by Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock Trying to kill me was a new low for Horatio since I could have died in the fire. Although there was no way he set fire to the shed. He might have been demented.… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock I whirled around when someone tapped my back the following morning at my locker. It was Steven. “What do you want?” I asked. He pressed his arms together. “We need to talk.” “Fine. Tell… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock I met Chace in the school hallway a couple of mornings later without Steven. There was no other way around it. He had to be left out of the operation. At least for the… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock “What is going on?” Steven asked. I gritted my teeth. “It’s complicated. But I can explain everything.” Julian remained in the same position, hovering a good ten feet in the air. “There’s nothing to… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock “Such a poor little girl,” roared a voice. I turned around, not even caring about still being in the locker room. I wasn’t going to Science Class since I had bigger issues to deal… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock Steven, Chace and I met in the school hallway the following Monday morning after our sleepover. I took in a deep breath, gazing at the two of them. “I’ve been thinking about it all… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell I descended the staircase the following morning while the smell of burnt toast wafted through the air, and stung my nose. I scurried to the kitchen, fighting the urge to scream. Horatio placed a plate of… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell serpeblu/Shutterstock I slipped out the front door at 7:30 P.M., giving myself a good half hour before Horatio got up. A screeching sound rolled up my driveway a few minutes later. It was time to… Continue Reading
By Chris Bedell Good girls don’t think about murderers. It was what my Social Studies teacher said when I pointed out how Americans could have been viewed as murderers when it came to the Native Americans. But that didn’t… Continue Reading
By Jack L. Bryson I’m going to eat your fucking face. Did I say that out loud? No, thank Satan. “I asked you what you wanted to eat?” My “niece” was getting impatient as she sat across the table from… Continue Reading