Cracker Warmer (Horror Short Story)

Author’s Note: This story is closely based on a nightmare I had, written up the following night and only modified enough to make some amount of sense.

At sixty-three it was the oldest thing out there, living or inanimate.  The house behind it was only forty-two.  Everything older was off in the dark trees, grumbling, bundling up for the whipping wind of the late November night.  The device was ready for anything, having weathered plenty of Cayuga winters already. Continue reading


Chat-your-own-Adventure #1: Raw Man Finds the Time

Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story.  The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways.  Stop by if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.

Raw Man                                    Reverse Siren                                Stone Skipper

The raw man walked out of his cave to scavenge for his morning breakfast. It wouldn’t be too difficult, for, just as it was every morning, the food was strewn about his home in messy clumps. He had heard it land, nasty rain, the night before. He was at the point now where the sound was soothing enough to help him get to sleep. Lots of splats and splurts meant he would eat well the next day. Continue reading

Twitch Stream Story: Precious Stones

A crab boat mostly. That’s what they were. Year in year out, through cold rain and driving cold rain. They brought up the crabs with nets, with chains, with cages, with hooks and bait. The things would scrabble against the metal and wood relentlessly, for the waters they fished were so relentlessly rainy that the crabs thought they were still under water.

It was raining again that day, and each drop had a sharp snowflake inside. Botir was on deck, manning the chains. He was an old man, he’d lost track of just how old, but his hands were still mighty leather. A tentacled horror could try to pull one of their lines and steal their catch, but Botir would yank it up to the deck, harpoon it, and eat out its eyes so it stopped struggling. Continue reading

Twitch Stream Story: The Ninth Tentacle

Jeremy’s can hit the water with a splash smaller than he would’ve liked. Its bubbling green contents leaked out into the lake water. He leaned over the edge of the kayak and watched the guppies that had scattered on impact.

“You shouldn’t litter,” Stephanie chided him, pulling her pale blonde hair back into a ponytail in case Jeremy tried to get the bigger splash he’d sought.

“Who says I’m littering?” he replied. “The can’s in there… but maybe I’ll fish it out. It’s only littering if I leave it there.” The guppies did not go to the bobbing can, perhaps scared away by Jeremy’s snaggle-toothed grin. Continue reading

Manifest of the West (Finale)

The Legend of Broadside Barnaby

Old Thresher the card shark.  Remember him?  I bested his challenge more than a hundred times over and it were way past due for him to give up the location of Broadside Barnaby.  He were the last name left.  With him collected the Manifest would be complete, everyone accounted for in myth, and I could have my pa back.  My family could have the eventual peace that I worked so hard to disrupt. Continue reading

Manifest of the West (Part Three)

That were the story I told my pocket twister.  It weren’t the most heartening, but I think confiding in him gave him some strength.  He shook off most of that water and started looking more like his old self and less like a cloud constipated with rain.

Now you know whose soul I were collecting all them names for.  I knew Pa weren’t at peace.  He were still kept from Heaven and Hell in the ropes of Knot-eye, and the only way to get him back or get him to my mother were to obey the will of the Laudgod and eventually be rewarded.  I had to be the man he told me to be, to conquer and dominate the West so thoroughly that nothing could stop me.  Continue reading

Manifest of the West (Part Two)

The Tangent of Sara’s Sewing Spiders

I told you about my mother’s dress shop.  I didn’t tell you it were driven out of business by the peculiarest of competitors.  My mother, bless her glorious soul in Heaven, were even kind enough to bring the woman who owned the venture a pie as a welcoming gift.  Sure it were blackberry pie, not her finest pie by miles, but you can’t expect saintly behavior from a shrewd businesswoman such as her. Continue reading