Father Jim had writer’s block.
He glanced out the frosted-over window of his small office in St. Augustine’s rectory on the cold November Saturday afternoon. He’d been a priest for five years and actually liked creating sermons while in seminary. Now he would gladly just wing it from the pulpit. Most people don’t listen anyway.
"Kate awoke with a start. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake and had no idea why. She didn’t know it yet, but a tide was turning close to home and, with it, a treacherous page in the book of her life. "
Slouched low behind the wheel, she watched Carl Reid climb out of his black Jeep Cherokee. The sun had already set and the light was quickly fading, but she could tell he still wore his navy blue Justice Fire Department Paramedic uniform. He looked like the hero she remembered from so long ago.
It’s a late sunny afternoon in Washington DC. Senator Harry Day is in his office sitting in his comfortable black leather chair. A man with a perpetual smile that seems to vibrate in the air around him. He comes from a wealthy High Society Irish family.
A faint whisper woke Bella, "I am going to destroy your life. Turn your family and friend’s against you. Make them hate you with a fierce hatred, and after they leave you isolated and afraid, then I'm going to kill you.
The unusual livestock killings began in earnest the first frost of 2016. Such was the way of life and death for the rural farming community of the North Georgia mountains, but near the Georgia and Tennessee border, the farmers had experienced nothing like the gluttony of carnage to come.
There was a peculiar nip in the cold air of that winter night in Chennai. The breeze that rose from nowhere danced through the open, grilled window. The twin pink colour, translucent, chiffon curtains separated, as if to make way for the breeze, and fell back in place afterwards. The Tanjore dancing woman on the study table began swaying her waist and neck languorously at the soft touch of the cool breeze. The sparkling plastic bead string curtains slowly oscillated as the breeze brushed past them and crossed the door into the drawing room. The wind chimes suddenly came to life and jingled softly, breaking the silence of the winter night.
Did you know that it’s possible to own a ghost? Well, we do. She arrived in a Victorian trunk that my wife and I purchased not too long ago, and her name is Mary. Currently, she exists in her camelback trunk on our carport here in Georgia.
Getting old is not for the squeamish. When given time and the natural marinating that comes from watching hands of a clock crawl, minute by minute, as it stares unblinking from the nightstand, ghosts taunt your mind, bones rattle from the closets, and skeletons get restless. This morning the ghost from the old chest in the garage came calling.
At dusk, three, loud knocks at her front door scared the young, grief-stricken mother of four. Huddling around her in front of a solitary space heater, Ann's three children jumped, startling her even more. For a brief second, they shivered, fearing it was death itself that had come knocking.
He is a bad one, the waitress thought as she placed the cup and saucer in front of him, the same as she had done many times over the past few months. The aroma of strong coffee wafted through the morning air. Unlike the other officers, this one was charming and always had time for a kind word—but she sensed evil.