(she/they) Hi friends! Just on here writing for fun and hoping to improve! My favorite genres are horror and fantasy. Any feedback is greatly appreciated :)
(she/they) Hi friends! Just on here writing for fun and hoping to improve! My favorite genres are horror and fantasy. Any feedback is greatly appreciated :)
There’s a prickling at the back of my neck and a sensation of spiders crawling up my spine. My heart is pounding as my eyes dart around like a hunted animal. I know you’re watching from somewhere. From the cobwebbed corners shrouded in darkness? Behind the slight crack in the door? I look, but I can’t see you anywhere.
My ears ring bright as I tear my house apart. I search the closet, th...
There is a mirror hanging on my bedroom wall.
It’s got a sturdy pink frame with little purple and white flowers, and it’s as tall as I am. My mom likes it, but I wish my parents would take it down. I really don’t like the way my reflection looks at me.
I have to bury myself under all my covers at night so I don’t see her staring; eyes half covered by her tawny, tangled hair; a huge, Cheshire ...
Haisley didn’t know whether she was in love.
Countless Saturdays at the library consisted of the soft scratching of pencil on lined notebook paper, the clack-clack-clacking of keyboard keys, the slight turning of musty textbook pages, and—once the ever-daunting submit button had finally been pressed— late-night chats filled with wide-eyed hopes and hushed fears and silly jokes. It wasn’t long be...
The ashes lie heavy in his hands. Rough and dry, they spill through his fingers, into the urn. Men try to speak to him, to offer condolences, but he barely grants them a turn of his head. He cares not for what they might say; he cares not for anything. How can he, when the one he loved beyond all others, beyond his own life, is dead? How can one soul even survive without its dearest friend?
...
(CW: past death of a family member, grief)
The door creaked open, revealing a long-forgotten room Jack hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years. It was coated in a thick blanket of dust and stank of mildew and sickness, and perhaps something more sinister underneath. The blue paint that once brightened the walls was now dull and peeling; the wooden floors were splintered and rotten. They groaned wit...
I watch as they walk toward the perfect, saturated sunset, hands linked. He spins her around; she laughs as her soft white dress billows out around her. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as she kisses his cheek.
It’s funny, I think, how everyone says that love like theirs is special, one-of-a-kind, though it seems to happen all the time to other people. As a wedding photographer, I’v...
The children speak with the trees.
They climb up along their sturdy, hundred-year-old trunks and hear their stories, all terrible and true. Then they whisper back their own tales, eyes wide and wondering, and the trees listen to the children.
But then the children grow up, and they forget all about their friends in the forest. They forget the language of rustling leaves and creaking branches...
(CW: death, murder, supernatural activity, bugs)
I don’t believe I killed Levi Stewart.
I mean, I killed someone—something—for certain. I’ll admit to that. There’d be no point in trying to prove my innocence, not with the overwhelming amount of evidence stacked against me. That’s not what I’m trying to do in this statement.
What I’m trying to do is explain. Incarcerate me all you want, I do...
The princess, Juliette, was about to become a bride.
She sat uncomfortably on her gilded, ruby-studded throne as hundreds of proudly dressed royals flaunted themselves in desperate attempts to win her hand. There were young, ballet-dancing heirs with perfect poise and sword-throwing soldiers with broad shoulders and impressive steel armor. There were opera singers and jugglers and storytellers ...
Most people think of gifts as a material thing. They think of toys in pretty boxes and new clothes that now lay unworn in your closet or shoved under your bed. But the best gift I’ve ever received is nothing like any of those. I can almost still hear the gentle, lilting voice of my grandmother singing me lullabies that seemed to hang in the air. Each note she sung told its own story of joy, so...