Short Story
The Other. Winner in You Are Here Challenge.
You learned the news of Charles’s death on Thursday afternoon. His secretary delivered the blow with the expected indifference you’ve come to know and understand from her. She was the mule that shouldered your weight. The only person in his compact little world he trusted enough to know what you meant to him. You suppose that after she hung up the phone, she reared back in her chair and kicked her little feet like a giddy child to be rid of you. Her indifference wasn’t what bothered you, of course, it was the abruptness of it all. The great finale of his heart as he walked with a to-go club sandwich from Loeb Boathouse through Central Park. She said she thought you would want to know , and then there you were—left to digest this in the middle of your immaculate living room in the midday sun. You gnawed at a fresh manicure and tried to imagine a man as robust as Charles in a lifeless state, but you couldn’t.
By M.C. Finch 24 days ago in Fiction
The Name They're Waiting For
For years, you hunted down every rumour and whispered warning about the secret society—including stories of those who searched too deeply and vanished. Today, after a handful of discreet deals and a costly sacrifice from your life savings, you secured a place at its annual party. Now you are within their reach. Footsteps stop just behind you, though their echoes continue for one beat too long, and a voice murmurs your name close enough to stir the hair at your neck. When you glance back, the exit is already sealed. The voice quietly lists the names of everyone you told where you were going, lingering over each one, then offers you a choice: enter willingly, or leave and make one of them take your place. Your mind catches on each name. Boots scrape over grit behind you, but never quite match the rhythm of the footsteps; when you picture them dragged from home, your heartbeat stumbles after every slow step. A thread of icy air whistles around the sealed exit, carrying the sweet, spoiled smell of wet stone and stiffening your fingers as you imagine yourself walking free through it. One name seems easier to surrender than the others. The cart reeks of rust, damp wood, and breath that does not seem to be yours; bile coats your tongue as you remember your last promise to them.
By Sarah Xenos24 days ago in Fiction
But the Door was Unlocked...
You peer in through the streaked window, shading your eyes to cut the glare. It is dark inside, and filled with shadowy shapes: a box here, a sheet-covered chair there, a dusty velvet curtain with a cobweb-festooned tassel that had once been gold. You peer upward toward the shadowy ceiling, and catch the glint of a chandelier. It is huge, and golden, and not alone, hanging from that high, ornate ceiling. There are at least three, all in a row, all once-beautiful remnants of a grand time gone by. You try to catch a glimpse of the walls, but they are too far off in the gloom.
By Laura DePace24 days ago in Fiction
Open House. Winner in You Are Here Challenge.
You’re back in your hometown to visit friends, and on a whim, you decide to drive past the house you grew up in. You get behind the wheel of your car and open the sunroof on this brilliant October afternoon. The ginkgo trees are adorned with clusters of golden fans, and the Bradford pears earn their keep for another year with their ruby-rich leaves announcing that hurricane season will soon be over. You’ve been lucky this year, earning bonuses that allow you to go on vacation instead of staycation. So you came home, only it’s not anymore. Not really.
By Harper Lewis 25 days ago in Fiction
Stitch. The lore of Sara Foxgrave.
The neon glare of the diner vanished in a flash of black and chrome as Sara throttled the Triumph out onto the main road. The storm wasn't letting up. It slammed straight into her chest—a wall of freezing water and biting wind that would have forced most riders to pull over. But Sara just tucked her chin lower into the collar of her heavy leather jacket, her boots locked tight against the pegs. Letting her helmet take the blasts.
By Syl De'Vil25 days ago in Fiction
Raw Bar. Honorable Mention in You Are Here Challenge.
You thought you were going to meet Ralph and Zelda. A night out, good to get out of the house, you tell yourself. It certainly seems a fine idea, although Ralph and Zelda have never been ideal companions for a night out, on the contrary, Ralph, a bit of a braggadocio, and Zelda, a bit of a contrarian, were not exactly fun, but were rarely dull. Rarely at least until they were dull. No matter, tonight you're going to dine, perhaps have a cocktail, and watch what people do when people go out to do things.
By Glenn Brown25 days ago in Fiction
