Gwendolyn Pendraig
Bio
I write. Feelings, mostly, though they often end up being horror based. I authored a book in 2017, Dancing In The Dust. You should check it out if you enjoy female fronted, post apocalyptic misery fests!
Stories (10/0)
Where do the bad men go?
He’d only ever noticed the barn when he was thinking the bad thoughts. He realised this as he stumbled towards it, the weight of the bundle in his arms both far too heavy and far too light. He had the bad thoughts a lot, admittedly, so the opportunities to notice its absence were infrequent. But that morning where his mind was on his unpaid bills, the morning when that bitch had moved out, the morning he lost his wallet, all had one thing in common; he had wondered when he’d missed walking past the barn.
By Gwendolyn Pendraig3 years ago in Horror
The Walls That Separate Us
Requisition: denied. Requisition: denied. Requisition: denied. He saw those words every single day. Every time he closed his eyes. Every time he opened them. Every time he passed the growing, dusty stack of envelopes, squirreled away in the shed that he didn't bother opening anymore, knowing them to contain only those same words stamped on their shell in that off red ink, like dried blood, or blood about to dry, sticky and congealing and impossible to scrub clean.
By Gwendolyn Pendraig3 years ago in Fiction
Gut Instinct
It started with a feeling. Nothing of note. Barely anything at all. Just a tingle really. A twitch of the gut, here or there. A sensation of bubbling, the odd sizzle of acid, flickering out from the stomach. Lizzie had never had issues with her stomach before, if you could even call it that, despite her rampant mistreatment of her digestive system up until now. She would be lying in bed, or relaxing on the sofa, just watching television or reading a book, and would notice a little rumble or gurgle, as though she had gas, but nothing would pass. Her mother or father would notice at times, and joke that Lizzie needed to eat more, else her stomach might start to eat itself. This was a long running joke in their family, though it was one that Lizzie had never liked, given her past struggles with anorexia. As a child she would have terrible nightmares of a monster or an alien chewing its way through her insides, and when she first saw the iconic chest-burster scene from Alien, she didn’t sleep for weeks.
By Gwendolyn Pendraig3 years ago in Horror
