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All through the haunted house, nothing stirred—not even a mouse. The chandeliers swayed gently in the chill draft, and cobwebs whispered secrets to the corners of the empty halls. Every creaking floorboard seemed to hold its breath.
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The Cabin Within Reach – A Short Story by Stacey Carroll
The Cabin Within Reach – A Short Story by Stacey Carroll
It started with a Craigslist ad.
“Free cabin for the right soul. Woods, water, peace. Bike to groceries. No rent, just stories. Must arrive by dusk. No calls.”
Most people would have scrolled right past it, chalked it up to spam, a scam, or some TikTok prank for urban escapists. But Ava hadn’t slept in four nights, not since the crew next door began a remodel that seemed to involve slamming concrete blocks into steel dumpsters every morning at 6:04 a.m. sharp.
She clicked.
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VAMPIRE EROTIC THRILLER
CHAPTER 1
Jaq opened his eyes to a man holding a stake to his heart. Grabbing the shaft, he shoved it away from his body, thankful that vampires no longer slept in coffins. If he had been sleeping in a coffin, the stake would have bounded off the hardwood sides and into his body.
Jaq sprung from the bed before his assailant could recover. A sound from behind told Jaq there was someone else in the room. He turned and grabbed the woman’s arm flinging her forward into a wall so he could keep an eye on them both.
Jaq wasn’t surprised when the woman grabbed a cross from her pocket. Stepping forward, he swatted it from her hand and slapped her across the face. “Idiot,” he said before dissipating into the shadows and leaving his would-be killers alone in the eighteenth-century Victorian mansion. His Indianapolis haven was no longer safe. It was fine. He had a room permanently booked at the Terre Haute House in Terra Haute, Indiana.
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From what I can tell, this is a mosiac essay. Do I remeber what that is? Nope. Did I write it for a master's level English class about10 years ago? Yep. is it any good? Hell if I know. I can't even remember what a mosiac is...
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This is another tidbit that was probably written between 1995 and 1998. While I would consider this to be pure and utter crap compared to what I write today, sometimes we need to understand the developmental process. The overall theme is something I still use today. Make it dark. Make it disturbing. This qualifies as both. But this is also quantifiably terrible, and it also qualifies as poetry, which I wouldn't write today. In my writing process, especially when I was younger, I wrote poetry to make sense of my own thoughts. These types of things were written when I couldn't string two words together. I do not read or write poetry today because if I wrote it due to being unable to write..... well, uhhh . . yeah. That's the long and short.