Short Story
The Knock
The mover had just left, and the kettle had finished boiling. She was ready to enjoy a nice cup of tea, hoping the warmth would settle her nerves in this new, unfamiliar house. Her hands cradled the mug, seeking comfort, but just as she sat down, a sharp, unexpected tap echoed from the front door. A sigh of irritation escaped her lips; her tea would have to wait. She left it steaming on the kitchen bench, recalling—perhaps with a touch of sarcasm—how people had assured her that this neighbourhood was friendly.
By Sarah Xenosabout a year ago in Fiction
Never Leave Me On Read ❤️
A football bounced off the table, narrowly missing the carton of hash brown bites the girls were sharing. Mia and Julie flinched, and scowled. "Hey!" Julie shouted. "Watch it!" The boy shouted back something rude,and his friends laughed. Aster was the only one who didn't get involved, and didn't much care about the football, or the food, or the swaggering boys with their silly floppy fringes and too much body spray. She moved her phone along the table, to a safer spot, taking the opportunity to tap the screen and check for the little symbol that meant an unread message. Maya leaned in, football forgotten. "You’re going to get caught." Aster smirked. "Am not." Julie raised an eyebrow. "You handed your phone in this morning. I saw you." "That's right," Aster said. "This one’s spare." Mia's eyeballs were large round O's of shock. "You've got a burner? You're, like, I dunno, a drug dealer or something." Aster shrugged. "It’s just my mum's old one." It lit up, and a moment behind it, Aster did the same, grabbing it eagerly. Julie grinned. "Is that your mystery boyfriend again?" Aster smiled, and went very pink. Mia nudged her. "How long have you guys been talking now? Getting pretty serious?" "I don't know," Aster blushed deeper. "He’s funny, I suppose. And he listens." Mia rolled her eyes. "You’ve never met him, though, have you? So he's not a real boyfriend." "You haven't met half your followers," Aster said. "Doesn’t mean they’re not real." The other girls could have handled it better if Aster gossiped about this boy, if she bragged. But she didn't. They only knew about him because they'd caught sight of the screen. It seemed to have an awful lot of heart eye emojis. Boys never texted then that sort of thing. The bell rang. Mia and Julie stood. "Coming, Aster?" Mia said. Aster shook her head. "Double geography? I’ll pass." She swung her bag over her shoulder. Julie frowned. "You’ve skipped every Geography and Maths lesson this week. And PE." Aster shrugged again, their concern rolling off her shoulders. "I’ll catch up. Anyway, I don't like Geography." "You really will get in trouble, you know. You’ll get detention." Aster smiled, to show her friends there was no hard feelings, waggled her fingers at them, and walked away, in the opposite direction of the Humanities block. Once the heaving crowd thinned, hundreds of tweens and teens scampering to waste another hour of their lives in the dullest way imaginable, Aster circled back around the west block, slipped through the side gate and into the Science corridor. She squeezed into the space behind the third row of lockers, and plugged in the battery pack. There were messages waiting. He was waiting. yo u actually brought a spare?? 😮 that’s kinda genius ngl lol it’s just mum’s old phone no sim, just wifi still. u hacked the system 😎 everyone else just hands their soul in at reg they’d freak if they knew exactly. keep it lowkey no one watching, no weird apps tracking u u sound like my dad now 😂 nahhh i’m not tryna control u just saying u deserve space ❤️ i get that here tbh it’s quiet and u actually think for urself not just vibes like u notice stuff patterns, ppl, moods ok now u sound like a therapist or smth 😅 haha sorry just like talking to u feels real hrad same can I tell u sth tho... Sure. kinda miss u 🥺 im rigt here ❤️ I mean when u go home feels like a long time til.ur bk kwim? Yeah. I do. kinda wanna talk to u later at night sometimes when im thinking about u not being weird or anything just wanna let u know, yk? U think about me? X course. your special xx plus, if they ever take that phone, i’d lose u 🥺 maybe drop me ur normal number? i promise i won’t msg unless u say ... Aster? ... U there? ... ok but fr don’t be weird on it dad checks stuff never pinky swear 🤞 just wanna make sure i can find u if things go sideways + He didn't ask for permission to use the camera this time. It didn't matter. She didn’t notice. Didn’t notice the silent ping either. Didn’t know the device had just synced with a remote node. Oblivious, blissful, she kept typing, kept pouring her heart out, and he kept listening, never leaving her on read.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Hourglass of Pismo
The hourglass floated in the middle of the tide. Its upper chamber held the profile of a boy no older than ten, face tilted to the sky, light in his eyes, seafoam in his hair. The lower chamber cradled an older man, worn by years, face softened by the erosion of time, yet still holding a trace of the boy's wonder.
By Tony Martelloabout a year ago in Fiction
Dark Candles
The candles were the good kind, thick beeswax pillars that smelled faintly of summer. I lit three on the kitchen table and said, “I know, overkill. But the room’s cold and you always said fire makes a house feel like it remembers.”
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Cooking With Demons
I was trying to make eggplant parm and accidentally summoned a demon. In my defense, the recipe was handwritten in a thrift-store cookbook titled Nonna’s Country Grimoire and Comfort Foods, and under “marinara” it said, in curly script, “For bright sauce, invoke heat and salt to hasten.” I read it out loud because some of us have to narrate our lives to keep from spiraling, and somewhere between “hasten” and “heat,” my smoke alarm coughed in Latin.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
Demons Smile Too. Content Warning.
Knock. Knock. Knock. The thuds pound against my heart, stuttering its beat with the too late visit. Turning to the clock, the hour hand slides into ten o’clock. I close my book with a sigh and hope it’s only one of my friends after a night out needing a place to crash.
By Bea Weaverabout a year ago in Fiction
I Learned the Truth
I didn’t learn the truth at seventeen. Janis Ian sang it like a weather report, but mine arrived a decade early. I learned it at seven, in the narrow hours after dinner, when the house held its breath: that I was visible only when someone needed a target or a mirror. I learned that a small person could be the wick for a larger flame. I learned that no one was coming. The one who would get me through would be me.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warriorabout a year ago in Fiction
