Fold
This story is simple. There’s no deeper meaning. No commentary on society or human nature. No treatise on how people should behave, or the consequences of careless action, or even an ode to beauty or… Basically the Same
I like ghost stories. Especially simple ones. That’s the thing about ghosts. They don’t need elaborate backstories or even motives to be both frightening and interesting. Their nature conjures fear and intrigue. Sometimes that’s enough.… The Visitor