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Weekly Contest #372
The door creaks. It's the worst thing Belinda's ever heard. "Shit," she hisses, taking a few steps back to survey the estate she's been tasked with selling. It sits at the very edge of a cozy residential street full of sprawling two and three-story homes, but instead of their bright white shiplap and wraparound porches it towers, narrow and dark, with bone-thin columns and roofing tiles black as the crows who flock to it. It's a classic cartoon haunted house. And the front door creaks. River Falls isn't a gated neigh...
(CW: racially-motivated violence) Willow's mum guides us down Gummer's Wharf with a hand on each of our shoulders, taking one stride for every two of ours. We pass a sign that reads 128 feet above sea level, seawater lapping at its wooden base and against the mossy jetty we're plodding down. I write that down in my head:128 feet above sea level. "Where is that man when you need him?" she mutters, loosing her vice grip to check the silver watch on her wrist. I was placed with Aunt Sarah unexpectedly this summer ...
Weekly Contest #369
Stormrow House stood apart from its neighbors—a wide and towering cottage with twelve rooms and fewer windows. From the door, a dirt path rolled between the greens for fifty paces before butting soundly against a black gate. Beyond, the road became asphalt. Beyond, a village made of thatched roofs: quiet folk rolling strollers beside low stone walls, cows and chickens in the fields, a gray church steeple nestled between shops and bakeries, though there hadn't been a Father there in years and likely never would be. Praying folk were jumpy lik...
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