Drabble: Horror?

He had studied for years, prepared for months.  He limited his diet to emaciate his body.  He tried different visualizations to free his mind.  One night he imagined his self floating in a reservoir, the water slowly draining through a hole.  He slipped through the hole, and out, and left his body, and was free.

He looked down upon his gently breathing shell on the bed and rejoiced.  He floated up, away, his soul unencumbered, and only when he was satisfied did he return.

But he returned to a state of shock.

He hadn’t planned how to reenter his body.

The Gathering

I’m going to keep writing.  It’s all I can do to deal with the hate that has manifested itself in my country.  It’s the only way I can think of to cope unless I want to start drinking.  Because I feel afraid and unsafe.  My friends feel afraid and unsafe and I don’t know how to help them.  So I’m going to write.

Drabble: I don’t know what genre

The new soul arrived tired, filled with regret, still reeking of death.  It wavered in the field in the cold air, and cried out, though its voice didn’t carry.  It was alone, as alone as it had been within its skin.  But its skin had fallen away, and it was naked and without anchor.

Others rose from the creek, ephemeral shades stepping out to welcome it.  They moved forward, wrapping themselves around it, calling it to join with them.  Letting it know it was no longer alone, that it was now a part of a whole.

So the fog gathered.

The Fallowing – The Fifth, Part IX

Novel: Horror

Sam ducked as I shot.  Did I mean to miss?  Who can say?  The bullet hit the window and the glass shattered and rained down onto the hardwood floor and the street below.  Sam ran at me and dived at my stomach, knocking me on my back as well as knocking the wind out of me.  Before I could get on my feet he was down the hallway, and though I shot at him I missed again.  Screams rang out in the rooms, and Sam plunged down the stairs.  I let off one more shot before he melted out of sight, but hit only the wall, showering plaster down the stairwell.

By the time I burst out onto the street he had vanished.  I looked up and down the road and shouted out his name in a cry – it seemed to me – without end.


I spun around and came face-to-face with Corrie, still half-bandaged, still timid.  She jumped back at the sight of my gun.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

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What’s Behind

I could possibly expand on this one later.

Drabble: Horror

She had never liked the covering of the mirrors that always came with funerals.  She had seen them in the houses of her friends and distant family, black drapes hanging in odd areas in rooms and hallways, dripping off the walls, hiding reflections.  But this time it was in her house.  And after the guests left and her mother had gone to bed and the house was dark, she passed by the hidden mirror in the hall.  The cloth billowed as she went by, and she heard her name called from it.  A deep voice: the voice of her father.