Shout out to my husband for reading this short story before I posted it. Thanks, babe.
I haven’t been writing, but the other night I decided to just go for it. I typed the first two words without a single plan on what would happen and made myself keep going until I had something.
This isn’t brilliant, but it’s what I made, so I’m proud enough of it. And it gave me something to work on (and freak myself out with). Why every time I try to work up a short story, I make it like the first five minutes of Supernatural, I have no idea. Maybe because I like to leave open endings with scary stories and don’t have to come up with a complete resolution. Or maybe there’s something thrilling about trying to scare the stuffin’ out of myself in the shortest amount of time.
Anyway, without further ado, here’s At the Stream in the Woods: