Stories (966)
Filter by community
Fated Watcher
Sitting in a corner booth at Thomasville’s only diner, eating my usual evening dinner of liver and onions while drinking a steaming cup of black coffee, I listen to the conversations around me, trying to catch word about my fated muse, who claimed to be Teri Meekman in this reincarnation. Not far from me, having his customary nightly pecan pie is Police Chief Walters. District Attorney Ricker entered the diner and headed toward Walters’ table, signaling to Susan he wanted a sweet tea. My fortune is ever golden, as my Aunt Meredith always told me, and here is further proof of it. Soon, I will be able to hear more inside details than anyone in town will know, other than law enforcement. Inside, I quiver from the excitement and continue eating as if nothing is happening.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Horror
Ill-Fated
Since her arrival by bus, I’ve followed her through Thomasville for two weeks, my fated one. Trying to learn her secrets before our preordained meeting, I listen as she walks the town nosing, questioning the townsfolk. I watch as she eats in the diner and know when she brushes her mahogany brown hair each night. The library seems to be her favorite place to visit, spending hours a day on the microfilm machine. Claiming her name to be Teri Meekman, she signs all her credit card slips, but I know her true identity in any incarnation she hides behind.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Horror
Fated Stalker
I sit on a lone bench in Thomasville Municipal Park, reminiscing about finally meeting gentle Freda as we were destined to. How soft her flesh had been as I’d held her in my arms and slid my blade into her beating heart. The way she had smelt of gardenia as I’d laid my head upon hers, and listened to her take her last breath. Softly, she had whispered no as she had weakly tried to pull away from my hard embrace. She hardly fought me, recognizing the futility of fighting a predetermined act. Carefully, I laid her out with the care of a mortician, leaving her cold body upon the altar of the church she had decided to hide in. I shivered as I remembered the sweet taste of her blood as I licked it from my knife, before putting it back up.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Horror
Fated
Everyone in the town of Thomasville knew Freda was as timid as a dormouse, but nobody could understand why. People just said she was high-strung as an infant and grew more overstrung the older she got. Everything made her jumpy as hell and she was always fidgeting with her mahogany brown hair as she looked over her slumped shoulders. She was just a big bundle of raw nerves, ready to take instant flight. She took everything as a dark, evil omen and would make the Sign of the Cross for no reason whatsoever.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Horror
Taking Stock
Vocal has asked us to write about any 2025 New Year’s resolutions on creative projects we plan to work on. I don’t make New Year's resolutions. I haven’t made one in over thirty years, so I won't lie and say I set any for myself this year. However, instead of resolutions, I look at what is happening in my life throughout the year and see what needs changing- taking stock now and then to see where I need to improve or in what direction I’d like to see myself headed.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Motivation
Here There Be Giants
“Control! Control! Come in, Mission Control!” Co-pilot Scott Card was on the bounce, standing beside Comm Officer Starling’s console. He was on the comm instead of her because Starling was leaning over in her chair dead from the last strike the transporter ship had taken. Frantically, the co-pilot kept trying, “Damn it, Control! This is SS4398TC MOYA calling in an SOS!”
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Futurism
