A collection of survival/adventure, horror/thriller, and fantasy short stories.
Targeted Age Group:: Adult
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I have been wanting to write a book for years. In November 2020, I commenced writing short stories.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Some of the Characters were drawn from childhood memories. While others were acquaintances or people from my imagination.
“I am going to Todd’s,” I say.
“Stay away from the bank,” my dad says.
“Yeah, yeah.” I push the door along the trim so I do not break the glass. Last winter, he hit me with a horse crop for letting the door slam. The January cold blows in my face as I climb over the large snow pile that rests in front of the door. I prance across the street to Roy and Mary Stewart’s house. Todd’s grandmother answers the door and invites me into the kitchen.
“What are you baking?” I ask.
“Would you like some?”
“Do you even need to ask?” I reply with a smile. As I eat the cookies, Mary tells me about another memory of my mom. I heed to her every word, gesture, and pause so I can remember it later. It warms my heart to hear her talk about my mom in such a loving, caring manner.
I visit the Stewarts even when Todd is not visiting. It is my home away from home. They have been helping me with my aching heart. This might be the reason why I have not seen Todd in quite a while.
I scour for Midnight. She has been a loyal companion since my mom died. Me and Midnight play on the bank all the time. She is familiar with the area, but I am not. Midnight disappeared a week ago. My dad suspects she was killed by a car. I will not believe it until I see it with my own eyes.
Snow makes it difficult but not impossible to follow animal footprints. I wander through a maze of maple trees for about a hundred yards. A thin blanket of snow covers a stick at my feet. I hit a branch with it and the snow crumples at my feet. I tap my boots like Jim Rice and get into my best baseball stance and swing.
The snow tumbles on my head and It slides off my neck. The stick falls from my grip. A chill speeds along my spine. It is worse than a brain freeze from eating Rocky Road during the summer. I hate the winter with a passion.
Well… that’s not completely true. I despise bees with a passion. During the winter, the stupid yellow jackets sleep. In school, they call it hibernating. Whatever name you use, it is sleeping.
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