Break From Reality. Daily.
This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. The bar was still, silent, a rare occurrence but far from an unwelcome one. Usually the place was filled to the brim with rowdy gang members, leather-clad men and women, gray-streaked…
This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Percival has decided this ball is ridiculous and a complete waste of his time. He’d much rather be at home, working away in his basement. His most recent project is calling…
This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. The little town of Remington is surrounded by country roads and wooded lands. The closest city is fifteen miles away and consists of criminals, rejects, and dilapidated buildings. The miles…
This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. The little town of Remington is surrounded by country roads and wooded lands. The closest city is fifteen miles away and consists of criminals, rejects, and dilapidated buildings. The miles of…
This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here. Crawford Manor is said to be haunted by Ophelia Browning, a young college student who entered the grounds some twenty years ago and was never seen again. Teenagers, of course, enjoy…
“There’s a body for you downstairs,” Cassia’s mother announces, wiping the blood from her hands as she passes the open bedroom door. “All set and ready for you.”
Her words spark a flood of excitement in Cassia, and she springs from her bed to follow her mother down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her fingers itch to snatch up the scalpel, to dig under the skin and see what lies within the corpse.
“I thought it was Alistair’s turn,” Cassia says, falling into step with her mother. “He claimed the next three that came in.”
“Cousin Alistair is otherwise occupied with another target. He’ll be gone a few days.”
Cassia eyes the basement door, practically twitching in her eagerness to get to work. Her mother pulls a mixing bowl out of the cabinet and sets it on the counter. Then she turns back to Cassia, sees her inching towards the door, and laughs.
“Your father and I already had our fun tracking him down and killing him,” her mother says. “You go have your own now. I’ll be baking a pie for the Mitchells’ funeral.”
