Horror

Storyfeather Year Four

Standard

This week’s story will be posted soon. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s fourth year.

The Year of Creatures is done! That was the theme for Storyfeather Year Four (except for some straggler stories where I might have forgotten).

A huge and hearty thank you to Sanjay Patel for providing the artwork for every single story in Year Four. It was a true collaboration of storytelling. He sent me the art, then I wrote the story around it. It was challenging to write stories on topics I might not otherwise have written. It was humbling to try and write a story that did the art justice. And it was exciting to see the site looking so vibrant and badass.

Displayed above are some of my favorite images.

Thank you to everyone who read even a single story. And if you liked or commented, thank you again. Thank you for your time and interest, and for being a part of Storyfeather, especially Year Four.

I’ve written over 200 stories now. And I launched the Storyfeather podcast in October.

No one asked for these stories. No one assigned me to write them. And though I hoped to earn rewards someday if I kept at it, no one promised me any great reward (or even any small reward). I started because I have believed since I was very young that writing is my destiny. And every time I put pen to paper, or fingertips to keyboard, I feel, from within, the truth of that sentiment. Regardless of however a story comes out, each one proves to me that writing is part of who I am. And I’ve come to realize something else.

I’ve been doing this for four years, and I will keep doing it. That’s not just destiny. That’s love. And it’s not just any love.

That’s true love.

A lot happened in the fourth year stories. Researchers discovered something huge, ancient, and possibly mythical stirring under the Arctic permafrost. An astronaut opened a mysterious pod from an alien race that had been sending messages to humanity for centuries. An ordinary man gathered extraordinary allies to face a dragon and save his beloved. And a troubadour sang the fantastical story of how his kind came to be…

Here’s to seeing what Year Five brings.  I hope you’ll come along.

I have stories to tell you.
Nila

How I Defeated the Devourer

Standard

It starts off dark, and all I hear is a low, subtle pulsing. Not as rhythmic and steady as a heartbeat, but more like, the whooshing and sloshing of a washing machine. Then I can make out the clicking. Click, click, click. Multiplied. Click, click, clickclickclickclickclickclick. I see myself. And I am myself at the same time. My shoulders are drooped. I can hardly keep my eyes open. My skin feels warm, too warm.  I see myself noticing the sound and raising his—my—head. My eyes move to the left and my head turns slightly, but then stops. I need to see. But I don’t want to see.  Continue reading

The Hunter and the Crypt

Standard

He wore not a scrap of clothing as he lay on the grimy dirt within the coffin, so I could see that his entire body bore a ghastly green pallor. His toes and fingers were abnormally long and thin, and the toes even seemed to taper to points as the nails had grown back deformed. His ears too were long and tapered. The serene and contented smile on his face struck me as obscene. Continue reading

The Fly Upon My Mantel

Standard

“I have a story to tell you that you will not believe,” the fly said.

I listened. Because if I believed that a fly could speak, then I was more than ready to hear what she had to say.

And I did believe, after a fashion, when I realized that the tiny voice I’d heard whispering my name was coming from the fly that was perched on the edge of my mantel.

~~~ Continue reading

Tranenbloud Island

Standard

Shortly before the world lost contact with Tranenbloud Island, the research team reported that an islander and a member of the team had gone missing, a man and a woman. Both were later found dead and with their reproductive organs missing, presumably devoured.

A few days after that, all communication from the island ceased.

*** Continue reading

Chemoimagination

Standard

“Marisela!”

Rigo cried out and Marisela came running into the boys’ bedroom. He was standing before the left side of his bed, shining a flashlight on both the bed and the wall behind it. Alex stood beside him, speechless, clutching the cuff of Rigo’s sleep shorts. With the lights off, the only thing easily visible was the part of the thing that his flashlight illuminated. Continue reading