Archive for May, 2015


May 27, 2015 Leave a comment

Just a story.

L. E. White


Terry squeezed her eyes shut, balling up her fists and pressing them against the sides of her head. Her whole body shook and she could hear the little plastic ends of her shoe laces tapping against the floor as they trembled with her.

When the front door opened, the shaking stopped. Her body froze, not even breathing, as the sound of the old hinges bounced down the hallway.

The step was soft, making almost no sound, but she heard each nail click as they came down on the old boards. Terry gasped and then bit her lip before she heard another set of clicks.

They were closer.

Categories: Flash Fiction, Horror Tags:


May 20, 2015 Leave a comment

I have always wondered why scenes like this don’t happen more often in horror movies.

L. E. White


I tilted my head to the side, staring in confusion at the tiny drops of red all over her face.

“You have something on your cheek.”

She didn’t say anything, but her lower lip was quivering. Her eyes were wide and she was getting pale. She lifted one quivering hand up and pointed at my chest.

The bullet had entered from behind, and I hadn’t felt a thing. The red stain was spreading across my shirt, and I could feel muscles starting to twitch.

“Run,” I said. My voice was soft, even though I hadn’t intended for it to be. “Run now.”

The change was coming. I didn’t want to hurt her by accident.

Categories: Flash Fiction Tags:

I Hate Monday | Dilbert by Scott Adams

May 18, 2015 Leave a comment

Homepage | Dilbert by Scott Adams.

Mr. Adams nailed it.

Categories: Links, web comic


May 13, 2015 Leave a comment

I recently had a discussion about bullying in schools. I hate bullies. I realize that dealing with things like this today is getting a lot of attention, but I don’t know if what the schools are doing is right. I have no idea if what I have told my own children is right or not either.

Do what you think is right and hope for the best.

L. E. White


Franklin sat in his room, his mouth twisted into a snarl, writing in an old composition book.




He put the pencil down, reached for the crayons and then changed his mind. He didn’t need to decorate the list. This would be good enough. He wiped his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“We’ll see who’s a sissy.”


His parents were in bed, his mother snoring a little and his dad snoring a lot, when Franklin headed past their door. The back room was already set up, last weekend had been the solstice, and all he had to do was light the candles. The rug with the circles and triangles was still out, lying in the middle of the room with a larger, permanent circle set into the floor around it.

Franklin sat to one side, where his mother sat when she worked in here. He took after her, so it made sense to him to work like she did. His father would have been in a different spot if he were doing this.

The name was hard to say. It didn’t make any sense and there was no way he could have spelled it. He wouldn’t have been able to say it if he hadn’t heard his mother do it last year when their garage had been robbed. He said it again, and shivered when he felt the air get cold.

It was working. He was like them. He could do it.

They would pay.


The cabinet doors rattled and the curtains rustled. The candle light wavered and then everything was back to normal.

Franklin looked around the room, wondering where the monster was. He didn’t see it.

He had failed.

He lowered his head into his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “Why didn’t you come when I called?”

“I did.”

The voice was so soft and smooth that Franklin didn’t jump when he heard it. He took in a big, shuddering breath, and then looked up into the circle.

A big, mean looking dog sat in the middle of the triangle. Its fur was a mix of red and black that spiked up all over its back like someone had rubbed it backward and then glued it into place. It didn’t pant or wag, but stared at him.

“You came.”

“I did,” it said without moving its mouth. “Why do you call me?”

“These boys,” he tapped the list, “have been picking on me.”

The dog nodded its head once.

“I want you to scare them.”

“What will you give me to do this?”

Franklin shrugged. “What do you want?”

The creature didn’t answer, but its tail shifted to one side and there was a scratching sound as one paw twitched. They sat for a minute or two before the dog nodded again. “I cannot tell you what I want until I know your name.”

“My name?”

“To tell you what I want is to make an offer to you. You cannot make an offer to me without my full name. I am bound by the same rule.”

“Okay,” Franklin said. “My name is Franklin Tho..”


Franklin’s mother slapped her hand over his mouth, bringing tears to his eyes from the sudden sting in his lips. When she entered his part of the circle, the candles rippled again.

The dog lunged forward, changing as it jumped through the air. The spikey fur turned into actual spikes and its neck stretched forward. When its mouth opened, the teeth lengthened twisted, changing from white to black as they twisted into spiraling corkscrews. It snapped down onto her arm and Franklin heard a loud crack just before his mother screamed.

When the creature opened its mouth again, it tore holes out of his mother’s arm. The head drew back, and Franklin imagined it was going to strike like a snake.

With blood dripping from its mouth, the thing snapped forward again.

There was a loud crack and a flash of bright purple light. The monster’s head flew up and back, hitting the ceiling. Its neck relaxed and collapsed, folding like the bouncy house did when it was being deflated until the twisted, dragon dog face hit the floor.

As it lifted up, there was a second, softer crack as Franklin’s father slammed the base of his staff down onto one of the smaller circles on the carpet. The creature snarled as it lifted up, but it didn’t lunge forward again.

His father pointed the staff at it, and the creature dissolved into a fine mist. The cloud faded away and after a moment, Franklin heard a pop that sounded like a balloon had just been stabbed with a pin.

Franklin felt his mother’s arms slip off of him as she slumped backward. His father dropped his staff to the clatter on the floor as he scooped her up. He headed towards the door without looking back.

The boy sat on the floor, numb and crying, waiting for his father to come back for him.

The candles burnt out, one by one, until he was sitting, alone, in the dark.

Categories: Fantasy, Flash Fiction Tags:

Something wrong with that horse

I don’t know why, but I seem to be in some sort of funk. Two weeks ago, the story I wrote was just sad. I realize that there is a time to write something tear jerking, but I don’t know who would want to read it.

So last week, when it started to shape up that way again, I scrapped my story and wrote a new one.

This week, I wrote a tear jerker of an old yeller variety and shelved it before writing the blurb below. I don’t know why everything is coming out sad. Some psychiatrist somewhere probably does, but I refuse to pay to find out.

Who reads sad and depressing? I may have found my niche if I can find an audience.

Oh well, I decided to post something else. I just don’t think people want to read sad. If you think I am wrong, let me know.

Today’s story is another attempt to get out of the rut with a bang. I hope you enjoy it.

L. E. White


Josh rolled to the left, around the door frame, a second before the shotgun knocked the window out. The glass flew across the room, sharp edges cutting holes in the bags of white powder that sat on the little table.

Josh tried to keep going left, but he slammed his thigh into a table and fell on top of it. His leg went numb, but when the next blast knocked a hole in the wall a little ways in front of him, Josh guessed that tripping had saved his life.

For a few more seconds.

The pan on the next table was filled with crystals, just like the other eleven pans.

Too bad none of these had drugs in them.

When the shooter kicked the door open and peeked inside, Josh was hobbling towards the exit. The guy laughed and Josh heard the shotgun click as his attacker pumped it.

Josh grabbed the pan and turned back to face the door. He held it up in front of him like a shield, praying that the crystals wouldn’t be mistaken for drugs.

The man took aim, and Josh tried to smile as he thought about taking the building with him.