• Creative Writing

    Abby

    I sit alone in the corner of her room–untouched, neglected—humming in low tones. Memories of times when the stroke of Anna Mae’s fingers created music inside torment me. All the tantalizing melodies are gone though—all is gone—only this cold corner offers support.  I know that the love was false, a…

  • Creative Writing

    Rhapsody

    It was three days ago that the anxiety struck me. Early in the morning, mere hours before I received the call, a restlessness overtook me and I could do nothing more than pace. Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini” was swelling to its climax when the phone rang. “Kelli?…

  • Creative Writing

    The Pale Lady

    The sound is like an icy hand running down my spine, a painful wail that seems to come from both inside and outside of me. In my mind’s eye, I see her—deathly pale skin shining in the moonlight, eyes hollow and empty. Every night for months she has haunted my…

  • Creative Writing

    Wendigo

    June 05, 1995  Clanton, AL  Robert Brennan tossed and turned in his sleep, the already uncomfortable bed growing more unbearable with every nightmare. He saw himself holding a rifle in one hand—its barrel looking at his baby daughter, Sam’s innocent face. Right as the terrified father was about to pull…