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Weekly Contest #348
I’ve hosted the graveyard shift on WVXR for eight long years. “After Midnight with Chuck Vale.” They call it public radio, but really it’s just me, a creaky studio in a converted warehouse on the edge of Charleston, and whatever lost souls are still awake in the hills of West Virginia. Truckers rolling down I-64, insomniacs staring at water-stained ceilings, widows who talk to their dead husbands through the static. I’ve heard it all—ghost stories that turn out to be raccoons in the attic, conspiracy rants about chemtrails over the Kanawha R...
Weekly Contest #341
He saw her again today. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said with fake enthusiasm. She didn’t respond, but she was never much of a talker. The world is quiet this time of day—late afternoon on a Thursday, when most people are still at work. The grass is freshly cut, leaving that sweet green smell hanging in the air. He notices these things now. The small details. The way light filters through oak leaves. The weight of the flowers in his hand—peonies, of course, though they're out of season and cost him twice what they should have. ...
Weekly Contest #321
The first whispers came with the autumn merchants, carried down from the mountain passes like leaves on the wind. In the taverns of Fairhaven, over cups of mulled wine and plates of roasted meat, they spoke in hushed tones of the castle that crowned the northern cliffs—a place where shadows moved wrong and the very stones seemed to weep."There's a boy up there," old Henryk would say, his weathered hands trembling as he reached for his drink. "Locked away like some precious thing, or some cursed thing. Hard to say which." The merchant had tra...
Weekly Contest #319
Day One – MondayDear Diary,Today, I was certain the villagers would finally see me as good neighbor, not "terrifying monster who lurks in shadows." Small deed. Easy. Harmless.Kitten in tree—classic hero situation. I reached up, plucked it down gently. Smiled. Practiced smile, too. Not too many teeth. Just enough to say, Hello, I am friendly, please offer pie.Then Mrs. Kettleworth saw me. She screamed, "HE'S EATING THE CAT!" Villagers came running with pitchforks.I tried to explain: "No eat cat. Just hold cat." But apparently my voice sounds ...
Weekly Contest #318
Agent 008 hated tuxedos. Not because they were uncomfortable—though they were—but because every time he put one on, he felt like a knockoff. The lesser model. The backup.The bow tie never sat quite right. The cufflinks—standard issue, not the explosive ones 007 got—caught on everything. And no matter how much he practiced in the mirror, he couldn't make putting on the jacket look effortless. It was more like wrestling with a particularly stubborn octopus."Bond this, Bond that," M would drone in every debrief. 'Well done, 007. Flawless as usu...
Weekly Contest #317
Rain hammered against the windshield, blurring the runway lights in the distance as Jane pulled her car into the airport's rideshare queue. Friday nights were usually busy, but tonight's storm had turned the world into a maze of slick streets and glowing reflections. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced at the clock—8:47 p.m. A few more runs and she'd call it a night. The double shifts were wearing on her, but the extra money helped keep her mind off things she'd rather not think about.Her phone buzzed: Pickup: Max. Terminal C.She ...
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