Stephen Pell
Bio
Stephen Pell is a full time husband and father, an amateur writer, a freelance woodworker. His previous works as both writer and director include some award-winning short films.
Yes, he's on Twitter: @stephenpell
Stories (3/0)
The Rockhounds
Russ squatted over a hole in the ground deep in the backwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It was the morning of the Fourth of July, the sun was shining, and life was good. Russ had been spending his Independence Days like this his whole life. As a child, his Summers were spent camping outside with his Dad from the first of June to the end of August. In the Fall, it was deer camp with all the men on his Dad’s side of the family. They’d go up to Escanaba and roll out two big army tents, one for the “barracks” and one for the “mess”. Now, as a grown man in his thirties, he had his dream job, which was building mountain bike trails all across the country. His company had him traveling to remote locales all over the U.S., camping out in the rolling hills of some wooded outpost with a crew, a battalion of earth movers, and literally, blazing new trails in the wilderness. He’d grown quite accustomed to hearing the yipping of coyotes at night, the tickling of mosquitoes in his ears, and even shitting in the woods like a damn bear. He finished up his business with the hole and filled it in with the dirt he’d taken out with his trusty shovel.
By Stephen Pell3 years ago in Horror
Scrap
The big truck rumbled down the road. Her headlights illuminated every moss draped tree that loomed out of the darkness. In this part of Florida, at this time of night, every backroad felt like driving through a tunnel. She was a seven ton dump truck, but was currently weighing in at thirteen what with all the scrap metal in the back. She used to be an emerald shade of green, but you couldn’t tell anymore under all the layers of dust, and the lettering on the sides of the doors looked like fossils embedded in some ancient rock just barely visible to the naked eye. It read GUSTAV’S SCRAP SERVICES.
By Stephen Pell3 years ago in Horror
A Little Snow and a Bottle of Merlot
“... And overnight, we’re gonna see twelve more inches of snow, so stay indoors and stay off those roads...” That’s what the weatherman was saying on the radio said as Francine slid her car into the ditch. She was a south Florida girl experiencing her first winter in northern Michigan, and it wasn’t going so well.
By Stephen Pell3 years ago in Humans