S. Elizabeth Ransdell
Bio
Living in America as an immigrant at the end times, so of course I dabble heavily in Horror. CCO of Studio Metropolis, I love writing wholesome, sometimes a little macabre, cartoons & comics. Doing my best to spend my 10,000 hours wisely.
Stories (7/0)
Bathtub Thoughts
I lie in water as dark and opaque as one of my stories and examine my flushed, sweaty body in the tub. My breasts bob on the top of the water. My thighs, thick and smooth, float submerged almost enough to forget how much they’ve grown since I hit forty.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdell2 days ago in Confessions
From The Dark
From The Dark For an eternity, there was only the dark. I had no word for it then, the enveloping blackness that cradled me and fed me morsels of flesh and held me tight, pressed against my body like an embrace. I was small and blind and afraid of what lay outside the confines of the stone I could feel with my outstretched arms. I called the darkness mother, I ate algae, and I grew.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdell11 days ago in Fiction
Three's a Crowd
I yawned as the heavy, fruity stream of my first morning piss hit the toilet bowl. It was hard to stay hydrated these days, stuck inside except for a couple of hours spent foraging when the sun was high enough to chase the shadows into the alleys and hot enough to blister the pavement.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdell13 days ago in Horror
Crying Wolf
Crying Wolf Devon sat on the hillside with his head in his hands and wept until his body ached. He missed his mother. He wanted to leave and forget the rancher, the town, and especially the ranch. When his sheepdog, King, died he’d lost the last friend he had in the world. Without money to go to college, he’d settled into the life of a ranch hand.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdell16 days ago in Filthy
The Lightkeeper's Daughter
The Lightkeeper’s Daughter It stood on the razor’s edge, surrounded by slick, jagged rocks and a tumultuous sea for almost two hundred and fifty years. Standing tall and cold at just shy of one-hundred-and-forty feet, the lighthouse had warned ships away from the stark, deadly coastline since the days of pirates and vast merchant schooners.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdellabout a month ago in Fiction
- Top Story - August 2023
Old BonesTop Story - August 2023
OLD BONES The alarm goes off even before sunlight creeps between the sill and the shade of my bedroom window. Bleary-eyed, I squint at the clock as paroxysms of coughing shake the bedframe enough to rattle my bones and nearly send them tumbling off the bed.
By S. Elizabeth Ransdellabout a month ago in Horror
