Imogen rolled the crochet hook between her thumb and forefinger, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her grandmother’s stitches were so precise, so intentional; she couldn’t help but worry her clumsy fingers would ruin them.
Beneath her fingers, Percie felt the spine of her book crack and peel. She wondered how many times she had read it, but the only sufficient answer she could arrive at was ‘not enough.’ Outside, a quiet night symphony was building. A light howl in the wind whispered desires through the air and crackled the crisp autumn leaves that dangled carelessly from branches, plotting their winter descent.
(815 words) ‘Tis the season to be spooky!
(100 words) There are things that go bump in the night. They don’t live under our beds or in our closets. They live inside of us.
(475 words) – I’m rifling through my shrinking sac of supplies, listening to the fire pop and crackle behind me. Then I hear it. A crackle, sure, but not of the ember variety… someone is behind me.
I was fifteen. You were four. I taught you drama in a Scarborough community centre. You were surviving neglect.
To them, she was just a monster. A girl who refused to take her yellow pills — as if she owed society her complacency after the shit hand it had dealt her.
(100 words) Sweet, but deadly…
(470 words) Ellie sits still, engulfed in blackness. She breathes in slowly through her nose and exhales heavily through her lips, until she becomes rather weightless. She’s ready.
It’s 7:07 pm. The house is still. The forest is quiet. But Lucia is about to break a rule.