The mediator_The Swordsman and the Witch._The Pick Up_The Statue of Osiris
Catalog Guide:
The mediator
Deran's sword hits the helmet of the guard. Knocking the man out. Just enough damage to please his employer, but not to stain his soul. That part comes later.A knock from Deran to draw their attention. No one comes to the door. That's just part of the game. Deran rounds the house grabbing a stone, flinging it into the window. The sound of shattering glass. Only for Deran to continue walking past the next corner. He picks up another rock. He throws the rock through another window. Screams from the people within satisfies Daren. He breaks down three more windows. Finally his favorite part. A ma...
The Swordsman and the Witch.
“Rockridge librarian is evil.” “I heard she feeds off of children’s joy.” “She has evil eyes!” “Sharp teeth are all I saw when I first saw her.” “Everyone stays away from Rockridge library on Saturdays. Except the adults…” “I heard that she was a witch once, before arriving at Rockridge.” These were the whispered rumors I heard the summer before second grade. And every single one of them terrified me.*** “Michael! We’re about to head out to the library!” My mom’s voice echoes up the stairs, through the corridor and into my bedroom. At least that’s how I’d always pictured it. Her words floatin...
The Pick Up
John’s watch buzzed, distracting him from the task at hand. Rolling his eyes he continued to complete what he was doing. Thirty seconds later the vibration from his watch was even greater this time, making his teeth chatter. Thinking the next vibration may shatter his wrist, John reluctantly dropped what he was doing and looked at the face of his watch flashing a messwww.onedoor.ccage back at him.SCHOOL PICK UP AT 4pm – DON’T BE LATE THIS TIME, DAD!“Oh fuck,” thought John, why does school pick up always slip his mind? He knew why really. It was because he resented it greatly and it meant every working day w...
The Statue of Osiris
London, 1892If he hurried, getting into the museum would be easy. Reginald Coleridge made brisk pace through the streets of London, inky, midnight darkness spilling heavily over the buildings and seeping into recesses and alleyways. Outposts of warm orange light glowed from windows and streetlamps, staving off the twilight and enlightening styx-black puddles. He was used to this trip by now, had been making it regularly for the past few months. The regularity furnished Coleridge with some degree of confidence - for every undetected trip he gained an extra morsel of nerve - yet the compulsion t...