Michael Mayr
Bio
Stories (31/0)
The Reaper's Redemption
The boy was young and beautiful. His skin was milk white, which contrasted with his shiny raven-black locks. Big clear, ice-blue orbs that mesmerized all who looked into them regarded the world from his rosy-cheeked angelic face. It was as if the fairytale Snow White had stepped from page or film and entered our world as a boy of barely eight years. Yes indeed, everyone said that many smitten young ladies would fall for the beautiful boy in years to come.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Fiction
The Raggedy Man and the Ebon Soul
The hotel was a dump. Run down, old and dirty. Not far from the Atlantic ocean in a cold empty part of Maryland that closed down shortly after labor day. The fact that the hotel was still open seemed almost a miracle. But there were indeed occupied rooms, as the cars outside attested too.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Fiction
The Old Woman and Her Handsome Boy
The Old Woman sat in the restaurant and she fidgeted…yes, she actually fidgeted for the first time since she was a girl. She was nervous, so nervous she could barely stand it. Her daughter had offered to come with her to lend her support, but she had felt it was better this way.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Fiction
A Daughter's Dread and a Father's Lament
Hello my beloved child, I am sure you are quite surprised to receive this letter from me. However, I assure you, you are not as surprised as I am! For I did not escape your treachery my dearest daughter. Your betrayal was quite thorough, and I, along with your beloved mother, elder brother, and dear little sister, were slain by your foul minions. But unlike our family, my child, I was denied oblivion’s sweet embrace. You see, while I felt compelled to enter the light, I could not. My anger, my pain, my...rage? It would not let me leave. Your treachery Adelia...it has kept me here. In this world of hate, pain and sorrow. Why is that I wonder?
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Fiction
The Book of Lies
It breaks my heart that it has come to this. I sit in a stolen car outside the old shack in the western Maryland woods. As I mumble the forbidden canticle of Saint Michael, I pull my pistol from it’s shoulder holster. An M1911 - one of the first made in fact - I run my fingers down its barrel, tracing the engravings in enochian script. I have named it Ender of Stories. A pompous and overblown name to be sure. But a fitting one nonetheless, for it has taken many lives, ending many stories. More than a few by my own hand and not all of those were human. Plus the very act of naming it links it to me and gives the weapon power.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Horror
Quite the Valuable Commodity
Midnight. And the rain was pouring down. A cold, bitter rain. I reached into my dark coat and put my hand on the pistol’s hard and reassuring weight. The silencer was already attached. The limo pulled up to its destination, the back door opened and a man stepped out, scanning the area. Satisfied, he stuck his head back in the door and said something. I could not make out the muffled words over the engine and rain. The front passenger door opened up and another man, this one I could see had close-cropped white or blonde hair, began getting out as well. Now was the time for me to make my move.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Horror
They Looked Like Nothing
I would see them. As I drifted in and out of that state between life and death, consciousness and dreams...I would see them. What did they look like? Nothing. They looked like nothing. Because I guess that is what they were...nothingness given form. How could you describe a black hole if you saw one? A black hole that walked in the shape of a man...or was it a woman? That is the best description of what they were. Nothing. Or at least the best description I could give with my limited human perceptions.
By Michael Mayr2 years ago in Horror