Mark J. Wilcoxen
Dreaming up stories is like breathing to me. I'm a fan of horror, fantasy and science fiction. I'm seeking to add my own small contribution to the literary world.
Two Sentence Horrors Volume 9
Two Sentence Horror Volume 9 By Mark J. Wilcoxen 401. Hearing a hissing sound from one of his back tires, Rubert squatted down to inspect the damage. With lightning speed a scaly appendage shot out of the wheel well and wrapped around Rubert's throat.
Two Sentence Horrors Volume 8
Two Sentence Horrors Volume 8 By Mark J. Wilcoxen 351. Rounding the corner Dale and Rachael instantly grew apprehensive when they saw the crowd. Before the couple could turn back everyone in the crowd turned to them and said in unison, "There is nowhere to run; there is only the gathering."
Monkey By Mark J. Wilcoxen Adding five sugars to my coffee, I sit down back at my desk. It was Monday night so it was my job to take any calls that came in and I’d need the caffeine and sugar to stay awake. Other than the ritualistic call from old Mrs. Anderson insisting that someone was lurking around her duck coop, my shift was a quiet one.
Chain and Hook
Chain and Hook By Mark J. Wilcoxen I've been hunted by this monster for as long as I can remember. In fact my earliest memories are of it clanking around under my crib. Not being fully able to talk I cried for my parents who were quick to enter my room and soothe me. In those early years I only ever heard it, mostly under my bed. On occasion it'll be in my closet. The common underlier was the clanking of metal against metal; similar to a normal clanking of a chain, but different at the same time. There was a maliciousness to the sound that is hard to describe.
Two Sentence Horrors Volume 6
Two Sentence Horrors Volume 6 By Mark J. Wilcoxen 251. I did my best to ignore the knocking sound like my parents told me too. "Now if the pallbearers will take their position," stated the pastor; causing the knocking from inside the coffin to become more insistent.
The Flower By Mark J. Wilcoxen As Fallar desperately clung to the crumbling masonry he watched helplessly as his last remaining companion, his trusty pack mule Dall, fell back to the earth far below. With her loss he wasn't just alone, but severely under equipped, as the majority of his supplies descended down with the beast of burden. Fallar spared another moment watching Dall frantically kick and bray on her downward trip. He hoped her end was quick, the thought of her suffering due to his obsession caused a strong sense of guilt to flood him. Many of his own peers thought him mad for his quest. Not for the first time he considered them correct.