E.B. Mahoney
Bio
Aspiring author, artist, and sleep deprived student. Based in Australia, E.B. Mahoney enjoys climbing trees, playing a real-world version of a fictional sport, and writing in the scant spare time she has left.
Stories (51/0)
Crown of Mandrakes
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. Apart from several characters, and the odd creative liberty of my own creation, I have tried to stay as true to the magical laws and history of Rowling's world as possible for the reader's enjoyment. However, this is not canon.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
Allena Abigail Burkhardt: Part 6
She had fallen with a nauseating jolt to the stomach. Only up to her shins. Anything deeper wouldn’t have frozen over in the high country of New South Wales, but it gave her the kind of fright she should have been expecting, but was surprised by all the same. Perhaps it was that encounter with a small frozen pond as a child that made the sensation of meeting with Robert Farley that chilled morning all too familiar.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
Allena Abigail Burkhardt: Part 5
Oscar and Allena convened in her dim little kitchen that afternoon. She was grateful, if not rather guilty, at having encroached on his weekend. She’d called him before driving home, having carefully extricated herself from the shrub. The call with Laylor had unsettled her and she wanted more insight into Laylor’s character. She needed someone else’s opinion of what had transposed that day, and Oscar was her colleague. Even if intermittent weekend work had been part of the deal, she’d never intended to call him in a state, without notice. Ever the image of calm under extreme pressure, Oscar had suggested he come over with Ben for a chat.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
Allena Abigail Burkhardt: Part 4
Her muscles ached. Hours sitting in a fixed position probably wasn’t what most physical therapists would have recommended for a Saturday morning. And not the potential gym visit she had been anticipating. With little opportunity to stretch her legs, Allena was essentially trapped to her vantage point in the dense brush. She’d been forced to trespass in a garden opposite a pretty little residence with a wisteria vine archway, densely growing garden bed, and several fruit trees. Allena strongly suspected they were pear trees, or perhaps apple if not only for her immediate pear craving, having forgotten her lunch –featuring said fruit– on the kitchen counter at home. The trees bore a few, seasonally confused flowers along the branches, perhaps curtesy of the bout of warmer weather they had had a week ago. The house under observation was painted white, accented with a pale green. It had received many visitors since she had arrived. The first she had seen had been non-other than Ted Bennett.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
Battle of Wits: How I was outsmarted by a bull
Three weeks. Three weeks the young bulls had been tormenting my horsey existence. My two horses currently shared a paddock with four bulls, full of the vigour of life. All were as black as clouded night. Handsome young Angus beasts. Quickly figuring out that the colourful tubs bestowed upon their equine paddock mates of an evening yielded delicious treats, the bulls only had to steal a feed once before I decided to feed the horses in the next paddock. A nuisance, but it trumped a repeat of my prior humiliation. My huge bay gelding was quick to give up his feed to the short, stocky beast that barged into his feed tub. I was left to wave around an old bit of poly-pipe (PVC pipe), not game enough to give the bull a tap on the rump in my effort to salvage my dear old gelding’s remaining feed.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
The Rocking Horse
When I was small, my parents would send me away to stay with my Poppy and Gran at the sea. It was probably my favourite thing to do in the holidays. I would play down in the waves, climb the fig tree in Gran’s yard and pick the purple flowers growing down by Pop’s shed. The best thing was always hearing Poppy’s stories of when he went to war.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction
The Portal
As I stood and waited in the metal room, I had time to reflect. So many things. So many choices and missteps that all led me here, to the darkened, metal walled room that smelt somewhat like fish. Kraken must have spilt his food again. There was one source of light in the little room, a lamp in one corner next to a couch. It hit dully on the drab furniture around it. Six desks were arranged on the opposite side of the room, littered with papers, scarred with the scrawl of Professor Tan and his associates. Even some of my own hand was marked on the parchment. Countless calculations and revisions and theories. They all led here.
By E.B. Mahoney3 years ago in Fiction