Stories · Page 6

Love Bites (And So Do I) Inspired by the girls from the Lonely Girls Co-Op, this is #2 of 13 before Halloween. Dr. Vivian Cross had been a breakup coach for thirty-seven years, which was impressive considering she looked thirty-two and had actually been alive since the Crimean War. The “Dr.” was honorary. She’d attended medical school in 1889, but… Continue reading The Breakup Coach

A Halloween Tale of Stories Stolen and Souls Saved For the thirteen nights leading up to Halloween, I’ll be sharing a story each evening. Little hauntings, strange encounters, and moments that don’t quite stay on the page once you’ve read them. Some will be eerie. Some will be tender. All of them are October at heart. So settle in with… Continue reading The Bibliophagist

Bunnytails & Grunting Starfish It was a quick jaunt down the island on a road with terrific ocean views and I was grateful. Grateful for not having to play dodge the cars in my nicer clothes. I had dressed up to assure my more fashionable friends that I have more than t-shirts and joggers. I was still wearing jeans, but… Continue reading Haint Party, Chapter 4

Ghost Rider We were about to leave when Spencer spun around at the door, “Wait! I forgot something.” He ushered us into the kitchen, where he told us to wait while he jogged to his room. I didn’t have a clue what he could be doing. We glanced at one another as we waited and said nothing as Spencer seemed… Continue reading Haint Party, Chapter 3

A cautionary tale about writer’s block, desperation, and things that go bump in your analytics I’ve been dead for three days and I’m still refreshing my Substack stats. This is hell, obviously. Not the fire and brimstone kind. The kind where you’re trapped reliving your most desperate moment forever. Mine just happens to be 2:47 AM on a Tuesday, hunched… Continue reading The Last Thing She Googled

One Helluva Shiner As I walked into the house’s expansive coastal kitchen, I was hit by the cold air of the air conditioner and I shivered myself aware of how much I needed to pee. I looked around for a door, but was paused by my view. I could see through a row of massive picture windows that dwarfed the… Continue reading Haint Party, Chapter 2

Occasionally new inspiration slips through the worries and I get create. Here’s where I found myself today: Louisa—Lou, if she trusted you enough to use it, which she didn’t, not really, not anymore—had been at war with the postal system for exactly seven days, thirteen hours, and what felt like six hundred soul-crushing minutes. Each morning she checked the tracking… Continue reading Signature Required

Dani’s Arrival I took too much time feeling old in the mirror. There were new grey hairs in my eyebrows. It had started with my right eyebrow but both were now giving off serious mad scientist energy. My stomach growled and I remembered I had a muffin hidden in the breadbox. I had washed it down with another sip of… Continue reading Haint Party, Chapter 1

A queer Southern Gothic wedding with a bruise, a trellis, and way too many secrets. Last time I told you there was a manuscript gathering dust in the attic. This was once its prologue. Now it’s just the first open door. Welcome to Haint Party. It is messy, queer, a little magical, and definitely fueled by wedding chaos. Think of… Continue reading Haint Party: Prologue

I’m not 100% sure how it happened. Yes, you read that correctly. Yes, I know I’m trying to finish editing by October, but I accidentally started writing a lesbian western. It was on a whim and mostly as a joke, but it started a few nights ago. It’s not bad. I allowed myself to be a bit silly with the… Continue reading Accidentally Wrote A Lesbian Western

An Ode to BBC Mysteries This ode was written with heartfelt affection for Rosemary & Thyme. I’ve been deep into the BritBox app for AppleTV today and got inspired when I went for my English breakfast tea. O hush, the hedgerows rustle low— Another vicar’s met his fate. A gardener’s spade, a poisoned scone, The village fair runs ten minutes… Continue reading Murder Among the Marigolds

The Collective The third floor opened around them like a held breath, wide and soft and strange in its gentleness. This wasn’t the rest of the warehouse, no peeling paint, no rusted piping groaning in the walls. It was warmth and filtered light, old wood and quiet corners. A space carved out for retreat, for rest. Grace blinked at it,… Continue reading Chapter 9: Where the Steam Clings