Kaitlin Oster
Bio
Professional writer.
Owner - Shadow Work Consulting, LLC
David Lynch MFA Program for Screenwriting with MIU, graduation 2023
Writing collaboration or work, speaking engagements, interviews - [email protected]
Stories (30/0)
Two Pieces
Swarms of people gathered at the terminal and waited impatiently for it to open. All walks of life - men, women, and children formed like hungry animals, eager to board the next ferry across. The terminal was more frightening than the boat ride, it seemed; Wet, dirty cobblestone and high cavern ceilings of what surely felt like the center of the earth gave way for a symphony of echoes from nervous voices and shuffling feet. It wasn’t just the echoes, though, but the stink of tragedy that still hung to the freshly departed passengers. The growls and groans of a three-headed beast on the other side of the foggy river was a welcome tune.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Fiction
Just Like Mother's
"Is there anything you'd like to eat?" He looked down at the woman. She was slight, tired-looking on this day, with her neatly starched gray ensemble and hair in a bun. She wasn't wearing make-up, but her face was clean. She looked up and smiled gently at the man.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Horror
The Decay of the Farm
Old Man Jack's yellow recliner sat at the entrance of the red barn on the back of the property. Like Jack, the recliner was also very old, with fabric pilled and pulled along the back and arms from years of lingering in the elements. I was often tempted to call him "Uncle Jack," because I had an Uncle Jack, but my parents were adamant to never call him that. He never has been, and never will be. It was well enough, I figured, since he always threatened to feed our barn kittens rat poison for letting them climb all over his yellow recliner.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Fiction
The Ninth Circle
When evil took over earth, we didn’t anticipate a landscape of frozen tundra, ice, and life lost in time. I personally expected — and now find myself longing for — blazing heat and dust. We weren’t worthy of that, though. Media outlets and prominent political figures tried to blame it on environmental disasters and human irresponsibility for the Great Freeze. They pointed to scientists to back up the claims who — when put on the spot — denied any of it having to do with humans.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Fiction
The Runalongs
Another boring weekend meal at the home of Friends of a Friend of Mom and Dad. A stout housewife in heels that were either cut low or compressed under her size pushed once-a-year-used silver trays of tartlets and stuffed mushrooms in our faces with a smile embedded so deep in her apple cheeks that I swear I saw her molars. Mom graciously took or denied a bite at each pass; My boredom led to the discovery that she took from every two offers. Dad sat with a crystal glass half-full of sherry and enthusiastically engaged in banter with buzzwords such as “dividends” and “fiscal” and - my personal favorite of the evening - “fiduciary.”
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Futurism
Perfectly Horrible & Unspectacular
I wrote my mom’s eulogy before she died. Well, technically, she was brain dead, and I sat on the hospital bed next to her and penned what I thought were the appropriate things to say about a dying woman. She heaved her breaths — no pitter patter — more like a see-saw with cinder blocks tied to each end. Or like two men in the Pacific Northwest in the 1800s, sawing down the mighty sequoia at a pace not unlike the amount of time it took for the tree to grow. And I sat beside the heavy, small woman and wrote on my phone’s note taking app about science projects, real estate, and how her favorite saying was that she was “sparkling,” in reference to her mood. I cried with guilt that evening, as if I sealed her fate for her; The eulogy is written, no turning back. Even though she was already brain dead.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Families
There is Only one Devil
Deeper, deeper we descended into the abyss. Before exiting topside, I stood on top of the mound of red clay and sand that accumulated from weeks of digging and watched the last of the sun drip into the horizon. It was foolish of me to hope the last of the day’s light found its way into this cavern.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Horror
Fairy bad Business
The professionally manicured lawn on the corner of Waverly and Longfellow was routinely sprayed down in order to eliminate any weeds or imperfections. The homeowner - a proud, portly man - stood like a jiggly lawn ornament and canvassed his property with great prejudice. He spent each and every weekend seeding, weeding, watering, and landscaping. Everything, as far as his sweaty eyelids allowed him to see, was green.
By Kaitlin Oster3 years ago in Futurism