K.H. Obergfoll
Bio
Writing my escape, my future…if you like what you read—leave a comment, an encouraging tip, or a heart—I’m always looking to improve, let me know if there is anything I can do better.
& above all—thank you for your time
Stories (93/0)
SILENT TORTURE: THE CLOCK-TURNERS CURSE
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. “It wasn’t my own…it wasn’t my own…it wasn’t my own…I swear.” Small jewel-like thorns grow from the veins glittering the ground like the dust from diamonds. Some say you can see your soul in the reflection, others say it steals a part of you. No one has ever lived long enough to tell. It’s well known that Wolf-Firs protect the heart of the tree. Each of them grows with splinters of mirrors that twist and braid themselves into the rings of the trees like ticks on a clock—they will last hundreds-of-thousands of years and are virtually indestructible. Many people die trying to steal a piece of their trunks—very valuable parts in these lands. BUT, if you ever spot a Wolf-Fir do not let it lure you in, do not…. for you might not escape the hands of time as each passing attempt traps you further and further behind, sinking it's poisonous teeth in you until you disappear forever.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Horror
The Undertaker's Garden
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. Well, it wasn’t exactly me; my reflection was different, much different. Seeming, in fact to have a mind of its own, anchored to a body that looked just like me but wasn’t—and before you click back let me explain.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
A Voice Called Trouble
ABSTRACT. The walls lie bare and full of rain-washed silt that stained the bottom half where the stucco met the dirt. It was a house that blended into the road—not too plain, not too Jane. In fact, it was just right—her home, her place.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Criminal
The Enchanted Forest
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. This wasn’t normal—at least not for James and Rebecca Stallworth, they were used to tufts of sordid black fog casting shadows down on their sleepy city as stars hid behind blankets of darkness. Of course how could they have known the skies would be different, they’d never walked this late in the woods before—and seeing as to how they couldn’t sleep they decided a midnight walk would do the trick.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
The Magistrate's Magician
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was a sordid dance on most nights and while the ancient city of Sleetmore slept—Abigail Fourpetal lie awake in her bed as the sounds of chanting and cheering rose from the pulpit below. Echoes of the gavel preceding her arrival. Imperial waves of chalky mist would soon appear frolicking with each other like prancing lilacs and lunar junipers in a windswept field—comingling, intermingling, becoming one; but the show wouldn’t last forever.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
Upon the Winged Wind Gods We Ride
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was a magical sight to see—Iliana wanted to be first to taste the sugary mist as it settled on the sapphire drops of dew; radiant jewels that lit up the otherwise quiet night sky casting quiet ripples along the pathway of the river meadow.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
Crumbling Walls
This story—my story— doesn’t begin like most others. It was something out of a dream, a nightmare, but like I said, it doesn’t begin in the water like most dreams, hell it doesn’t even end there. Unfortunately for me it’s much, much worse—you see—my story ends where yours begins, or at least that’s what the house would have me think; plastered walls that talk way too much for their own good.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Psyche
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