A short horror Postcard Story about finding your way home when you are being hunted.
A Fairy-Tale Postcard Story Mr. & Mrs. Jones were down to their last potato in a time of famine. Mr.…
A Sci-fi Postcard Story about a simple metal sliver on a strange red planet.
She clasped and unclasped her fingers, her nails digging into the softness of her palms. Where the hell was Jason?
Since the first night, my flesh has become soft and pliable—plastic even. The flesh where I was touched can stretch so far from my calf I fear it may snap. It functions as my skin always has, but it is clearly no longer my skin—it is a spreading digestion of it.
The backseat was empty. There were bloodstains on the leather, but Aman wasn’t there. My car was wrecked. My phone was out of reception. My muscles spasmed. I threw up, then sat in the gravel and let the rain wash it into a grassy ditch.
Something had smashed the old saloon, like a big boulder or a fallen tree. Yet, nothing remained to explain it.
I stepped slowly, but every crunch I made filled the silence. In the road, where the tall man had stood, remained only two shoes.
There is a valley in the north mountains where people grow like trees, walk around like men, then lose their features and dry to deadwood in the winter.
She opened her mouth, not to scream exactly, but to acknowledge the creeping terror inching along her spine.