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Weekly Contest #374
SENSITIVE MATERIAL WARNING: occult themes/ritual, violence/horror, crude sexual language The blade of my shovel scraped against the earth with a wet sort of satisfying crunch. Soil flung over my shoulder in moist clumps that smelled of must and damp and rot. There was something rhythmic and constant about digging that’d always appealed to me. Shove, crunch, pull, toss, repeat. There was no question of what I was accomplishing. No supervisor, leaning over my shoulder to make sure I dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s. I would dig and eventually...
Weekly Contest #372
The whispering was back. Georgia took a sip of hot coffee from the same mug she always used and tilted her head slightly to the left, listening intently. There was a chip on the rim of the mug, right beside the handle. A casualty of small hands, more interested in soap suds than the actual washing. It was a familiar little notch, and Georgia often found herself tracing a finger along it when mulling something over. It was automatic. An indulgent tick she’d developed during long hours of detective work when a case had gotten away from her. ...
Weekly Contest #366
CONTENT ADVISORY: (SPOILER ALERT!) This story includes sensitive themes—suicide, infant loss, mental health, violence. Reader discretion advised. The old sycamore still stood as a gnarled gatehouse to the family cabin deep in the Carolina woods. Our cinnamon hair licked our cheeks when the stifling summer wind blew past, as if hurrying us along. Ahead, the cabin rested atop its slope, just as gloriously moody as the smoky wooded backdrop surrounding it, with moss and vine creeping between base and gable—the forest’s way of reclaiming what w...
Shortlisted for Weekly Contest #364 ⭐️
My teeth dug into the worn leather of the pocketbook that doubled as my keychain as I fumbled through my purse for my apartment key. Cherry-red lipstick. A receipt. Half a granola bar. More lipstick. A sudden misstep had me stumbling forward, ankle rolling painfully inside my strappy wedge sandal and nearly pitching me face-first into the hallway carpet. I stifled a giggle and pushed my key into the lock. “Why isn’t this thing working,” I muttered as the keyhole drifted again. I blinked hard, trying to clear the haze as stone scraped again...
Weekly Contest #362
Life’s a Prick Like That by: Libby Ewoldt Hunger has a color. For me, it's red. Not deep red, like burnt ends after twelve hours, slowly grilled to delicious crackling perfection. No. Bright red. Crimson, like a red tide. Husker football. Want. Or the icing on the cupcake that's sitting on the kitchen counter, just ten feet away. It's right there. But it might as well be on the moon. Someone turned the television down again. It annoys the living daylights out of me. Nothing much is on, but I like my sound, how I like my sound. Prefer...
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