The Witch at the Top of the Hill_Shadow of the Son_Book of Memories_The Summer of Forgotten Lore
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The Witch at the Top of the Hill
TW: abuse, stalking The farmhouse on the hill was a lonely place. It had once been a bustling farm. Many years hence. Now however, the dark stone building stood like a headstone in the hills. Alone. There were still chickens. A handful of sheep. One old belligerent mare. And a barn cat of midnight black. And, if you believed the rumours, a solitary witch. A thriving herb garden. A brackish pond with geese in the summer. The house itself was as old as the hills. Still standing by some act of nature. The stones used to build its spine fossilised relics of a time before time. When the roof had b...
Shadow of the Son
Some people in this life are wisps, pale fragments of themselves, delicate grey skin and skinny bones broken from being shoved into winds meant for greater strength than they possessed, caught up and trembling, probably addicted in one way or another, too scared to change, too self-pitying to try, too sick to care, too angry to love. Two of these people had a son. And a house by extension. Family members, headed by a formidable "Aunt Angie", scraped together funds for a new life-- do it for the child, Martha-- funds for the option to be better, an order to stop being people blighting the fam...
Book of Memories
Thunder drummed throughout the night sky as lightning danced at the sound of music, rain poured a glass of water to each sewer drain in the city of Babylon. While a mere boy gets chased down by a group of gangsters from school, he runs towards me at a fast pace grabbing my wrist. He yanks me from my spot, forcing me to leave my umbrella behind. My mood began to darken as my body began to tremble from the cold water splashing away at my feet. This idiot. “Must you always drag me into your mess?” I sighed. “Well, aren’t we a package? After all, we’re twins.” He slyly smiles as his eyes squint at...
The Summer of Forgotten Lore
Those days, the ones I called the summer of reckoning, seeing things have become something of a chore. It was not a top priority, and there was not much to look at, to be honest. It’s not like our town is a hotbed of swww.onedoor.cccantily-clad women by the poolside. We have beaches, alright, but you’ll be hardpressed to find them with women in various stages of undress. Nobody dared to skinny-dip even if the water was warm and inviting. Heck, nobody even dared to dress differently. We are a town of certain traditions and mores and whoever disobeyed will either be picketed by boisterous kids, or parroted by...