Writer, reader, game crafter, screen writer, comedian, playwright, aging hipster, and writer of fine horror.
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Journal of a Mad Writer
Travis pulled up in front of the old cabin, ready to prepare everything for the coming weekend. It would be nice to have the rental property again. It had been closed for the last eight months as the police combed over every square foot for evidence. Travis grimaced as he thought of it, cursing his luck at being out all that cash. He'd had a funny feeling about that writer type, but he'd needed the money. It had been a slow season, and he needed to make it up before the snows came. Who could have known that the snow would come so early that year?
An Unexpected Gift
Chris saw the drone flying away from his apartment and raised an eyebrow. He hadn't ordered anything, certainly nothing that a drone would deliver, and he came up the stairs two at a time before his crackhead neighbors came out to steal it. Calling them crackheads might have seemed a little disparaging, but Chris had actually come home and found them smoking crack on the front porch, so he thought it more than fair. The Palm Breeze weekly rentals were far from posh, but they were the best he could afford. Chris had a dead-end job that barely paid him minimum wage and hardly worked him part-time these days. He was behind on his rent, looking at ramen noodles for dinner again, and, if he was lucky, he might get halfway through tonight's football game before they shut his cable off.
Appalachian Grandpa: The Last Trick of Treater
Grandpa was putting away the candy after I returned from walking Glimmer back into the woods. If Grandpa thought anything about my time with his old flame, he didn't say anything. I hadn't exactly set out to begin a relationship with one of the creatures Grandpa was always warning me about in the woods, but it was something that had just sort of happened. The two of us tried not to rub it in his face, and I got the feeling that it made Glimmer a little uncomfortable if she thought too much about it.
Work Release isn't like an ordinary prison. If you're unfamiliar with how the prison hierarchy works, let me explain. You have Maximum Security institutions, places with barbed wire on the fences, and men in cages inside concrete structures, whose days are basically dictated by the guards' will. Then you have Minimum Security, which is mostly dorms that look like summer camp cabins, with bunk beds, belongings stacked neatly in lockers, and Inmates who have a schedule and go about their day as they choose, within reason. Then there's Community Custody, which is more like a halfway house. Inmates living in Community Custody have jobs outside the facility, earn their own money, and get to wear regular clothes most of the time. They have one foot in the real world and usually cause very little trouble.
The Tapping From Inside
I was having lunch with Mark when an unfamiliar face came to sit with us. He wore a lab coat, gray scrubs, and a badge identifying him as Morgue staff. Mark extended his fist for the newcomer to bump and made instructions as I covertly slid my salad back a little bit.
"What in the hell are those?" Clarence had gone to Reggy's Veggies to buy seeds, just as he had every year since Reggy had opened. David Decker probably bought his seeds here, too, Clarence reflected. It was part of the reason Clarence kept coming back. The fact that Reggy was a friend since boyhood and Clarence taking his business to the new feed store up the road would hurt him was secondary.
The Face in the Wall
Terry’s day started with the previous shift dragging Inmate Harrison from his cell. The two officers, old pros at this, had him cuffed up and held under each arm, the yard Sergeant coming behind as he manfully attempted to hold the inmates kicking legs. Sergeant Leeman wasn’t a small guy, somewhere between a bodybuilder and a sideshow strong man, and even he was having trouble keeping a hold of the struggling inmate. Harrison was six and a half feet tall and most of it was ankles and elbow. As they took him out, he was screaming loud enough to shake the cobwebs in the rafters.