“Will it hurt?”The nurse looked up from the digital slate in her hand. Through the clear glass, Lacy could see words scrolling past a static picture of herself. She didn’t need to be able to read them to know what it said. She’d submitted all of the paperwork for this procedure herself. With the steely prompting of her mother of course.

It listed her medical history, recommendations from family that she does this and their testimonies. Funny how she hadn’t been asked to submit her own, but then they didn’t really care about what she thought of her own defects.

“You’ll be sore for a few days where the implant is put in and, as we told your family, there will be some disorientation at first as it learns how your brain works. After the initial adjustment period, you’ll be right as rain. Breath deep now and relax, alright?” The nurse offered a calm smile.

Lacy nodded, looking up at the tiled ceiling and trying to ignore the too loud buzz of the fluorescent lights above her. The static sound grated on her nerves and was physically painful to the point that, as scared as she was, she wished the anesthesia would put her to sleep faster. The plastic face mask covering her mouth and nose had fogged up and with each breath she took, it was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot. She was sweating. She realized it when she tried to get more comfortable, but the plasticy cushion beneath her stuck to her arms. The sensation made her skin crawl.

She didn’t want to be there, wanted to go home, didn’t want this. Her mind was going fuzzy and the corners of her vision were beginning to blur.

“I changed my mind,” she said.

Or had she said it? The nurse had gone back to looking at the slate and didn’t acknowledge her. Lacy tried to turn her head to look at the woman, to try and repeat herself. She couldn’t.

“I changed my mind! I don’t want to do this!”

She was sure her lips moved, but they felt so heavy. Frustration built in her chest, pushed up and got trapped in her throat.

Stop, stop, stop

Her vision swam from the drugs and the tears that had been building in her eyes escaped down the sides of her face.

The sterile white minimalist room began to melt away, the scent of the anesthesia mixing with the room’s stomach-turning scent of bleach and disinfectant. Her surroundings bleed away and blurred.

And then there was nothing.
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Camp Kendall – Short

I recently started using a new social media site called Pillowfort. It’s been pretty great! No, they aren’t paying me to say this, I am just stoked. Why? Well, because the community is pretty great, but also because I started a horror writing group and will be posting weekly writing prompts that I will also be participating in. It is so great having motivation for writing. Not the long form stuff that I have to do by myself, but that quick stuff that lets you flex your writing muscles. That said, here is the short for this weeks prompt which was: “They have no mouths”.


We stood in the middle of the clearing, huddled together and clutching our flashlights. My sneakers were soaked from running through the dew coated grass all night. We were out of breath, dirt covered, and exhausted.

“I don’t see them,” Shelley panted, her voice breaking halfway through as she swallowed down a sob.

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So, as I’m working my way through this novella, I’ve found that my biggest source of inspiration has been music. I made a whole playlist on spotify dedicated to Lyle, the main character I’m writing for. It’s all sickly sweet love songs that sound innocent until I put them in the context of his fucked up thoughts about love and possession and his life long pining after his high school sweetheart.

Sometimes, moodboards help. I made a pintrest purely to make character/story boards where I could put pictures that inspire me, but I haven’t kept up with it and thought images are fun to think about in relation to who I’m writing, music definitely works best for me.

Want to have a listen?


pexels-photo-673862[Photo by it’s me neosiam from Pexels ]


Music drifted through the peaceful halls of the house, winding its way through the open basement door and down the stairs. It wrapped around the two of us and I couldn’t help humming along.

This magic moment, so different and so new…

Was like any other until I kissed you…

It was magic how the scalpel in my hand, caressed by my fingertips, pressed into him, sharp enough to part the flesh like cutting butter. Crimson weeping wounds kissed his skin and making him shake. For joy, I told myself. He was just as happy as I was that this was happening. My love, my dear. Staying with me in the most permanent of ways.

And then it happened, it took me by surprise…

The Drifters crooned, making my heart melt. You took me by surprise. Each new incarnation of you that I took captive. Each new man that wears your face, that smiles your smile, that laughs your laugh.

I knew that you felt it too, by the look in your eyes…

He was weeping. I almost was too. Each time felt like the first. Each time new, yet the same. Each time pure. Each kill a retelling of the same old story, the same tragedy that I live. The tragedy that is me without you.

Sweeter than wine

Softer than the summer night

Everything I want, I have…

I have you, even if you aren’t here. You on this table, letting me carve you up. He has a different name, but he tastes like you when we’ve kissed. He makes the same soft sounds low in his throat. Sort of like the keening sounds he’s making now, though not nearly as high-pitched.

Already I’m thinking of how I’ll prepare him, after I’ve cut him into fillets.

Whenever I hold you tight…

    How many times had I held him tight, pretending he was you? And then he was going to leave, just as you did, just like all of the others. I couldn’t let him. Of course I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to be left behind, some forgotten memory.

Blood gushed up around my fingers, warm wet coating the tips and making me hum.

This magic moment while your lips are close to mine…

I couldn’t help having a tiny taste. I didn’t want to spoil my appetite, but a little self-indulgence wouldn’t hurt. I flicked my tongue over the mess he’d made, a burst of copper hitting my taste buds and the metallic scent that hung heavy in the air filling my nostrils.

Will last forever, forever till the end of time…

I’ll keep you like this.

She wishes she had a home.

This place, these walls, all wrapped up in brick, isn’t it; this place is a sickness, one that leaves its toxic marks on her. A miasma of poison lingers in the air that she drags into her lungs with every breath. Its claws rend flesh, leaving bleeding red lines on her body. It leaves her crying and hopeless.

She wants to feel warm. She wants to feel loved and happy. She wants to feel heard.

This house always promised that. Its lies, tempt her back with assurances of fulfilling every childish dream she’d ever had of a happy family, of belonging and being wanted. And she falls for it. Every time she falls for it, always returning, always letting it suck her dry. Only this is the last time. She’s come and gone before, but this time she has nothing else.

So she dies, with every passing hour, every single day that drags on around her, without her. She stays because now she doesn’t have a choice. Her feet have become a part of the wood floors, her hands painted plaster.

She lets it.

It has become a necessity that she let this house eat her whole.