Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
When I got into the house, I was confronted by clutter, lots of it. They had tacky, bulky furniture and trinkets all over the living room. I could tell they had tried to clean up the place, but the house was bursting at the seams. At first, I thought it was because the house was so small, but I learned that, funny enough, those with little money seem to love collecting useless stuff.
I had to share a room with Gershel, my sixteen year old cousin . . . and I had thought the living room was bad. When I entered Gershel’s room, I was struck by the smell—of dirty laundry and, especially, of dirty socks. Aunt Matilda must not have gotten to clean that part of the house. I didn’t know how good of an odour no smell was until then. Continue reading “The Man Within, Chapter 8 – a novella excerpt”
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Is your uncle,” she opens her file, “Godfrey here?”
I only look at her, confused.
“You told Doctor Lanely and Nurse Doris that you’re living with him.”
Shit. They sold me out. I knew Doris couldn’t be trusted
“He’s not here at the moment.”
“Meaning he is here most other times?” she asks sweetly. Continue reading “The Man Within, Chapter 7 – a novella excerpt”
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8
I walk through the hospital’s dizzying corridors. I’ve been seeing mother for the past four days. She was diagnosed with late-onset schizophrenia. The doctors are giving her anti-psychotic drugs, under observation. They will release her once they are confident her prescription is working. I’m only glad there is treatment for her condition.
I see Nurse Doris up ahead—the psychiatric ward sentinel.
“Hello William,” she says as I reach her counter.
She sports an ostentatious smile, like a salesperson. Continue reading “The Man Within, Chapter 6 – a novella excerpt”
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It is always cold. No matter how many fires I build, the halls remain frigid. Flame-light licks the walls like phantoms preying in the night—the only show I see down here. The smell and taste of dampness is like poison in the air I breathe—and it never departs. Though the labyrinth twists through the earth, I know the way out. But I cannot leave. I always feel their eyes watching, quizzing and burrowing into my soul.
Sometimes I hear them through the walls, like they slither, their powerful tails raking the dirt as they go—tails which should only serve them in the currents. It is only because of the fires that I can even see the pale ghosts. Fires they don’t want, and which they quickly extinguish when they care less than usual for my comfort. Continue reading “Tranquil – a short story”