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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2026
Mara used to be normal. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. She used to wake up, make coffee, scroll through her messages once, maybe twice, and then go about her day. She used to go hours without touching her phone. She used to sleep through the night. Now she checks the same page over and over again, refreshing until her thumb aches and her eyes burn. She checks it in the morning, at work, in the bathroom, at stoplights, in bed. She checks it even when she knows nothing new will be there. She checks it because she can’t stop. It started...
The first night I heard the footsteps, I thought it was the house settling. Old wood. Temperature changes. Normal stuff. But houses don’t settle in slow, careful steps, one after another, directly above your bedroom. I sat up in bed, heart thudding. The footsteps paused, then continued—soft, dragging, like someone was walking barefoot across the attic floor. I whispered, “Who’s there?” Silence. Then a single creak. I told myself, It’s probably nothing. But I didn’t sleep. Not that night. Not the next. By the third night, the footsteps were l...
Mira had always been a worrier. Not the dramatic kind—she didn’t pace around or bite her nails or gasp at every unexpected noise. Her worries were quieter, gentler, like small birds fluttering around inside her chest. They weren’t dangerous, just persistent. She worried about losing things. She worried about forgetting things. She worried about disappointing people. And most of all, she worried about the sky. Ever since she was little, she’d had the strange feeling that the sky was… paying attention. Not in a creepy way. More like a teacher ...
I woke up at 3:08 AM, and before my eyes even opened, I knew something was wrong. Not “I left my charger at school” wrong. Not “my mom is going to yell at me for leaving dishes in the sink” wrong. No — this was the kind of wrong that makes your skin crawl before your brain even knows why. My room felt crowded. Like someone else was in it. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening. The air felt thick, like it was pressing down on me. My heartbeat sounded too loud, like it was trying to warn me. I didn’t want to turn my head. I didn’t wan...
It started with that tiny sound again — click… click… click — the ceiling fan dragging itself through another rotation like it was too tired to keep going. The sound wasn’t loud, but it had a way of filling the room, slipping into the quiet moments I tried not to think about. It was the kind of noise that didn’t demand attention, just waited for it, patient and persistent. I lay there staring at the ceiling, tracing the uneven crack that ran across it like a lightning bolt frozen mid‑strike. I’d always meant to fix it. I meant to fix a lot o...
Weekly Contest #370
THE COUNTDOWN (TW: substance abuse, mental health, minors) The kitchen timer blinked its red numbers across the room, ticking down toward zero while Mom tried to make dinner feel ordinary. Arden sat on the floor with her markers, humming a tune she had made up. I sat at the table with my notebook open, pretending to care about the assignment in front of me. The timer kept moving, steady and unbothered, as if it had no idea what kind of night it was about to become. Mom’s phone lit up before the timer reached zero. She looked at the screen fo...
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