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Weekly Contest #273
The burglar rolled into town like the tumbleweed that drifted across the wide open plains that surrounded River Gulch. There wasn’t a living soul that could now recall how the town had ended up with such a name, as there was neither a river nor a gulch within a days ride, and the few remaining townsfolk even argued whether the ramshackle collection of falling-down buildings and barns could really be called a town anymore. The town had enjoyed a brief flare of notoriety during the gold rush, but that had quickly faded to nothing, like the pee...
Weekly Contest #262
Magnús Ólafsson had hated summer for as long as he could remember, and for Iceland’s oldest vampire, that was a very long time. Every year for the past millennium he had dreaded the summer solstice, where the sun dipped below the horizon well after midnight and reappeared less than a handful of hours later. But it wasn’t the light that he hated, though he certainly hated that. It was the heat that he couldn’t bear. The infernal hotness and stifling heat. Every movement causing salty beads of sweat to accumulate at his hairline and run throug...
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