Joseph A Todaro
I am a long time writer of fantasy, horror, and adventure stories. My fantasy work is the culmination of over 25 years of writing&world building. My horror work is my other passion. I love the psychology of fear and the need to overcome it.
Thor's Bad Day
Although the specifics of the celestial's inner-workings and machinations are forever barred from true understandings of us mortals, the power of dreams can gift, or perhaps curse, a select few with a view or glimpse beyond the gulf and into the realms of... Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? One beer/tequila bender gives me a bad dream and I try to justify it by waxing philosophic...
The Curious Happening at Haven Ridge
And so it was, that upon the darkest eve of all the days of the year, a half-dozen lost or wandering souls were gathered together in the common room with the staff of the Inn of Haven Ridge. The rain came down fiercely, hammering a constant staccato upon the wooden shingles of the roof beyond the second story. The storm had cut off any hope of travel or communication for two days and nights now. A time that seemed to extend on into forever for those few involved. But it was a wait that would soon come to an end.
An Encounter in the Blackwood
The red streaked sky hung menacingly low, foretelling of the dire weather to come. The air was stale, a scent of fetid water and decay flavored the breeze as it gusted through the dead fallen branches and gently fanned the mists on the stagnant waters. The dirt paths were difficult to follow through the marshes of the Blackwood at any time, regardless of the time of day.
Drums in the Night
The campfire crackled and popped, casting bits of incinerated tinder into the air above it. The tongues of flame flickered and skipped about their glowing stage of wooden debris. Brilliant, but confined orange light played across Ignatius' travel weary face as he basked in its warmth. The three -stone high rock barrier ring around it prevented the fire's growth beyond the prescribed area.
The End of Lyire
The hour was late, very late. It was almost time for the first rays of morning light to pierce the darkness and force back the terrors of the night to their lairs for another day. The sky was the color of newly lain pitch. Wind whistled through the long since empty streets and alleys. The sound echoed through the emptiness, crying out like the unseen formless souls who remained trapped in the timeless silence.