The Orchard In-Between
A legend everyone knew; one with roots running deep in our small town. I spent my whole life refusing to believe in The Orchard In-Between…right up until the day I needed the story to be true.
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Of Dangers Beyond The Trucovee: The Muckleshings
The first warning from Shahalavane speaks of the Trucovee Tree and the cursed Vale beyond — where the Muckleshings wait beneath black waters to stir once the sun goes out and casts the vale in cursed dark… patience is the predator.
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The Light Beyond
Lost in the sewerpipes, The Boy wades through sludgewake, calling out to The Kid With The Flashlight. The beam flickers once, twice & vanishes into the folds of the darkness as he wades deeper in the foultide…here, it seems the walls breathe & something unknown lies lurking in the rippling, quiet offal.
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I Put On My Real Face
It didn’t arrive with a label. No note. Just a box, waiting. Inside was the face I’d asked for…almost. Close enough to make my breath catch. Close enough to wear. And when I slipped it on, it blinked when I blinked. It smiled when I smiled. Everyone believed it was me…the real me…Even me.
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It Always Sleeps On The Floor
We were mid-moan, tangled in sweat and sheets, when I looked up—and it was there. Too tall. Too still. Watching with eyes it doesn’t have. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I just kept choking on fear while he kept moving, unaware we weren’t alone.
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I'll Never Forget The First
He moved like no one I’d ever seen on the dance floor and that night, in the forest, we kissed and then did more…and I knew he meant it. He was different. It doesn’t matter how many men or women I find myself entangled with, lustfully beneath the light of the moon…I’ll never forget the first.
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Nyro & The Dark
After the end of everything, the boy stayed hidden from the light. Something waited in the dark—a voice, calm and close, that never asked for anything but quiet. Each night, it returned. Each night, it whispered. And in time, the dark no longer felt empty.
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The Fog Won't Lift
The fog never lifts on the trail. You run because you have to—because something terrible waits if you stop. Shapes shift in the mist. Memories twitch just out of reach. You always end up back at the beginning, but something’s different this time. Maybe it’s you.
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Where Would You Like Them Left?
“Where would you like them left?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to me. I shift my grip, the weight of them suddenly unbearable as the silence between us stretches, heavy. Suffocating.
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Ezekiel
A frosty morning in the days before Thanksgiving reveals an unusual visitor: a very strange turkey stands in the center of your yard. What begins as a simple encounter quickly spirals into something surreal and unsettling.
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