Jericho [Part 4]

After the Swedish family left the area, Justin Thibeaux stumbled onto the road. Slowly, as he walked further, his bones began to mend together, his skin stitched back across his skeleton. He managed to move his limbs, removing the cracks and scraps his joints made as they learned how to work in unison again.

Jericho [Part 3]

A large, strong man that towered at 6’3”, Justin was not accustomed to being afraid. But here, in this room, on this day, he felt himself give into the fear that had not claimed him since he was five years old and came face-to-face with a cougar in the hills.

Jericho [Part 2]

The cabin was little more than a shack. Justin knew this because his father helped rebuild it 20 years ago after a rock slide nearly crushed poor Hannah Moore to death. The old woman was only able to escape by dropping into the dirt hole that served as her cellar.

But now?

The cabin was magnificent. Stretching in either direction for what seemed like forever, the hut had beautiful dark wood floors, high ceilings, luxurious rugs heading in every direction, and leather furniture that he would bet his trusty truck cost more than the renovations done to the Westmore Hotel back in town.

Jericho [Part 1]

Reverend Jeremiah Hamilton Frees, devoid of religious garb, was dressed simply in black slacks held up by dark grey suspenders and a white shirt, which was already stained with sweat from setting up the tent. His long limbs seemed to jut out from his clothing, but no one really noticed. All anyone really noticed was that since Reverend Frees came to Jericho, he had begun to look younger and younger with every passing sermon.


I just don’t want to end up like her, you know? I’m scared of hurting myself, my kid, you, anyone. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked up in an institution or prison or god knows what else because I have a natural inclination towards violence.

The Lights

Over the lawn, lights start coming on in the house. I watch them, one by one, flicker on, then off, then back on again. First the living room, then the family room, the kitchen, the garage, the stairs, David’s room, the bathroom, the attic, and Jenna’s room. These are all the rooms that face the street. And the lights are all on.

Words Fall Like Rain Pt. II

The History of Death Rituals in the Western Hemisphere by Dr Jane Rios Domingo, Ph.D.

It didn’t exactly scream “Don’t Read Me” from the title.

I read the whole book, cover to cover. It was for school, so I had to. It was a textbook on the various rituals that preceded and succeeded death, from the dawn of written history to now. It wasn’t a large book, smaller than a Harry Potter novel, but it took me at least a week to get through it the first time.

Words Fall Like Rain Pt. I

I’ve been here for hours. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I want to use the bathroom. I want to scream more than anything, but nothing comes out.

So I stay still, in this chair that has a rivet missing and wobbles to the left. I look everywhere: the security camera in the corner, the dust collecting on the concrete floor, the door that’s banged up enough to make my imagination jump. I even glance at the dark, endless mirror to my right, but just for a second.

The After Midnight Game

Rhea thought for a moment. When they were kids, they had lived in a haunted house. Of course, Sara wouldn’t remember – she was six years younger than Rhea and it was her birth and the subsequent events that caused them to move out of their hometown and into the suburb of the big city they lived in now. No one had ever told Sara about it and Rhea was just grateful that Sara didn’t seem to have any weird aftereffects of the 9 months she lived in the house.

The Disappearance of Deacon Blythe (Pt. 2)

Silas took the long, winding road down towards Canyon Lake, which stood at the bottom

of the mountain. The drive was quiet and he left his windows rolled down, feeling the

warm breeze of the summer night on his skin as the wilderness on either side of him

bustled with fireflies.

Every so often, he’d see a deer ambling along on the side of the road. They’d stare now

and then as his rickety truck went by, and some of the braver ones would make noises,

as if to scare someone off the road. The new bucks, Silas knew, would have the stumps

growing, marking the younger deer from the older ones, which were nowhere in sight.

Time had taught the older deers that humanity was particularly cruel to those who had

survived long enough to see the horrors it was capable of.

The Disappearance of Deacon Blythe

Deacon Blythe had been missing for two days before anyone got concerned. It wasn’t like he’d never done it before — his mother still remembered that time last summer he managed to make it all the way to Dallas without anyone realizing he’d left town. And everyone remembered the weekend he spent up on the mountain because he wanted to track a cougar who was killing livestock.


But this time? This time it was different. Never had Deacon been gone so long without so much a cursory call to his folks, or even to his younger sister. And although he had access to his vehicle, a 1967 Chevrolet Corvette painted black he bought with his winnings from the annual 4A competition, he had left it behind.

But he was nowhere to be found, and after two days, this became a problem.

The Runner, Part II

Dev, sweaty and still shaking from her close call with the Watchers that nearly prevented her from boarding, was hidden in the compartment that Draya had pointed her to. It’d take a few tries, and a few more close calls with the ship’s crew, to find it, as it was six levels below the main deck, but she made it safe and sound, plugging in her adaption augmentation into her cranium to help make the rest of the trip more feasible.

The Runner (Part I)

Dev never liked waiting in the Atrium for her assignments. The dead jungle of plants that were too stubborn to rot, holding on to chunks of dirt as if there was still life to cling to, were depressing to look at. The broken light bulbs, cracked walkways, and dirt-filled windows made her feel as though she was walking through a haunting, through the memories of millions of people over the course of the last thousand years.


I used to be afraid of running, of falling and hurting myself too far from home. I would always have this vision of being stuck in the ravine with a broken leg, not able to move, subjected to the long waiting period I’d have to endure before someone came to collect me. Then night would come, swallowing me whole, the intestines of the woods curling its way down the steep incline to me, holding me still while bats fly down my throat to choke the life out of my small body.