Maggie Bean
Bio
I began my writing career as a city writer. Afterward, I became a reporter for a local paper. Now my thoughts simply need substance. Thank you for reading my stories.
My husband has been, and always will be, my editor and muse.
Stories (3/0)
The Past Becomes Present
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. I turned, foolishly thinking that someone else was in the room. I turned, again, toward what should have been an image of me. “What’s going on? Who are you?” I yelled at the unfamiliar face. Its lips moved with mine. Its finger extended toward me as mine did to it. Horrified, I gazed around my room and back to the thing on the wall. The woman was frighteningly old and gray. She reminded me of the evil witch I read about in childhood fairy tales. Her sagging jowls and piercing, blue eyes sent a shiver up my spine. The room behind her was filthy and gloomy; its furnishings tattered and worn with age. “Who are you?” I screeched.
By Maggie Beanabout a year ago in Horror
Riley's Rejects
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. It is, however, entirely possible not to scream, even within a fully pressurized craft. I stood paralyzed, watching my shipmates blown apart and their limbs float past me, some smearing the primary windows, as I heard horror and madness. What a wretched sound – and it came from me. Slowly backing up, I slid down the bulkhead and slumped to the floor.
By Maggie Bean2 years ago in Fiction
