Don Feazelle
Stories (22/0)
The Massacre at St. Laurent Hospital for the Criminally Insane
"Doctor Wingate, we have visitors." Doctor Malcolm Wingate, Chief of Psychiatry at St. Laurent Hospital for the Criminally Insane, looked up from his desk. Pipe smoke swirled around his head. Squinting through his black horned rim glasses, he stared at Marcy Bedford. After a moment of silence, he scowled, "For Pete's sake, Marcy spit it out. Who?"
By Don Feazelle17 days ago in Fiction
When the Blackbirds Caw!
One at a time, Seven large blackbirds lighted on the railing of the moss-covered stone bridge and silently watched Brent like gargoyles on medieval architecture. Brent continued to stare into the dark, slow-flowing river below, ignoring the birds.
By Don Feazelle10 months ago in Fiction
Beauty is Skin Deep
Reign looked up from her Anatomy 101 book to see the incarnation of Adonis. The flowing shoulder-length blond hair and chiseled jaw formed into a bright smile of pearly white teeth. Sparkling blues eyes pierced her soul as he made eye contact. Have I died and gone to heaven? Is he an angel?
By Don Feazelle11 months ago in Horror
An Angel of Death Robbed Me of My Angel of Mercy!
“Uncle, why do you treat me thus when you have the power to take away my suffering?” Tears streamed down Nicholas Sange’s face as he looked into the eyes of his darling niece, Angelica. Her eyes still shined with the light of hope, which he longed for himself.
By Don Feazelle3 years ago in Horror
It’s Nothing Personal
“It’s nothing personal — purely a business decision.” Dante Diavolo paused to observe Robert’s reaction. Though mild-mannered, Robert Decker was a big man at six foot three and 240 lbs. “Bob, I do appreciate the many years you have served the company.”
By Don Feazelle4 years ago in Horror
How Horseback Riding Nearly Gelded Me.
Setting the Stage for This Day’s Near Tragedy First, I thought, “Everyone is doing it. I will write about sex!” But, there is enough sex going around Medium writing these days. Besides, I don’t want to catch a textually transmitted disease.
By Don Feazelle4 years ago in Petlife
Murder at Futura Lane
Detective Bill Pearson took a swig of his convenience store coffee. “Blah! This stuff is at least a day old.” The burnt taste in the back his throat agitated his gag reflex. He could feel the stomach acid climbing up his esophagus. Popping three fruit-flavored antacid tablets, he chewed then swallowed them.
By Don Feazelle4 years ago in Criminal
