Davia Buchacher
Wiley House
Two walls were shelves, full of books. A giant fireplace enunciated the third wall, a plush purple-ish chair covered in dust facing the ashes. An enormous window on the last wall stood guard over a desk, bathing it in blue moonlight. A single, small book sat in the center of the otherwise empty desk, a thick layer of dust blanketing the cover. I sat in the creaky wooden chair in front of the desk and took a breath to blow on the book. Coughing through the flying dust, I opened the black leather cover. A small slip of paper fell out, a warning scrawled in fading ink:
Davia BuchacherPublished 2 days ago in Horror
John's Decision
“I have something to tell you. Something you need to hear.” The voice was soft, soothing. Deep, but not masculine. Feathery, but not feminine. Familiar, but new.
Davia BuchacherPublished 5 days ago in Criminal