short stories

Part Ten: The Descent

The Descent The weight of the silence wraps around you like snow on a street at midnight. It feels different than the rest, hollow, as though inside a vacuum. You breathe in and you breathe out, in and out in and out, rapid, laboured. You wait. Your chest is tight but quickly, silently, you make… Continue reading Part Ten: The Descent

short stories

Part Nine: The Dark

The slammed door disrupts dust particles and cobwebs which dance across your face and into your nose. You almost sneeze, almost, but you hold it in. You stand there as the cloak of darkness and ever-present silence engulf you. You’re shaking, but only slightly, and the tabby presses close to you, silent as well. Your… Continue reading Part Nine: The Dark

poetry

Poem: At 3 a.m.

At 3 a.m. At 3 a.m., I am not alone in my room. Shadows from cars, or something more sinister, glide across my bedroom wall. Somewhere from deep within the house, a clock ticks, a slow, ominous, persistent sound, that warns me of time rolling on.   At 3 a.m., something screeches, a jarring sound… Continue reading Poem: At 3 a.m.

short stories

Part Seven: The House

The House You walk over to the gate, run your hand over the rough, cold metal, rusted with age and weathering. You give it a push, it sticks, you push harder. It gives way with a grating sound, like nails on a chalkboard. You remember your grade four English teacher doing the same to get… Continue reading Part Seven: The House

short stories

Part Six: The Gate

The Gate The vines grab at you as you pass through, they cling to your shirt and your neck. You manage to untangle yourself and head forward, the wet snuffling sound getting louder as you move further down the path. The sun is trying to push its way through the canopy of vines twisted over… Continue reading Part Six: The Gate

short stories

Part Five: The Path

The Path The girl and the tabby guide you toward the front door: past closed doors, trinkets of indeterminate age, the oak cabinets in the kitchen, the critical eyes of the ancestors. You are close to the front door, and the smell of hyacinths drift through a nearby window. You are almost out. The bag… Continue reading Part Five: The Path

short stories

Part Four: The Book

The Book As you enter the room, your eyesight adjusts to the dim light drifting from two standing lamps. The room is lined with bookshelves, and a substantial armchair rests in one corner. There is only one window, but it is covered in a coal-black sheet. Tiny strings of light frame the sheet, a halo… Continue reading Part Four: The Book