“What did you come here looking for, Dorian?” she asked.
A rumble of thunder sounded outside. And the rain seemed to thicken. Instead of the quick but distinct droplets, there were now just splashes and slaps of water hitting the little house that had been converted into the psychic’s parlor. The lights flickered. Continue reading
This week’s story will be posted soon. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s sixth year!
The Year of Definitions is done! That was the theme for Storyfeather Year Six. Continue reading
What have I done? I asked myself. And the question sparked excitement. And the question sparked fear. Continue reading
“There’s no need for this,” Morgan said, glancing over to his right shoulder, where a heavy hand lay on him, holding him in place. “I came willingly.”
He was in the living room of the woman who had introduced herself as A.J. The woman whom he suspected was responsible for the “resurrections.” Morgan hadn’t quite figured out what term he would use for it in his story. Continue reading
I am only a student. That’s why she came to me, trusting that I would have a sufficient balance of knowledge and naiveté to serve her desperate need.
And I am woman. That’s why she came to me, trusting that I would not mark her concerns as mere hysterics.
What was this strange and destructive condition she bore? She spoke of hurting her husband and fleeing from her children so that she would never hurt them. She spoke of being pursued by authorities in dark garb. Continue reading
Five people got on that elevator with me. A woman with a shy little kid hiding behind her coat. A business guy with a cool three-D holographic tie. A teenage girl with a portfolio and a couple of poster tubes strapped to her back. And the older man in the back with a bag of delicious-smelling takeout. Continue reading
“Do you have any missing art supplies?”
The woman standing in the open doorway, still blocking my entrance, blinked at me and said, “What?”
“Art supplies. Especially high-end supplies. Maybe some fancy imported ink. That kind of thing.”
Her gaze dropped briefly—to take in my apparel, I’m guessing—and then she smiled at me, or at least, her mouth smiled at me.
“I’m sorry, Miss, uh—“
“Diamond.” My mouth also smiled at her. Continue reading
They say he did it because he asked to sit by an innkeeper’s fire one night and was denied with a lie. The innkeeper said that there was “not enough fire” to warm the man who was dressed in rags and filth. He appeared to be a beggar, but he was not a beggar. He was a warlock. And he was none too pleased by the innkeeper’s response. It was no surprise that he should cast a curse. What was surprising was that he did not just cast the curse on the innkeeper himself, but on the innkeeper’s entire country. Continue reading
For generations, for nearly a century, the Rofotou family had been gathering the pieces of a puzzle that they believed would unlock some grand secret of the universe, or some extravagant treasure, or at least some profound piece of wisdom. But I didn’t know anything about that before a dark-haired woman named Red came knocking on my door one day. I didn’t know why she asked to see my old dream logs. And I certainly didn’t know what any of it had to do with Mrs. Highweather. Continue reading
“How long has it been…since I closed my eyes?” I asked.
The medical technician sitting beside my cot offered me a business-like smile and said, “Just about thirty-seven minutes.”
I frowned. It had felt longer to me. Almost two hours. I had a crick in my neck. The cot wasn’t very comfortable. They didn’t want me to accidentally fall asleep. I sat up and swung my legs around so I was sitting at the edge of the cot. Continue reading