My World

This tiny horror fic was inspired by the scene of a young girl laying in a field of flowers in a blue dress day dreaming. I am sure you know the one I am not mentioning explicitly. It quickly took a very dark turn.


She lay in the field, eyes closed, the sun warm on her skin. She relaxed as the long grass cushioned her body, and tuned out the screaming.

She ignored the liquid splattering on her, stupid brother never could leave her alone. “Stop splashing Jonah.” She said languidly in what she assumed was his direction as more hit her. She didn’t bother opening her eyes.

“Not doin’ it on purpose, she won’t stop strugglin’.” He whinged.

Another splatter, had her frowning, and then she smiled as the noise and splashing stopped. God, it really was the most beautiful day out.

House For Sale

So this is another Jimmie prompt that I wrote some time back, but got pushed in posting due to camp nanowrimo, and then my August event. It was based on the picture below, and once again my microfiction is horror, is it just me or does the genre call for it?


She stepped into the empty Victorian house, and remembered what Savannah had said. “Perfect restoration except the bathrooms and kitchen. Compromise is necessary for convenience.”   

It was lovely, but it felt wrong walking through alone like this. Could she really live here? It was supposed to be her sister’s fresh start.  Savannah who had lived a few hard years moved in here two months prior. It seemed like everything was looking up, and then…

She shook her head to clear it as she stepped into the kitchen and saw the bulletin board.  The movers must have missed it.   It was covered in blank post-it notes except one in the center. It said “Make things happen” in her sister’s handwriting. 

She stifled a sob as she ran her fingers over it, and as her finger brushed the next note she realized it wasn’t blank at all. 

In a flash she remembered Savie’s love of mystery novels, specifically the invisible ink.  She fumbled in her purse, hoping she still had a spare blacklight from work. She did.

She turned off the lights, and flipped on the flashlight.  The post-ts all had the same message “Help Me”. 

It was on the walls too. Dozens of different types of writing, most of which looked finger painted. Then she realized that it wasn’t paint splattered, and smeared on the walls.  The black light went dead.

She stumbled blindly to the door and flung herself out onto the porch gasping. She was selling the house.

The Other Woman

So this little strange piece was inspired by a working title of a longer piece that I called “The Mirror”. If I had to label it, I would go with horror, and basically the idea that mirrors are just a little bit creepy at times.


This is what going crazy felt like, she thought. She had wondered, but now she knew for sure. The woman who stared back at her from the mirror wasn’t her.

Not like she didn’t recognize herself, because it looked like her. It just… Wasn’t. Most of the time when she moved, the woman moved. But when she turned from the mirror she could see the reflection in the mirror moving. Not the way she was moving, but leaning forward, as if to get a better look at her.  

When she turned back, the other woman snapped into position as her reflection.  The other woman also wouldn’t do anything strange when there was a witness. She alone knew the truth. There was a stranger in her mirror.

This one was the only one where the woman was, she tried others. She tried covering it, and considered getting rid of it. She had even considered seeing a shrink, just in case.

This was crazy, she thought. This ends tonight. She walked up to the mirror shoulders set, jaw squared and stared the other woman down. Eventually, the woman flinched. Realizing she had been caught, the other woman gave up the ruse. With a sheepish expression the woman held up a hand to the mirror’s surface.  

She held up her own hand and pressed it up against the mirror, relief flooding her, and then…

The woman smirked into the mirror as her reflection looked outward in terror.  She was free at last.

Blessed Silence

I just found this a little while ago when trying to edit another project. I had used a writing bot prompt generator on my discord server and the prompt was “you wake up and there is a bloody knife on the floor.” Its a micro fiction, but it got the writing flowing enough so that I could finish my main piece.


When I woke up, it wasn’t the slow gentle waking one sees on TV. It was sudden, jarring, and breathless. I could feel the panic overwhelming me, and it was only when I turned and saw the bloody knife laying on the floor beside me that I realized why.

It had happened again. I gave in even though I knew deep down that I shouldn’t let them tell me what to do. They made so much sense though, all I had to do was this one thing, and it would make the world a better place. They promised that they would leave me alone, at least for a while if I did what they asked.

They kept their word, it was silent for the first time in weeks, and if I weren’t covered in someone else’s blood I would feel more relieved. The worst part is that I knew they would be back. They would ask me to do it again, not today, not even tomorrow, but eventually. I would resist at first, but they would wear me down. Asking day after day, until they started to make sense again. I would do what they wanted.