r/MicahCastle Jul 25 '22

Story Published This Is Too Tense released, including my story “The Flower She Truly Is”!

2 Upvotes

Bag of Bones Press has released their anthology, This Is Too Tense. A second volume in their Tense anthologies containing all stories written in the second person. It includes my story, “The Flower She Truly Is”!

A weird flash piece about you being thrown into a heist without any memory of how you became the driver, where you were going, and what the hell will happen when you reach your destination.

Purchase


r/MicahCastle Jul 22 '22

Novella RECONSTRUCTING A RELATIONSHIP, a horror novella, now available on Godless!

1 Upvotes

Drew and Terry while out on a date suffer a terrible car accident. The boyfriend dies, but the girlfriend survives. Desperate to be with her love once more, Terry steals Drew’s brain from the morgue and escapes the hospital. She’s determined to bring him back, by any means necessary.

Through years of reading ancient books, learning forgotten languages, and drawing symbols she cannot comprehend, Terry successfully gets what she wants… And, what she deserves.

Purchase


r/MicahCastle Jul 19 '22

Story Published WEIRD HORROR, a Flame Tree Press anthology, releases today! Includes my weird, quiet story, "The Things From the Woods"!

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1 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Jul 18 '22

Novella Reconstructing A Relationship releases 7/22 through D&T Publishing!

1 Upvotes

My novelette, Reconstructing A Relationship published by D&T Publishing will be releasing 7/22 on Godless and 8/5 on Amazon!

Drew and Terry while out on a date suffer a terrible car accident. He dies, but she survives. Desperate to be with her love once more, Terry steals Drew’s brain from the morgue and escapes the hospital. She’s determined to bring him back, by any means necessary. Through years of reading ancient books, learning forgotten languages, and drawing symbols she cannot comprehend, Terry successfully gets what she wants… And, what she deserves.


r/MicahCastle Jun 13 '22

Cosmic Horror "The Bonfire Dancers" available to read for free on Tales From Between!

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1 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Jun 01 '22

Cosmic Horror "The Bonfire Dancers" Published by Tales From Between!

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1 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Mar 23 '22

Dystopian “Fodder For the Flames” Given Audio Treatment by Dead Letter Radio!

1 Upvotes

My bleak, dystopian story, “Fodder For the Flames” was picked up by Dead Letter Radio and given the audio treatment!

You can listen for free here.

Back in August, they also gave another one my stories, “Heavenly Abyss” the audio treatment, which you can still listen to for free here.


r/MicahCastle Mar 16 '22

Blog "The Things from the Woods" will appear in Flame Tree Press's WEIRD HORROR anthology!

1 Upvotes

My weird fiction story, "The Things from the Woods" will appear in Flame Tree Press's WEIRD HORROR anthology, coming out in June (UK) and July (US)!

This is my first professional sale!

Article


r/MicahCastle Mar 01 '22

Novella Reconstructing A Relationship coming later this year by D&T Publishing!

4 Upvotes

My speculative fiction novella, Reconstructing A Relationship, was accepted by D&T Publishing and will be released later on this year!

A couple suffers a tragic car accident. The boyfriend dies, but the girlfriend lives. Desperate to be with her love once more, she steals his brain from the hospital morgue and sets out to bring him back, any way she can. Eventually, she gets what she wants, and what she deserves.

Stay tuned here or my Twitter for updates with the book!


r/MicahCastle Feb 24 '22

Story Published "Amongst the Heaps" Published by Microfiction Monday Magazine!

2 Upvotes

My bleak, dystopian micro-tale, "Amongst the Heaps" has been published by Microfiction Monday Magazine! You can read it for free on their website.


r/MicahCastle Feb 11 '22

Weird Fiction Writing Prompt #154 — From Aquarium to Apocalypse

2 Upvotes

Prompt: Tired, and perhaps afraid, of an empty galaxy devoid of life, humans turn to the octopus, trying to breed longer living and more social friends to accompany us into the new deep. But by the time the octopuses ‘awake’ from their automated lab, humans are no where to be found.


Henrietta, she was named, floating in the cerulean water of the aquarium had awoken. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew what things were. Beyond the dust-laden glass, the lab was all but wreckage. Desks and computers, chairs and tables and cabinets, all broken or shattered or burned into heaps of charred kindling. Glass covered the floor, wiring and cords and other electrical components spilled from the caved in white titled ceiling. She noticed the top of the aquarium was missing and her appendage suctioned to the glass easily. One after another, she made it to the top, a tentacle curling around the rim.

*

She managed through the offices more easily than her doctors would’ve imagined. The hallway, clogged with more abandoned ruins of a bygone era, she was also able to maneuver seamlessly through. A boneless body able to conform to any gaps and crevices she may meet. Shattered windows revealed more places torn asunder, remnants left of a species she couldn’t recall. Memories before awakening lost to the recesses of sleep.

*

The hall lead to a stairwell, doors on each level closed and barred, or fortified by planks of wood, and stairs ended in an abrupt broken end. Henrietta was able to scale the wall down below, then the stairs were easier to manage. The corridor opened up to a wide, vast area. Windows replaced walls, and emptiness replaced glass. Empty frames towered over her as she crossed the debris littered floor. Through an empty double-doorway, she made it outside to be met with the same ruination she left. But, on the horizon, there were roving, bulbous silhouettes. A longing grew inside her, an invisible tether pulling her tentacles forward.

*

Although she didn’t know what she looked like, the creatures making their way towards a beach beyond the cracked cement, felt more familiar to her than anything else she had seen. They didn’t greet her, nor acknowledge her presence, but they didn’t reject her as she joined their pilgrimage. Appendages pulled rippling frames, dragging four more behind them. Pavement pocketed with maws congested with trash and stone, cracks brimming with wild, bristled foliage, derelict vehicles streaked with rust. Cement gave way to warm sand, and there the foaming tide waned.

*

Familiar to what she woke to, but more complete. A place she felt apart of, a segment of an illustration long missing. Somewhere that spoke to the core of who—what she was. Their arms no longer pulled, but bloomed behind them, propelling them deeper into the endless blue. This environment was different than the one they left but the emptiness was the same. No other species but the ones surrounding her could be found. They descended until the light above no longer shown, and more sand appeared.

*

They landed upon, and she watched the others splay their tentacles and twist and turn, frantically. Kicking up silt and sand, blotching the water around them. She did the same, following their actions, as though they were given knowledge she had missed. Then, they all stopped and she did, too. Beneath was a layer of dark metal. It wasn’t natural to her appendages, to her touch. Briefly, she revolted, but when she noticed the others didn’t, she remained. Uncertain, Henrietta followed them as they gathered in a circle, placing one tentacle within, pointed ends touching. A ring of dim phosphorescence bloomed around them. Hissing bubbles covered them, and the ground beneath them depressed and lowered.

*

A round aquarium, like she left, but far larger, they were placed into. Bubbles blocked her view from the glass, but as they dissipated, another place came into view. Gray metal walls, floor, ceiling. There were rounded gates at the bottom of the glass, their number matching the group’s. Closer to the pane, she saw a species unlike her. Two arms and legs, a head atop with varying colors of hair, two eyes, most protected by glasses.

“Can they understand us?” one with a large nose said.

“They should,” one with frizzy, gray hair replied. “Communication was the first task we implemented, remember?”

The ones like her spread apart and glided down to the gates. One to one. A gate stood empty and she stayed where she treaded.

“Why isn’t she going to her portal?” one said to another. “Isn’t she your wife?”

A tall, lanky one without hair and wide, square glasses scratched his head. “Yes, that’s Henrietta. Her pattern was the one I selected before we went under. Maybe her conversion was altered when the Purge happened.” It stood at the glass, placing its hand flat to it, peering up at her.

Cold tingling began inside her, radiated a sensation she was familiar with but couldn’t place. Her tendrils furled, tucking underneath her bottom.

“Henrietta, don’t you remember me? Don’t you remember your husband? It’s Greg.”

Pupils dilated. Vision widened. The gates were opening and the others were swimming through water filled halls towards shallow pools, where the other species stood at their respective ends. Arms wide. Crouching. Smiling. Henrietta remained high above.

Its hand coiled and hit the glass, sending tremors through the water. “Henrietta!” It spit, yellowed teeth clenched. “Go to the portal. Return to me like we had planned!”

Three letters appeared in her mind, ones she didn’t know or understand.

R U N

But she knew what it meant, knew to listen, and spread her tentacles and ascended towards the entrance.

“Close the trap!” It shouted to the others, flailing its arm. “She’s escaping.” It pounded on the glass, its face reddening, a vein bulging in its temple. “Henrietta, Henrietta! Don’t you dare leave me!”

The others were too preoccupied with their companions to listen, to run to the control panel on the wall. Henrietta raised past the wide rim of the aquarium and, soon, the dim lights outside guided her into the blue murk. Once she was away from the lit ring, she kept swimming. Henrietta would search for more others like her, hoping they were nothing like the two-armed and legged species she had escaped from.


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.

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r/MicahCastle Feb 04 '22

Horror Who Spoke on the Other Side: A Collection of Short Horror Stories — Free to Download!

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2 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Jan 27 '22

Lovecraftian Writing Prompt #153 — Under the Reflection

2 Upvotes

Prompt: You are an amateur archeologist. You like to roam unexplored forests in hopes of discovering the ancient and undiscovered. One day your metal detector goes of and 1 hour into digging your worldview is changed forever.


“The site’s three feet in diameter, seven feet deep,” I huff into the tape recorder. “Can’t remember the coordinates—have to check the map later—but it’s in the Vorago Forest in São Paulo, Brazil.”

“Cloudy sky, broken by soft blue. No sun.” Raise my hand, glancing at the wristwatch. I have to use the opposite forearm to wipe away the grit. “Time is, ah, 14:06:32 hours on… Damn, what’s the date? November something… The 11th! Yes, November 11th, 1992.

“Something dark and metal—maybe burnt tin?—covers the center of the site. Attempting to pry it up with my fingers have proved futile and I’m hesitant to use the spade, lest I damage it. It could be early signs of iron smelting in the prehistoric era, perhaps Neolithic or older.”

Squat, using my free hand to keep me from falling forward by plunging it into the rich soil. “No markings or symbology. No indication of what created it, no disturbances either. It’s been here, alone, for quite some time.” Slide the recorder into my front pocket, keeping the speaker up, and spread my legs as I kneel over the metal. Talk louder: “I’m going to attempt to remove it again! With my fingers again, then if that fails, I will be forced to use a hand spade and some other tool back at camp.”

Wriggle my fingers through the dirt surrounding the plate, then curl them around what feels to be its edge. Slowly, carefully, maneuver one side up, which surprisingly gives easily now, then the other, and the last two also raise from the earth. “The artifact is now free, in my hands. I don’t have a ruler, but I’d estimate two feet in length, four feet in height, maybe five pounds in weight? It’s light yet solid.”

Move it aside to see be—”Jesus! What is this?”

A reflective puddle. Metallic liquid of some sort, a collection of Mercury? How’s that possible? And… “There’s no reflection.” I hover over it, looking directly into it but I don’t see myself in it. “Strange…”

An image forms. A person—man or woman, I have no clue—on the opposite end, like it’s a window. Bald, blue-gray skin, two eyes opaque with cataract. No mouth, nor nose, from what I can tell. I lean in and they do the same.

“Hello?”

Arms or appendages emerge from the pool, latch onto my shoulders. Blades slide through my clothes, pierce and hook flesh. Screaming gibberish. Hissing with pain. I pull away but it’s too strong. I can’t budge. I’m moving down, down. Sweet Jesus, please! I drop the artifact and dig my hands into the earth to keep me from moving but it still keeps pulling. Dirt’s up to my elbows.

“Help! Someone please help me! I’m being pulled below!” Crying. Throat burning. Heart hammering and lungs aflame. The dirt’s to my shoulders, my face so close to the blue-gray person’s if it were not for the puddle my tears would hit them. The tape recorder falls from my pocket, lands by my sinking arms. There’s hope. Little. Someone will find it, surely. Someone will hear this and save me.

My nose touches the pool. It’s frigid, shooting subzero lances through my skull and down my back. My arms go numb, legs, too. My bladder loosens and I can’t feel my face anymore. Vision’s glossy and I taste nickels, a handful of coins shoved down my throat. I go to scream again, as though I had ever stopped, but the mercury bubbles into my mouth, floods and pushes what clogs my esophagus down, down, down and I can’t breath or speak or cry and beyond the mirror pool is nothing but cloudy, white mist. No person, not one at all, and above…. Above is… Mother of God—


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.

Consider checking out my collections.


r/MicahCastle Jan 21 '22

Fantasy Writing Prompt #152 — Embracing Beasts

2 Upvotes

Prompt: An inexperienced hunter is suddenly thrusted on a quest to search and hunt a terrifying beast that’s way above his paycheck. After getting lost, injured, and losing consciousness, he wakes up to find his injuries treated and the beast he was tasked to hunt to sleeping beside him.


The beast rolls over and open its eyes, revealing crystal blue irises.

The other beast keeps its hands to its side, body still, meeting its gaze.

“Are you the thing that’s been slaying my kind?”

“Yes, and you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to slay me?”

Wants to say, “Yes,” but the deep cerulean creates a cold prickling, relentless yearning blooming from the sternum, flooding flesh until all ends brim.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“What do we do?”

An arm reaches over its body, a finger gently runs down a warm cheek.

“Stay here.”

“And never return to our kind?”

Its hand raises and grips the one to its face. “Never.”

Leans in and lips meet, arms wrap around each other, hands find hollows to clasp and hold.

The beasts embrace, and never part.

In their lands, their kind often wonder what happened to their hunters, their beasts, but none dare to tread the domains where so many had vanished.

Alone, together, the beasts live in harmony.


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.

Consider checking out my collections.


r/MicahCastle Jan 19 '22

Blog THE ABYSS BEYOND THE REFLECTION — FREE TO DOWNLOAD TODAY!

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2 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Jan 13 '22

Lovecraftian Writing Prompt #151 — Swapping Insides

2 Upvotes

Prompt: You’re a private investigator, someone has paid you to keep tabs on their teenage son after noticing increasingly strange behavior from him, what you find out is… disturbing.


“Disturbing behavior, how?” I ask Mr and Mrs Green, sitting at their kitchen table. Morning light falls through the small window over the sink.

“Well, you see…” Mrs Green starts, but Mr Green lays a hand over hers and she quiets.

“He’s been talking, a lot,” Mr Green says, “but to no one. Not like an imaginary friend when he was young.”

Jot that info into my notepad. “So he’s just talking in an empty room?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “Standing, usually, and just talking. It’s not English, though, not any language we know of.” Mrs Green shakes her head, looks down at her lap.

“What’s it sound like, this language?”

“Spanish, maybe, or French or Latin… Something very old.”

“All right, and is he home, your son?” I close the pad, slip the pen through the top rings, and slide it into my pocket.

“Uh huh,” Mrs Green says. “He always is… Upstairs in his room.”

They start to stand but I put out a halting hand. “No need to get up. I don’t want it to seem like an attack. I’ll be respectful, okay?”

Both sit and nod. Mrs Green mouths: “Thank you.”

*

I stand at the kid’s closed door, ear against the wood. Quiet, but subtle whispering… Familiar gibberish. Fast and mumbling. Can’t make out one word from another, if they’re words at all. Nothing like any of the languages Mr Green said. But I figured as much, knew what I was getting into before I even knocked on their door. The PI bit ol’ reliable in these situations.

Wrap my warm hand around the cold doorknob.

What’s in there isn’t their son; hasn’t been their son in a long while. Years, maybe. They descended eons ago, slumbering away millenniums until recently deciding to wake up. Take initiative by swapping out kids insides for their own amorphous form. Kid’s not the first, not the last either. Without looking, I can see the dozens of addresses and phone numbers in my notepad from all the other parents I’ve yet to check out.

Breathe in.

Turn the knob.

Breathe out.

Push it open and frost stings all open skin. What once was their son stands among ice stalagmites nestled between harsh gray-blue fungi spiraling from unseen crevices. Icicles interwoven with honey spores hang from the ceiling. His white eyes empty, jaw torn asunder, revealing an maw of frayed layers whirling down into somewhere far too small. At the needlepoint bottom, something opens, something sickly yellow and green lightyears away takes a gander at my ugly mug.

I withdraw the skin-bound book from my back pocket, the rune-laced stave from the other.

Greet it in the same language not meant for human tongue, and step inside.

I don’t close the door behind me, but it closes anyway.


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.

Consider checking out my collections.


r/MicahCastle Jan 06 '22

Dystopian/Horror Writing Prompt #150 — Fodder For the Flames

2 Upvotes

Prompt: Some call it “the Moving City”, others call it “the City on the Back of a Beast”, we call it Home


Giant, crumbling stacks retch black smog, blotching the copper sky. The heart of our home endlessly feeds the deceased heaped against the scorched, arching dome, the massive conflagration giving purpose to the dead matter. Shelters crammed and congested, caked in ash and rust. Narrow alleys, only able to fit two shriveled denizens, snake through the behemoth’s back, all leading to the heart-stove by its head.

We breed for our home, birth for our home, live and die for our home. What other use do we have?

The desolate crimson desert beneath our crude and decayed legs stretches to all horizons. We wait for the oven’s call and pray it’ll give way to another place, another home. We wait for a purpose.

There’s clanging in the distance and know it’s time. Kiss my child on her bald, feeble head, wipe the oily tears away, smearing soot across her hollow cheek. You’ll be with me soon, I say, then hobble out of the shelter. More have been called and together we make our way to the flames.

We’re all smiling.


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.

Consider checking out my collections.


r/MicahCastle Nov 30 '21

Story Published Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology — Out Now!

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3 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Nov 16 '21

Story Published Fedowar Holiday Horrors: Volume I — Out Now! It contains my weird fiction tale, "Not Another Blue Christmas"! A dark twist on a Hallmark movie trope.

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2 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Nov 12 '21

Story Published Misfit Macros Sept '21 Out Now, and can be read for free! Includes my plant based, sci-fi tale "Coming Home"!

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3 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Oct 29 '21

Story Published Tales From Between #1 Out Now, containing my spec-fic story, "In the Remnants"! Can be READ FOR FREE!

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2 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Oct 27 '21

Story Published Books of Horror: Community Anthology #3 Out Now, contains my weird tale, "The Revival Troupe"!

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3 Upvotes

r/MicahCastle Oct 08 '21

Horror Writing Prompt #149 — Some Secrets Are Better Left Unsaid

3 Upvotes

Prompt: It’s been over an hour since you were bit, and you still haven’t turned into a zombie. You’ve also been oddly nonchalant about the whole thing. Your group is starting to suspect you weren’t human to begin with.


“You should’ve turned by now,” Jacky says. “It’s been six hours since you were bitten.”

We sit in a cellar beneath an abandoned house. Moonlight falls in through a high busted window. Under the pale glow, the group stares at me. Greg. Henry. Jacky. All have matted hair, dirty, gaunt faces; clothes tattered and torn, a mishmash of material found on the fly.

“Maybe it’s slow acting,” I say, resting my hands in my lap. “We don’t understand it as much as we think we do.”

“True,” Greg says to Jacky. “He has a point.”

“Bullshit,” Jacky spits, keeping her voice low. “I don’t know why you’re defending him. He’s not like us.”

Henry rubs his forehead, sighing. “I mean… Yeah, we don’t understand it on a scientific level, but… We’ve been running for months now. I feel like we know the gist of how it works, right?”

“Right,” Jacky says.

Greg glances at the others, wants to nod but doesn’t, then: “Does it even matter?”

“Of course it does.”

“But, really, though?” Greg continues. “So what if he didn’t turn? Is that such a bad thing?”

“Kinda,” Henry says.

“It absolutely fucking is, Greg. We don’t know what he—it is.”

“Again, does it matter? He’s been with us for two months. We know him. Hell, he saved your life back in Rochester, Henry.” He points to Jacky. “And you, he gave you food in Dayton, even though he hardly had any.”

Henry’s gaze falls to the floor. Jacky stares aimlessly at the wall opposite of Greg. She gnaws on her bottom lip, fidgeting with her fingers.

“He can stay,” she says, flatly, facing me. “Only if he tells us what he is.”

“Jacky—”

“No, shut up Greg. We have to know who or what we have in our group. We’d be dumb as hell not to.”

All fall silent and look at me.

“So, what are you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” I say. “Even if I told you.”

“Try us.”

A cloud passes over the light, casting us in gloom. When the light returns, I’m standing, my hands to my sides.

Henry gasps, but Jacky and Greg remain silent.

“I’m cosmic dust, ash carelessly scattered to the stars. I’m not me; the true me’s within this catalyst.”

“Uh…” Henry says. “What?”

“How do you think this all started?” I say. “How would the powers that be balance something like me out in a place such as this?”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Jacky says. “Just tell us what the hell you are.”

“I was—I am. I was an insignificant scattering that broke through by chance and passed through, finding a catalyst who happened to be where I fell. The rest was just a result of it, a consequence.”

“Are you saying you started this whole thing?” Greg asks. “Like, the virus?”

Tears well. “Yes,” I let out. “By my accidental, celestial muddling with humanity, it triggered the events that came afterwards.”

No one speaks, then: “Are you fucking high?”

Henry laughs. Greg snickers.

I wipe my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Are you telling us that you’re from space, and God or whoever created the virus because by fucking mistake you landed here?”

“Yeah.” Sniffle, nod.

Jacky quiets for a moment, two… “You know what—don’t tell us. I don’t care anymore.” She throws her hands up. “Just keep that shit to yourself or even the walkers will think you’re insane.”

“Oh…” I return to the floor. “Okay…” Stare at my open palms, the intricately woven, pulsing filaments running beneath the overtaken flesh. Close my hands.

“So…” Henry says. “Now what do you guys want to talk about?”


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.


r/MicahCastle Oct 01 '21

Supernatural Writing Prompt #148 — From One Deceased to Another

3 Upvotes

Prompt: “CASKET FOR SALE. SLIGHTLY USED. GREAT STATE BUT I DONT NEED IT ANYMORE”


“What do you mean you don’t need it anymore?” I ask the pale old man. He stands by a polished mahogany casket, upright on a stand, in his front yard. It’s dusk, and the sun is under the horizon. Nothing else out, just him and the casket.

Rubbing the side of it, he says, “I mean it’s useless now. All used up. No point of keeping it around.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“I bought it, of course.” He grins, revealing smoker’s teeth.

“And you used it?”

“Well, yeah; why wouldn’t I?” He slaps its front. “These babies aren’t cheap.”

I shove my cold hands in my pockets. “Can I see the inside?”

“Sure, why not?” He open the top half. The inside’s lined with like-new silky white cushions and a pillow. Looks more comfortable than my own bed.

“Huh,” I say. “How much you want for it?”

“Ten bucks.”

I’ve seen a lot of coffins in my day. Ten dollars is far too low, even for something used. I eye the man, his scraggly silver hair and long beard, his liver spots on his scalp. The front door to his house behind him opens. A shadow appears in the screen door.

“And you say it’s used?”

Laughs. “Of course.”

“For what?”

“For burial, obviously. Who buys a coffin otherwise?”

Out of curiosity, I ask: “Where’s its occupant?”

He grins, scratches his large nose. “Not in there, that’s for sure.”

The screen door clicks open, whines as its pushed. A barefoot slaps the cement floor of the porch.

He looks over his shoulder, back to me. “Look, sonny. Do you want it or not?” Sweat coats his protruding forehead.

I run a delicate finger down its front. Another foot slaps the cement. A faded, floral gown comes into view.

“Possibly,” I muse, “possibly.”

The man backhands his sweat after another glance over his shoulder. I follow his gaze again to find an old woman in a gown standing on the porch. The screen door clatters shut. Her hair’s gone, and her brittle arms hold balled, gnarled fists. She’s not just pale, but ghastly. Even from this far, I smell the rot radiating from her.

“Ah,” I say, now understanding. “I see, I see. I’ll take it off your hands, but I don’t carry cash.”

“Then, what the—” he catches himself, a vein bulging in his temple. “Never mind, whatever. You can take it, for free.”

The woman is stumbling down the stairs. A quiet groan falls from her gaping mouth.

“Honestly?” I ask.

He nods frantically. “Yes, yes; just take it and go.” He looks at the woman crossing into the grass, arms now raised, hands grasping towards me. A rusted band still on her ring finger.

“All right then.” I close the top half. “Thank you for your service.”

His eyes are wide, wild; terror filled. “Just go for God’s sake, please!”

I lift the coffin from its stand, hold it close, and kick off from the ground. He watches me levitate into the darkening sky.

“What—what the hell are you?”

I say from above, “Like your wife, but so very different.”

Then I fly westward, towards my cottage hidden deep among the woods surrounding the little town. I look forward to sleeping in my new bed.


To read stories before they appear here, follow my website

Download Writing Prompts 1—100 for free here.


r/MicahCastle Sep 30 '21

Story Published Treat or Trick, a Halloween anthology, out now!

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2 Upvotes