Storygram #100
In the home of William Oliver Knox, there were no city lights to stream through the windows and no busy streets to fill the air with noise. At night his home did its best to eradicate the safety of human companionship.
Storygram #99
The fog was barreling towards her like a train. It had no smiling engineer or delighted passengers—only a lust for death. Attempting to escape it would be futile, so she stood there, waiting. Just off the road, a doe watched her—its eyes pleading with her to run.
Storygram #96
As he walked, his ears began to detect a second set of footsteps. When he stopped, they stopped a couple of steps late. He repeated the procedure enough times to confirm that someone was following him but didn’t want to be known.
Storygram #89
When the horizon had given up the last of its glowing gradient, something thumped the bottom of her boat. There was some splashing in the water and more thumping as her boat began rocking back and forth. She laid there with her eyes closed, too terrified to look.
Storygram #74
He fiddled with the ring in his right pants pocket, rubbing the smooth top of the diamond. It had taken him months to buy it. And she didn’t suspect a thing.