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David Ader

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2020

Stories (55)
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40 Followers
24 Following

55 Stories

1293 karma pts

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The Secret Hideout

Submitted to Contest #338

At the persistence of his father, Cliff Skinner, his mother attempted a breathing technique to slow her labor enough to push her soon-to-be-born baby out at midnight. Clifford heard that the first child of the new year would get all sorts of prizes, including a front-page photo in The Banner. Wilce was born on December 31st at 11:56 PM. Cliff also contrived that the local Chevrolet dealer, the largest in Vermont, would give him a new pickup, something he wanted more than a newborn when he couldn’t afford the other three kids, or the alimony ...

1 like 0 comments 0
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No Place Like Home

Submitted to Contest #331

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road, deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. Despite his age, Whittaker never felt wet, even shrouded as he was in the cold mist. Come to think of it, he didn’t feel cold either. Still, he was keen to get home. Oscar, no doubt, would be hiding under the bed just waiting to curl up in Whittaker’s lap -- no small feat for a fat old lab. Some ca...

17 likes 8 comments 8
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Sealed With a Promise

Submitted to Contest #329

It was the stamps. Church Sheridan wasn’t in the habit of noticing stamps, and he rarely got letters anymore. Nearly everything he received had those pre-stamped things that read “PRESORTED FIRST-CLASS MAIL”. If there was a stamp, it was one of those soulless “FOREVER” stamps. Little wonder that stamp collecting had gone out of fashion.It wasn’t just the stamps. The small package was yellow with age, the address handwritten in neat script. Still, the stamp showed the black silhouette of a soldier. The words read, Appomattox, With Malice Towa...

14 likes 1 comment 1
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A Light in the Forest

Submitted to Contest #321

Jakob crouched inside a thick, thorny bush. The sharp points pricked his skin through what was left of the rags he wore. In another time, another place, he might have given a yelp. Not now. Now, he kept very still. If the thorns caused any bleeding, it wouldn’t be too much. He’d bled before, under other bushes, and squeezed into places not meant for little boys like stinky barns and even stinkier outhouses. And once in a chicken coop. In those, sharp nails scratched him and ripped his clothing. It was alright. It was best that he stay hidde...

5 likes 1 comment 1
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You Are So Very Welcome

Submitted to Contest #306

Ellen Berliner offered the caller a ready excuse that her system was incredibly slow that morning. What with the holiday coming up and Covid going around there were simply an awful lot of calls coming in. It rolled off her tongue like the lines from a well-rehearsed play. Ellen also rolled her bored eyes. “We’re experiencing unusually high call volume,” a quote taken directly from the Post-it permanently taped to her monitor. She apologized, per another Post-it, and moved to the topic at hand. “Now what date was the claim again?” An aggrava...

18 likes 5 comments 5
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No One Wanted to Be a Hero

Submitted to Contest #304

No one wanted to be a hero. Not now, anyway. It was over, pretty much, or would be soon enough. That's what everyone was saying. That's what newspapers were saying; the last one most of them saw was yesterday's news two weeks ago. It was true. You could taste it. You could see it in the slouch of prisoners marching back; kids mostly, and old men. They looked more relieved than depressed, more exhausted than anything else. And all those white sheets hanging out of windows? Everyone knew.The Army was so sure it was over they assigned one GI fo...

12 likes 2 comments 2
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The Pit

Submitted to Contest #301

Hoffman only stopped because he fell over the thick root of an ancient oak. He wanted to get up, to be back on his feet. He had to go on with his exhaustive run. In that moment though, he welcomed the rest. The cold, soft, ground comforted him. Hoffman didn’t realize how hot he gotten running, how exhausted he was.He gasped so deeply all he could hear was his breath and pulsing heart. They were so loud he feared he could be heard from miles away. After a while, his breathing slowed down, his heart had settled, and he listened. He listened fo...

6 likes 1 comment 1
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Forsooth Sayer

Submitted to Contest #299

Harry made suggestive gestures around the voluptuous crystal ball, his eyes rolling back into his head revealing only the bloodshot whites. He chanted words that could have been Arabic with a smattering of Hebrew recalled from a Bar Mitzvah. Most of the words were gibberish. The teenage trio at the table tried to hold back, but one couldn’t manage. “Dude, it’s like you’re grabbing a boob!” Hysterics ensued. Harry’s eyes rolled forward to glare. “It’s how I connect with the spirits,” he said, any trace of an exotic accent gone. “Do you want ...

10 likes 3 comments 3
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No Place Like Home

Submitted to Contest #284

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. He never felt wet, not especially cold even at his age. Oscar, no doubt, would be hiding under the bed just waiting to curl up in Whittaker’s lap which was no small feat for a fat old lab. Some candles glowed inside of his neighbors’ homes. That would be a legacy of the storm no doubt. He could...

7 likes 0 comments 0
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The Old Guard

Submitted to Contest #281

Rufus woke with another itch. It was the weather, of course, and the room. The room was too hot, the weather too dry, and he itched. He itched to the point of scratching away skin, bleeding on his bed, and feeling embarrassed by it but not nearly as ashamed as when he fell asleep on the couch. Incontinence. That wasn’t the first time; there’d been more “episodes” as the others would say. Poor old codger. Rufus wasn’t getting old; he was already old. It must have been yesterday surely when he’d had the energy to play with everyone. Laugh when...

12 likes 4 comments 4
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Greener Grass

Submitted to Contest #277

The realtor hadn’t yet removed the white post from the front lawn when she hooked on a new ‘for sale sign’ to the arm. Another commission on this house was on her mind, two in as many years and the price had risen 10% since she’d last sold it. She didn’t question the seller’s motivation; it wasn’t her business. She was, however, curious as to why Marvin Kaminsky would want to sell it.           “So soon?” she commented when he called her. She’d expected some insight.  &nbs...

17 likes 2 comments 2
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C’est la Vie

Submitted to Contest #273

The ancient vendor lifted a plastic sheet from his wares that lay on top of an even more ancient, if that was possible, olive-drab blanket. Ashes fell from his reeking Gauloises onto the faded US initials in one corner of the blanket. The old man looked up, his eyes hooded in the sort of contempt you’d expect from a dusty peasant trying to eke out a living with a display of mostly junk to a goofy smiling, and obvious, American tourist.  “Hi,” said Mark. “I mean ‘bon jour’” At least he was trying. The tourist guide said the French apprec...

18 likes 4 comments 4
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Over My Dead Body

Submitted to Contest #267

Wilkerson went about his business, such as it was which is to say not very much.  Wilkerson’s days were like that now, had been for several years in fact. His business was puttering about, extending the mundane into the profound. Today it was changing a light bulb on the outside post. That involved finding an incandescent bulb, 60 watts. It was no easy task. He went to three hardware stores in three different towns. In the one that had some, way in the back, he bought six, the entire stock. They were made by GE, at least; an American co...

13 likes 2 comments 2
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Anticosti Antagonist

Submitted to Contest #266

“Gosselin rose again. It was more of a struggle now. His feet would have felt like blocks of ice if he could feel them at all. His legs as heavy as tree trunks. Those thick wool pants nearly froze through. Still, he soldiered on, lifting one leg from the slush, then the other, then plunging ahead. Plunging to the shore, the edge of the ice.” What does he know about the cold? Yes, my feet are cold. And my hands. And my head. Everything. You get used to it. It’s winter in bloody Labrador!  “He fell again. It must have been the tenth time ...

9 likes 2 comments 2
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The Last Cast

Submitted to Contest #253

When Charlie Calisher was shoved into early retirement he made a promise to himself; he’d fish until he got bored. Boredom was not the goal. Boredom was a worry, an admonishment, a sentence that he was beside the point. He’d been at it since May and was still not bored. He’d had exceptionally good days when he’d land 23 fish, hooked, and lose, another seven, and extraordinarily bad days like when he caught nothing but a chill after slipping on a slimy moss-covered boulder, filling his waders with icy river water, and losing his rod, a $950 T...

10 likes 4 comments 4
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