C.D. Hoyle
Bio
C.D. Hoyle is a writer who is also a manual therapist, business owner, mother, co-parent, and partner. You will find her writing sometimes gritty, most times poignant, and almost always a little funny. C.D. Hoyle lives in Toronto.
Stories (24/0)
The Space Train's Engineer
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, when I awake to find I was aboard The Platinum Arrow, in fact engineering the thing according to the too-chipper voice of on-board navigation, my bellow of frustration goes unheard.
By C.D. Hoyle8 months ago in Fiction
Madman Muck
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Jake could just make out the old cabin’s silhouette in the dark, trekking with his eye up the slope a little from the tilted maw of a dilapidated boat house. It was the only feature on the coast of the small, peaked island across the lake from his family's cottage. Jake looked out towards the missing door of that boathouse most nights, while he followed his golden retriever, Buckley, around on the shoreline to ensure he did his nighttime business.
By C.D. Hoyle9 months ago in Horror
Great Feats of Beasts
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Once it was green, and to see it from the hills that surrounded the long, lush crevice, was to own understanding of the colour. When the dragons came, they began to alter the topography. Slowly, at first, by clearing trees that caused erosion, which encouraged mud slides, until eventually all the people of the Three Families understood it to be part of a larger plan.
By C.D. Hoyle10 months ago in Fiction
Big Tracks Guestbook: Cabin #4
Oct 21-23, 2021 Dear Big Tracks, Thank–you for a great stay-cation! Just what we needed – not too far from the city but all the cozy comfort of the countryside. Beautiful leaves on the trees this year. Having the wood for the fireplace delivered to the door was just great! We could not believe all the howling we could hear out in the woods. And leading up to the full moon too! Beautiful, mournful, and made sure we stayed inside at night. Will recommend! Thanks!
By C.D. Hoyle11 months ago in Fiction
Six of Swords
Come close, reader, see this newsstand: It is April 15th, 1912, and yesterday the great ship Titanic met its match when it struck a North Atlantic iceberg. We all know the story, but that is not why we are here. Move past the horrifying headlines of marine tragedy and see now, if you will, that magazine there – yes, The Popular Magazine with its nautical themed cover. Browse the collection and find our friend Thornton Hains, who submitted his story ‘The White Ghost of Disaster’ to the magazine for publishing well over a year ago, only to find it in print mere weeks before the sinking of the Titanic took place. What's that? No Thornton Hains? Check for his pen name; Captain Mayn Clew Garnett. Smart to publish under a nautical name when you're trying to sell sea-based fiction around boatyards, no? Let us imagine the moment the writer gleaned the idea for the story. Were there mystical oracles involved? Was it simply the musing of a writer who, unluckily, foretold of the exact conditions of this tragedy? A combination of the two? Let us explore whether anyone was saved on account of Thornton’s musings – scared away from traveling on the ill-fated ship, perhaps...
By C.D. Hoyle11 months ago in Fiction
High Horse Super Lemon Haze
I’m not a novice cannabis enthusiast, but today is my first time venturing into the local cannabis shop. It has a pun for a name. Retro inspired, pumpkin orange, and harvest gold bands trace the upper wall of the store and remind me of my dad's vinyl collection and of those earthy, clouded, scenes from That 70’s Show.
By C.D. Hoyleabout a year ago in Fiction
The Tank Cleaner
It was bright in the corridors of the hospital, but the lonely waiting room was dim. The overhead lights were off to deter loitering. Light from the only window diffused as wafts of snow closed in the perimeters inch by inch. Dim and quiet, all thanks to the snowfall. It carried on falling as Frank Sr. sat, waiting, in this room designed for the purpose, by the fish tank installed to distract worried loved ones. He had found, during his hours of waiting, that the seat to the left of the fish tank provided optimal sightlines to the security door that was behind reception whilst also providing him cover from passersby in the hall. His face, it seemed, lead the charge of his guilt and grief over his son’s accident. It was better, when he had his moments, that he be able to conceal himself.
By C.D. Hoyleabout a year ago in Horror
