Category: original fiction

The Lady of Amafel Pond 388 words She was fading away, slowly but inevitably. They didn't believe in her anymore, didn't ask for her help with lovers, didn't send the little boats filled with flowers across her lake. The townspeople who whispered about her in the past, who told stories and claimed to have seen her were preoccupied with their televisions, their computers, facts and technology. They had forgotten about magic, didn't care about what they couldn't see. She was lonely and tired. Who would take care of her lake if she was pulled behind the veil as had happened to so many of her sisters. She shook her head, her long, pale hair swirling int he water. She sat on the shore, considering her options. She could just accept it. The world had moved on, maybe it was time she did too. But this lake was he home, had been forever; she wasn't ready to leave it. she could frighten the people...

Beneath the Moon 377 Words Moonlight shines in the window behind me casting shadows in the small chapel. My nights have taken on a rhythm, a comforting pattern. Just after the sun sets, I awaken from a dreamless sleep and the minute I move the cat who shares this space heads out the door. She has her own agenda. I say a brief prayer of thanks, whether I’m heard or not I don’t know, then leave the peaceful calm of the old building. I’ll spend tonight, as I usually do lately, with Michael. I walk the few blocks to his house, occasionally marveling at the changes my city has gone through over the centuries I’ve lived here, the way she has transformed herself. Gas lit cobblestone streets are now lined with electric lamps and paved in a dull gray. Instead of the clattering of hooves, I hear the pounding of the bass from a teenager’s car radio. Even the buildings have lost...

Image credit: Misty Mountain by =ramseyst My Penance 436 words I sit in the balcony of the old stone church, listening to the familiar strains of "Amazing Grace" rising from the congregation. I see a few folks craning their necks, looking up at this old choir loft, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost. Once in a while, someone, most often a child, will see me, but they are few and far between. More often, people feel me, look up as I pass, edge away if I stand near them. Being haunted has been good for the Sycamore Church. The pastor repeats time and again that there is no ghost, but still people come, hoping. With the people come money and publicity, though, and the church is thriving, but that’s not why I keep returning. I love listening to the pastor’s deep, rich voice, hearing his melodic readings of the Psalms, watching his dark, passionate eyes scan the audience. Tonight, it feels like...

Image source: Deviant Art - Aurelia2012 Bethane's Tears 363 words He had heard the crying again last night, on and on, the weeping not allowing him to fall back asleep. He knew she wouldn’t be there, but he had to go out on the lake anyway. She sounded so lonely and grief-stricken. He needed to comfort her if she allowed him. He rowed the small boat out a ways. The pre-dawn air was still chilly and a fog hung over the water. It was silent now, the birds not yet awake, the naiad Bethane quiet. To most Bethane was a local legend, repeated to children but not truly believed. He knew better. He also knew why she cried. He had seen her and Ben, who stayed in the cabin next to his, sitting together on the shore, hand in hand, feet dangling in the water. She was so beautiful, long curling golden hair, clear shining blue eyes, a shimmering light green gown. He...

No Promises 403 words I shivered. The Street of the Dead. I knew it was perfectly safe at this time of night, all the occupants were either truly dead, locked away in their vaults, or out hunting far from here, most likely down on High Street where the bars stayed open late and some of the unadvertised spots never closed. There were certainly folks out there making a fortune in the new economy. I wasn’t one of them. What was I doing here, I asked myself for the millionth time, as I paced in front of a particularly elaborate mausoleum with the name Gedding engraved in the marble above the entry. Lightning flashed and I turned to see Jacob walking up the cobble-stoned street. Watching him stride toward me, his black trench coat billowing in the wind, I had to force myself to stand still, not to take off running down the road. Jacob made me nervous, but he was a good client....

Her Chosen 392 words "Ingrid, leave," she commanded imperiously, not wanting to hear any more of the fairy's prattling.  As the girl flitted away, Aura sat, enjoying the deep quiet of the forest at night, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl. She settled her skirts around here, their beautiful pink silk contrasting nicely with the grass and trees surround her, and waited. Just after daybreak she heard the sounds she had been waiting for, the footsteps of humans, hunters. Whispering a warning to the deer and the foxes to head deeper into the woods, she began to sing a soft song, a melody she allowed only one of the men to hear, the handsome one she had seen yesterday, with the dark hair and blue eyes. He was the one she had chosen. Erik heard a faint sweet tune, but none of his companions seemed to hear it, too intent perhaps on listening for the crack of a twig that would...