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Jeffery Young

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jan, 2022

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26 Stories

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The Beary Brave Night Guard

Weekly Contest #351

Trees whizzed by in a great green blur as Aunt Marsha sped down Highway 6 toward school. I don’t know why Aunt Marsha took us to school, but her driving was entertaining enough that I never questioned it. Maybe Dad had to go to work early. I don’t even know if Mom worked. Megan, my older sister, sat in the front seat. Matt, my older brother, sat beside me. They were bickering while Martha, my little sister, slept by my other side. I always ended up in the middle. Hailey and Emily, my two cousins, sat in the van’s middle row, each staring out...

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The Adventures of Doctor Malone Trenton, August of 1940

Weekly Contest #332

Doctor Malone Trenton studied the bones carefully beneath his magnifying glass. One was a human femur, sliced in a smooth line three inches from the lesser trochanter. The other section was a jumble of bone fragments and dust, the remnants of the victim’s greater trochanter. It was fresh, carrying the weight and stains of a recent kill, but had been picked clean of all flesh. Perhaps by Congo scavengers or by the Doctor’s quarry, but he was unsure. Adjusting his glasses, he set the remains back on the still blood-muddied ground. “What do yo...

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Hidebehind Me

Weekly Contest #306

1/30/1995 I got him! Don’t ask me how I convinced him, but I did. Matthew and I are hitting the trail! The Superior Hiking Trail, that is! I’d consider the name hubris if it weren’t for the hike’s namesake, Lake Superior. Matthew put up quite a fight about my timing, saying things like, “It’s dangerous to go hiking in the winter!” and “What if it snows?” But you know me, or, well, I know me. I could persuade dandelions to bloom in December, if only I had a reason. Still, I understand that he has a point. December hikes are not only disallo...

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The Birbour Cavern Creatures, Unknown Date

Weekly Contest #277

Orange, beady eyes stared back beneath the ripples of a murky puddle. Quizzically, they searched their reflection for any signs of the recent struggle. Those man-things were easy enough prey, but the thunder-sticks that they carried elucidated a kind of fear that predated even the beast. It had been here, in these mountains, long before the man-things first invaded. Before, when they came across the cold expanse with sharp sticks and wild dogs, they were easier and the beast’s kin much more prevalent. It was through some stroke of foolishnes...

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On the Discovery of Birbour, Alaska, September 1st of 1948

Weekly Contest #251

Taken from the journal of one David Birbour, expeditionist and American explorer, from the Birbour town archives that are housed by Iris Henness, post-woman, doctor, and archivist.Sheriff Boris Osipov, the only law this side of the Plyset Mountains, commandeered the Post Office’s solitary lounge chair to read. He was on duty, yes, but the morning had been blessedly slow. The property disputes, hunting mishaps, and drunken brawls that so plagued Birbour typically dipped between the hours of eleven AM and two o’clock and then peaked in the eve...

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Dancers in the Rope Pub October 29th, 1948

Weekly Contest #249

“Oh, so that’s why it’s called the Rope Pub!” “Haha! Yep, you betchya!” Iris Henness pulled the Reverend into a darkened room, her arm looped around his. He followed hesitantly, letting her lead him. The sight of her red hair, now in a messy bun, bouncing as she marched elated his spirits more than his surroundings. The Rope Pub was a large, matte black building inside and out. Through its large wooden doors, the only remnants of its past as a storage barn, lay a dimly lit dance floor. The lighting was difficult to adjust to, but as his eyes...

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A Tale of Two Cities, October 25th of 1948

Weekly Contest #248

“Why . . . is everything . . . so stinking . . . difficult . . . in . . . Alaska?” Reverend Hugh Gregory complained between gasping breaths. He was hiking, as he had every day since arriving in Birbour, to visit the locals. The rain pooled in his shoes, completely soaking his socks as it ran into and over them. The weather was fighting his mission, Gregory speculated, and was trying to sweep him back into the ocean. The steady incline of twenty or so degrees proved easy enough the first day, but as the weather continued to sour so did the Re...

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Clear Skies and Knocking, October 22nd of 1948

Weekly Contest #247

The Birbour Cannery’s built-ins were suitable enough living quarters . . . that is if you’re preferable to cold, brisk drafts and mildewed wood. The windows were at least glass, Doctor Malone Trenton thought gratefully. They could be the opened holes of the Tiawit tribal mounds back in the Congo. Only instead of mosquitos the size of humming-birds, Alaska’s primary danger lie in the freezing cold. Autumn had already passed, but the winter was unusually mild thus far according to Mirabell, the cannery’s forthright owner. All the same, it was ...

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Evergreens and Four Hunters October 31st of 1948

Weekly Contest #246

“Matthew!” Luke called out into a tangle of overgrown evergreens.“Yeah?” Matthew was in the bushes some way off from camp. When nature calls, you answer, regardless of the circumstance. He righted his pants, straightened his shirt, and wiped his hands on some tree bark. “What’s got you, Lucky?”“Just get up here!” Came the reply.Matthew smiled. He knew how much Luke hated that nickname, but as far as older brothers go, Luke was among the easiest of the four to push over. Mark and Johnny, the second and first eldest respectively, were much mor...

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Red Puddles and People, December 23rd of 1948

Weekly Contest #246

Reverend Hugh Gregory and Doctor Malone Trenton stood upon the docks, huddled in a circle around a twisted lump. In their companionship was a distraught Sheriff Boris Osipov, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he viewed the lump analytically. His blue coat and hood were soaked like sponges, his brow furrowed over beady eyes. Another person, the town’s medical practitioner/postwoman, Iris Henness, was crouched over the lump. She mumbled to herself incoherently, her deep blue eyes and sharp features cutting the drizzle as it found her. Th...

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Blue Glass and Captain Malcolm Monet, October 21st of 1948

Weekly Contest #246

Icy blue waves battered the white hull of the M.M.S. Monet with an unpleasant disposition, warning its three passengers of an impending storm. Malcolm Monet manned the helm with the same cold, stalwart expertise that he had brought into thousands of similar expeditions. The fishing ship obeyed his commands with minimal fuss, its sputtering engine obeying the repairs that safe harbor had only three days prior wrought. The cold northern seas that surrounded Birbour, the destination of Malcolm’s two enigmatic passengers, were tumultuous this ti...

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Cold Coats

Weekly Contest #232

 It is cold and there is no avoiding that. No longer a chance of denying it. I cover myself in layer upon layer of clothing, donning thick jackets and sweatshirts, pants with thermal lining and tight-fitting boxers with the same. Mom taught me to leave no room for wind or air or breathing or any stray snowflake to enter into my little mobile cocoon. I wouldn’t be out of place in one of those Arctic Research stations. Smiling to myself, I wondered if I looked like the Michelin Man or perhaps a resurrected mummy. I hoped that Brendan Fras...

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The Things in My House

Weekly Contest #219

There are sixty-eight cameras in my house and no blind spots. I had to pay extra for that last bit. Not to mention that I had to spend three days in a hotel while Civilian Militia Security Services, or CMSS, cross-examined every corner of my house searching for any holes in their air-tight security. Long story short, I may have to skip groceries for a while. Regardless, I’m happy.  Around two weeks ago I started to notice strange things around my two story–plus a basement and an attic–house. I figured something frisky was happenin...

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There is a Ceiling Fan Spinning

Weekly Contest #218

Mold and mildew hung like a pungent fog, invading my seared nostrils. Fluffy carpet cushioned my bruised feet. A flash flickered across the room, throwing white light across a painting, a bed, and the man in the mirror. The sky erupted in chase, briefly drowning out the swirling hum of the fan. It was warm. A cool breeze tickled my wet cheeks. Rain streaked violently across darkened window panes. It’d be a great summer night, ripe for a hard night’s sleep, if it had been any other man standing there beneath the ceiling fan. I climbed atop a ...

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Pale Ring of Flesh

Weekly Contest #191

I closed my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry . . .”“I forgive you.”“Wh-what?!”“You heard me. I forgive you.”“But-but I was so cruel to you . . .”“And I forgive you.”“And I cheated on you! After five years!”“I forgive you.”“I betrayed you . . . and I didn’t even regret it.”“Do you regret it now?”“I do!” She sobbed. “Then I forgive you.”“I hurt you so, so badly . . .”“What did I say? I forgive you.”“All those things I said . . .”“I forgive you.”She paused for a long while, sobbing into her shirt sleeve. “You– you can’t possibly mean that. I k...

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