検索キーワード： 著者 "Mace Styx" すべてのカテゴリー

Becca was not allowed to be touched by other men, not even the tip of her fingers nor a strand of her hair. The very first time I witnessed this issue was when a male customer shook Becca’s hand when he made a hefty purchase of her designs. Anybody would have known that it was a mere form of polite gesture, but I noticed that her husband was staring at them until the customer walked out of the shop.

Short Stories by Mace Styx: "The hour was so late (or early, depending on how you looked at it) that she barely saw anyone as she padded silently from the castle, through the winding cobbled streets. The letter she had was burning in her hand and she still had the blade she had used to slit the King’s throat. If a member of the city watch found her, she was worse than dead. Still, she felt oddly calm".

How Sharaign met her end is not recorded. Whether some hero did eventually succeed in bringing her to heel we shall never know. Though there are complimentary legends about the crozier of St. Dunstan, a saint already famed for his battles with the devil, being used to strike her dead. What is recorded, is what was done with her remains. For those who don’t know, a "cairn" is a roughly assembled pile of loose rocks. They usually consist of larger rocks at the bottom with smaller fragments balanced precariously on top the higher it becomes.

Short stories by Mace Styx: "The grave keeper opened the door, stepping awkwardly outside at such an unbearably slow pace Jonah wanted to scream. “Where is it, this grave you saw?” he asked, vaguely, as though Jonah had informed him that he’d left the kettle on. “Over there, near the tree.” Jonah told him, pointing. “I dropped my lantern right next to it.” “I’ll take a look,” he said, still speaking as if finding the earth broken open was a mild, everyday inconvenience. “You wait right here".

I called for Archie then, shouting at the top of my lungs and hoping that perhaps she had escaped to the outside, or was on her way to my house. I lifted my phone to call her and saw a video clip she had sent. Feeling the tension drain from my body as relief washed over me like a wave, I sighed, assuming that this message would tell me exactly where she was, that she was safe and that the worst I would then be faced with was an embarrassing conversation with the police. As it turned out, only the last of these was true.

Mayor Wilfred was not the kind of person that would willingly accept interviews, but for some reason, he needed the aid of our service to send alarming news. Apparently, the mayor’s daughter, Elsa Elborne, suddenly went missing. Officer Warren was the first face I saw when I went to the town hall. This newly recruited police just also moved in to the island a few months ago, and he was still in the process of trying to impress the chief and earn a permanent position. Although I didn’t bother to ask, my guess was he probably volunteered himself to solve this serious case.

We passed in front of the men, some of whom gave me angry stares. I laughed inwardly. How easy it was for them to blame another for their own misfortune. I knew some had their eyes on my navigator, while others affixed theirs on me. I had often been the subject of many an attention, but I hardly indulged in such subtle fantasies. Only once in my very long life have I had anyone who could afford me the pleasures I desired. Others had only managed to while away my time. A commodity I possess in excess.

With the children of the village, "Greenfinger Tom" was not only a suspect, but irrefutably guilty of any number of crimes. A neighborhood boogeyman for decades, he was used by older kids to taunt their siblings and frighten them into obedience. “If you get out of that bed again, Greenfinger Tom will get you,” seems to have been a common threat used by mothers and fathers who had themselves sprinted past Greenfinger’s garden if they were forced to pass after dusk.

A few hours later, wafting into the room with the supercilious air of confidence peculiar to those who know they are to speak on a subject upon which they are unlikely to be challenged came Mavis Clay, adorned in a flowing white dress that seemed to be more ruffles than stitching and sat herself like Christ in Da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper in the center of the long table, whilst historians, experts, and the duke himself flanked her like apostles, on either side.

I ran back on the bed and cowered under the sheets once again. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.” I kept on repeating this line inside my head to convince myself that what I saw wasn’t true. Even though I cannot make out what this person looked like from afar, those glowing red eyes was more than enough to terrify me for years. The sequence between the hoots gradually grew longer, but every single one drew closer and closer.

Fear made me dig. After a while, I really did find something, but it didn't look like a doll to me. It looked more like an old rag sewed up to look like a doll, with two buttons as eyes and few strands of hair poking out of what was supposed to be her head. It was muddy and half-decayed, and I tried to tell her again that she doesn't need it, but I didn't.

Outside the tent was damp and cold and moist and like nothing Kayla had ever seen. Almost immediately, she wanted to return into the tent. Supria was already swiftly ahead. Here was like nowhere she had ever seen before. The sky was an eerie purple and orange, there were lighting strikes without thunderbolts. Sequoias characterized the landscapes and then the people.

Then, she looked up and let out a short, bitten-off scream. A...thing was there, looming above her, observing her with the impassivity of the cat. Though most of it was shrouded in darkness, Paige knew it was a demon. She could vaguely make out the silhouette of wings, of huge horns curling up from its head like a gazelle. She wanted to light more candles to see better, but she didn’t want to look away from the creature.

Well, this beginning of my new life did not start as I thought it was going to. I was here for less than two hours, and I already managed to have a panic attack. What should I expect next. I was in a foreign country, in a car with two people I do not know, going to a clinic where I should have a meeting that could determine my whole future. I had no idea how to do it, but apparently, I had four and a half hours to bring my A-game and impress my future boss.

One of the most remarkable things about Cathy was her beautiful skin. She had skin that was clear as crystal. And her figure was amazing. Her nose was pointed, defining her face in a well-structured manner. People often called her "the sunflower girl" because of her features and talents as a stripper.

The next complainant brought us back our cabbages, which was one of our produce that father took pride in. He was already agitated before the vendor could say anything. And just like the tomatoes, the cabbages looked totally fine on the surface. The vendor took out one of them that was already cut in half, and father tried his best not to lash out in front of the vendor because of what he saw. There were maggots crawling from the stalk of the cabbage, and the inner leaves were incredibly pale that it was almost grayish white.

We were dangerously close from the explosion. My ears rang as my vision was blurred by the ashes that covered the area. As I regained my hearing, I heard a very discreet sound that sent chills down my spine. I was certain that the others heard it, as well, when they turned their heads from left to right. It sounded like a silent howl of something that I have not heard before. It was like a strong gust of wind passing through a shattered horn or a screech being forced out from a dry throat.

"No.” She admitted, guiltily. “I am sorry. If I enter the darkness, it would grab me before I can fetch you anything to get the fire going.” Sam nodded. He had faced death before. But every time, there was hope, a fighting chance. This time, he could do nothing. Emily visibly shuddered. “He will have me, place its scythe through my soul. It allows it to control the agony my soul receives. Then, until the morning, I will keep suffering. Every moment feels like an eternity. I might switch to my other personalities, just to escape the pain.”

The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women, and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall, the hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself.

Standing against the trunk of the oak tree was a man. His hair was silver, but not in a way that made him look old - it glinted faintly in the patches of light that punch through the crown of branches above. For a moment, Tansy wondered if maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. That often happened when she was tired; she’d see something out of the corner of her eye and think it was something entirely different. When she blinked, though, he was still standing there, with a concerned look on his face.