Tara Crowley
Stories (10/0)
To a Fault
He woke up on the hall floor, drenched in sweat. He must have passed out. Not sleeping for days, it was inevitable. The hall was empty as usual, yet unusually quiet. The clocks were still and silent, not measuring the time. He wandered the halls. Here in the east wing, there was a damp smell, like an old book dropped into a water-filled sink. Robert was disoriented.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Horror
Three Moments of Twilight
It was a day like any other for Lily, which was unlike any day for anyone else. She sat at the edge of the meadow, surrounded by tall grasses and wildflowers. To her right was the empty meadow, to her left were several oak trees. Today, as was every day, she brought a basket of cut marigolds from her garden. She had spread them around in a circle and sat comfortably in the centre. Lily placed a few marigold flowers in her curly blond hair and on the lace trim of her pale dress.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Fiction
Time Is What You Make It
You have twenty friends, each of them will knock on your door today. If you let each one in and had a cup of tea, there would be no time for anything else; no cleaning, no meals, no work, no free time. Your house would be a mess, you would have no money, you would be tired and while you wouldn’t be thirsty, you would be hungry.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Fiction
Harmless
Jeffrey swung across the barn, beam to beam from a rope secured to the highest support in the roof. Dust falling from the rafters filtered through the waning dusk sunlight, peeking through gaps in the deteriorating wooden siding. Over 100 years old, it should have been dead, yet the old barn had strong bones.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Horror
In a Dark, Dark Childhood
I’ve always loved darker tales; the commentary and sadness of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the extraordinary folktales of The Storyteller by Jim Henson—all the writings of Roald Dahl. The storybook in Resident Evil: Village is often commented as too scary a tale for a little kid. Not me; I would have treasured such a book.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Horror
In Karma's Time
The wreckage of the cities left Janice with a sense of defeat. It was a continuous reminder of everything lost. Nothing cleaned up, nothing being built, all left to crumbled cement. The rain had wiped away the paints and vibrant colours of modern life.
By Tara Crowley3 years ago in Fiction
