Lisa VanGalen
Bio
I am a panster by nature, discovering my characters as they reveal themselves. To date, my novel writing has involved the paranormal or magick within a more familiar setting, blending it with mysteries, police procedurals, or thrillers.
Stories (47/0)
Into Exile
The echo of my footsteps rang from the stonework supporting the halls. Fourteen years of dedication, and I was no longer welcome. An unnatural, eerie vibration encompassed me as I walked. Never had the air rippled with such anxiety, as though everyone within the building waited with bated breath. The tension grew as I stepped with purpose, each footfall resounding with anger.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
Thump
One muffled scream escaped as the trunk, with him in it, fell into the sea. Struggling against the ropes restraining his hands, Ellison knew time was not on his side. With no room to twist, his last hope was to kick a hole in the bottom and pray he could squeeze out.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
Not Today
The last rays of the late summer sun lit upon the lonely pear, clinging to its perch high in the tree. Cassie stood watching bees flitting in and out of the leaves, the blossoms long gone, only the sweet smell of ripening fruit drawing them close. Beneath the gnarled branches, the remains of the harvest lay rotting. More bees, drunk on sun-cooked pears, crawled back to their ground nest, too laden with pulp to fly.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Families
Cold. Warm. Cold.
Special Agent Catherine Anderson squatted beside Dr. Edwards as he zipped the black bag shut, the sound sending shivers through Catherine's already chilled body. Or maybe it was from the slush soaking into her boots. Suede does not repel snow. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them briskly.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
When lights fade
Jessica watched the gulls as they soared above the beach. The tension of the week slid from her skin like chocolate in the sun, pooling at her feet before sinking into the warm sand. Time away from her job should be a vacation, not this. Not the agonizing cramping of her heart as she remembered her father's last breath. The prickle of tears threatened to restart the journey into despair and she furiously scrubbed them away. Enough. Enough pain, enough grief. She couldn't change the past. And now that he was gone, the memories could fade with him, his overshadowing presence no longer an influence as she stepped out into a new life. The shadows grew with the setting sun, the heat on her face rising as the cool breeze kissed her skin. That would hurt tomorrow. For today, she welcomed the distraction.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Families
So Stands the Matador
Cameron watched through the blinds as the truck drove past the office building. An alert pinged on his cell phone, giving him less than thirty seconds to abort the mission or proceed. Adrenaline surged through his muscles as his heart rate quickened. This was it. The final test. The chance to prove himself as a worthy adversary. Or a quitter.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
Hope Grows Eternal
Grant stared across the flat, open platform. The wind generated tiny dust devils, spinning out away from the station to disappear in the grey clouds lying heavy in the distance. Little remained to break the line of sight out to the horizon, save the butte jutting high into the looming sky. The large black mass gave him a point to orient on as he turned counter-clockwise, the hatch beneath his feet an anchor, the rock formation a marker as he counted his rotations. Click.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
The Final Gift
“The old man shuffled past my house every morning. Most days he returned empty-handed, his head looking down at the path, his feet barely clearing the edges of the stonework. It became part of my morning routine, watching him carefully make his way down the uneven sidewalk. At first, I was merely curious. Over time, I looked forward to seeing him. Sipping my coffee as I sat on the front step, a smile blessing my face.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
Dust to Dust
Standing forlorn in the overgrown meadow, the old barn had born witness to many births and deaths. Its once-solid structure now listed on the rock foundation, the braces weakened by the seasons, each seeming harsher than the last. Wind brushed through the cracked timbers, creating soul-filled music to touch the ears of the last owl nesting in its cobwebbed rafters.
By Lisa VanGalen3 years ago in Fiction
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