I enter your room as a chilled breeze while you slumber deep. My translucent hand glides along the wood as I hover near your footrail.
Memento mori is what they say. Life’s short so do what you must. Live in the moment, and in this do trust— if you were
I wondered as he puttered around, could I kill a man with the strength of my legs? Could I crush the life from his chest—
A fifty-word micro fiction horror story.
My “flight” was late, and it never was. Punctual were the returns to Heaven after deeds were done. But her skin glowed under the moonlight,