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Susannah Webster

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2020

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22 Stories

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The Locked Door

At seven years and four months, Sadie watched Snow White. She’d watched it at five, too. But it had scared her and she’d had to turn it off. But now she was seven. She was a big girl, and she was brave. Nothing could bother her. Despite Sadie’s protests, her mom stopped the movie an hour in when the cat jumped on the table and Sadie screamed. She didn’t sleep that night. The lock held. At ten years and six months, Sadie read Pride and Prejudice. It was not that she was an impossibly genius ten-year-old or anything - it was that this was...

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Something Worth Keeping

The car pulled up to the South Building in relative silence, the only sound that of the silence itself. The headlights pierced the brown brick wall before making their way through a copse of trees, where they relinquished. When the engine petered out, and no one moved, the silence grew ever louder. Shy little Catherine’s going on a date? It was the sound of the meanest words circling Catherine’s head, but in a new voice this time. They were back, better than ever, with a new spin. Because this time, they came in the voice of Nate. Fearles...

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As it Always Was

“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty!” Adeline’s high tops tiptoed along the log above the small creek.. She knew she wasn’t supposed to use it, but she’d done it dozens of times before. Besides, detouring all the way to the bridge would take up valuable time that she could use to find Peter. He could be anywhere in the forest. Her foot snapped a twig as she stepped onto the bank, and she cursed to herself. Peter might know where she was now. Nevertheless, she knew she would find him this time. - “It would be so easy to rob this place.” Ad...

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Footprints

Jamie couldn't remember where the photograph came from.She had found it again in the middle of the night, and now gazed upon it with tired eyes that quickly blurred at the sight. She stared down at the picture of herself, tired, tattered, and worn, holding a newborn baby in her arms. It was candid: a breathtaking view of a mother looking down at her child for the first time. There was a deep love in her eyes. An indescribable spark of existential joy.Jamie didn’t remember how she had kept an old copy folded in her nightstand for safekeeping,...

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the most vivid dreams are memories

Sunbeams flicker over my eyes through the leaves of the apple tree. They catch eight-year-old Peter’s blond locks scattered over my stomach, and my small body shakes with laughter that I cannot hear. After a few moments, my backyard seems to disintegrate like a painting aflame.Nearly complete darkness replaces the sunny exterior, its fullness augmented by the twenty-something fifth graders sitting quietly in the blackness. A school lockdown drill. Peter and I are hunched under the teacher’s desk, all squished together. He whispers something ...

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The Castello Girls

Weekly Contest #103

Of the many punishments Mrs. Castello had creatively conjured to cure her insolence, sorting through the family’s attic was the one Clara disliked the least. It was laden with family memories and artifacts from the last fifty-six years, from old journals to photo albums: secrets and stories waiting to be discovered in every pen swish and pose.  However, her newest attic discovery was about to become the most fascinating one yet.  This particular box was of her beloved grandmother Sophia’s old belongings: rusted jewellery, family ...

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The Girl in the Window

Weekly Contest #101

I do not exist.Well, I exist in my window. In my reflection, I am rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. My hair is sunshine, not hay.In reality, I am but a shadow of myself. The shadow she left behind.Magdalene.I always told her that her name was beautiful. Why wouldn’t she let people use it?“It’s a silly little name, Luna. It’s not meant to be used,” she would always say. But why would a name not be for using? If any name is not for using it is mine.I think my mother was mad (but don’t tell my father). It’s as if she knew what I would become when s...

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The Outstanding Elm of Barrymore Park

Weekly Contest #90

Authors note: You will notice that there are spelling errors and sloppy writing throughout the beginning of this story. However, this was purposeful, as to imitate how these children would write. Enjoy!---So was carved, on the fifteenth day of July, of the year 1941, into The Outstanding Elm of Barrymore Park:A.J.LWednesday July 16th, 1941, The Outstanding Elm of Barrymore Park, Toronto ONHello AJLFriday July 18th, 1941, The Outstanding Elm of Barrymore Park, Toronto ONWhat’s your name? I’m Annamie -AJLMonday July 20th, 1941, The Outstanding...

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The Golden Boy & The Ugly Duckling

Weekly Contest #86

When Tristan Stellan had tapped on my window, I had expected something much more illegal. Nevertheless, I was not disappointed. “You like it?” Here we are, dangerously out of breath, bodies heaving on the street, staring upside down at the Spring Festival in all its glory. Perhaps not all of it, lights down and all, but the dark intrigue more than makes up for them. It all stands there, silent and inviting: Rhonda’s funnel cakes, the old spin coaster, a new Ferris wheel, and the tacky dance floor. It emanates Easter eggs and danger and tul...

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Fearlessly Unmasked

Weekly Contest #84

It was her protection. It was her fear. It was her screams, and it was her safety. It was sky blue, unyielding, and it hid her lower features. The water still ran in the sink when Joelle looked up in the mirror. Her fingertips dripped soap. She was frozen, impossibly mid-moment. Her stomach dropped when she knew. Now? Why now? On her seventeenth birthday. On the anniversary. But it was indeed, for some inscrutable reason, now. The first day of lockdown had been two years ago today. On March the twelfth, 2020, it was announced that the worl...

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Ivy

Weekly Contest #77

Two sets of spiritually identical irises met through a window meant for watching and over snow meant for crunching. One pair pale green, like a field of healthy wheat. The other, the specific shade of rich, moist soil. Across the void, a pulse of lightning moved. Familiar, and yet poisoned light. The electricity too strong for any eye to hold on to, the collision of gazes became its own collapse. The owner of the dirt-like eyes shattered the connection first. Her name was Ivy Grainsman, and that look was her primary reason for not wanting t...

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The Journey to Nothing

Weekly Contest #73

Empty. My apartment is empty. Anyone with a soul can see past the dreadful mess everywhere, sticky notes and old socks and books scattered about, to the emptiness. Somehow, when I remember how very full it was a year ago, it seems even more empty. Last Christmas Eve’s ghosts hover over every air particle, sucking away all the happiness I once had. No, not happiness. Forced contentment. Fillers. Woosh. When I turn at the waist, twisting my spaghetti straps into near submission, I peer out the window and see the Pilteron Hotel in all of its gr...

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this can't be the end

Weekly Contest #70

Oh. There she is. Standing face to face with Eric is a wide-eyed and snowy-faced girl, her shape hindered by a black graduation robe. He had been about to go looking for his girlfriend, to look all through the lawns and domineering building. Eric knew she didn’t want to be found, but that was exactly why he had to find her in the first place. If Callie hadn’t been avoiding him all week, he wouldn’t have had to do this now. But even with all of Eric’s preparation for this moment, rehearsing in the mirror and making sure his father wouldn’t...

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White Lie

Weekly Contest #68

A long blink. A steadying breath. Sweaty palms. “Can I tell you a secret?” “‘Course. What’s up?” Diana doesn’t take her eyes off the movie. “D’you remember Dylan Jameson?” Diana looks startled. Lucy knows that saying his name is like flicking a switch in her brain from light blue to thick grey. Diana turns to face her, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Yeah. Why?” “You remember when you told me you and him cancelled your date because of some family thing you had?” “Yeah.” If Lucy didn’t know her friend had lied, she wouldn’t catch the ...

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The Invisible Murder

Weekly Contest #67

“Start from the beginning.”I sigh and turn back the needle of time to… what time was it? I almost chuckle. I was so desperately watching the clock tick by and now I can barely remember what it said. Nine o’clock, I think. I try to remember everything exactly as it was. Any small detail could help, could be the distant tapping sound or the odd stain on a shirt or the scrap of paper that cracks open the case. I know that. I’ve read the books.“It happened around 9 PM. I was sitting in the security centre, doing my job when a man walked across t...

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