Conor Matthews
Bio
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
Stories (97/0)
The Trees Swallow People: Part 12
I was sleeping when the bangs echoing across the house finally stirred me. In the blissful, groggy sort of state, where you're not yet a person, still a bag of organs that occasionally moves, I just accepted someone was at my front door without feeling the need to hurry. Before all this, perhaps I would have sprang out of bed, leaping into the air and landing on the unswept wooden floor with my bare feet and unclipped toenails, the patter of slapping soles across the floor marching as I race to answer the front door, but now… now I take my time, rising with monumental effort, a slog of sluggishness. The door hammers once more, bringing back a flicker of a nightmare I endured. I take the time needed to talk myself up enough to stand and make my way to the door, Diva trotting behind me in a spritely dash. When I reach the door, however, she retreats, cowering, whimpering. I ask her what's wrong, but the only answer I get was the lowered stare at the silhouette behind the door's privacy window. Tall, squared.
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 11
I felt like going for a walk. I mean, I always do, but this particular time I really felt it, like I was strongly carried against a tide of weak reluctance by something persuasive. I skipped breakfast (a lonesome cup of coffee) and would have left without Diva if it wasn't for the fact she bit into the hem of my jeans. As I put on her harness, fighting her excited squirming, I couldn't help but think how unlike me it was to forget her. Whatever had got into me it was intoxicating. I was focused completely on the walk, specifically, for whatever reason, to St. Catherine's Park.
By Conor Matthews8 months ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People: Part 10
The invitation to meet Shepard was hidden amongst the clutter of post I had let pile up over the days. It was late August by this point. I'm only now okay. Okay-er, anyway. The village is growing quiet. Of course that's due to the desertion. People have continued to vanish. It's no longer just strangers disappearing. Now it's people you know the name of; Jack the newsagent, John the barman, Colina the trad singer. The once giddy gossip of Mr. So-And-So has turned tactless. Tragedies are only fun at a distance. Besides the disappearances, people were also hitching up posts, so to speak, and leaving in droves. Many weren't even bothering to wait for the "for sale" signs to go up; houses were gutted overnight.
By Conor Matthews9 months ago in Fiction
