Alexander Richter

Carpe Diem!

December 10th, 2020

Under the guidance of burning wax, I’m wandering the narrow hallways of a castle. I see oil paintings of people lost forgotten— of people who ruled this stone keep long ago. My feet take me to the north hallway where I am forbidden to be. A desolate maple door separates my candlelight from what’s beyond. I can’t help myself. I turn the cold brass knob listening to the creaks in the floorboards beneath me. They’re warning me not to proceed. But I must. I have to. I’ve spent far too long imagining what lies inside but when the doorway opens, I see it. Sitting in the corner of the room right where I saw it in my dreams. A wardrobe like the one from Lewis’ children’s classic. Full of delight to see the country inside, I entered the wooden box and walk to the back like Lucy first did, but wood touches my fingertips. This isn’t meant to happen. Time passes as I search aimlessly through the dark. There is nothing. I step out of the wardrobe. Defeated. But before I have the time to reason, I notice I am not in the same castle I was before. No. This is different. I’m in a room stacked high with things that look out of sorts. There are mountains of books along with antique furniture stacked ornately high above me. A room of junk. A velvet case catches my eye. There are markings around the lid. They’re in another language. Elvish. My heart tells me. I lift the lid and find a single golden ring inside. It’s hung around a silver chain. Could this be? I slip the ring on my index finger and feel myself disappear from the room of odd things. And I find myself wandering back inside the caste with my burning wax, sleepwalking into another world.
Halloween Short Story: Mysteries from the Past

October 30th, 2020

“Tonight’s gonna be a wild one,” Jessica said from the top of my cubicle. “The full moon makes everyone a bit looney and it’s Halloween. Spooky, eh?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Jessica was the superstitious kind of person. She read horoscopes, dabbled in palm reading, and believed in bad luck often burdening office conversations with it. I was skeptical. Truthfully, I thought she had a screw loose or something. “Another day like the rest,” I replied whilst collecting my things to my flat on the other side of town. From there, I took a cab to the subway station and then hopped on a train where I’d walk through Hathaway Park to reach my flat. It was a daunting commute. Perhaps one day I could afford a car.

After exiting the station, I entered Hathway Park on the final stretch home. There were ravens perched with bloodied eyes to welcome me. I averted my eyes elsewhere but then I heard a cough to my side. I fictitiously began sorting through the bushes– a few homeless men were attempting to keep warm from the October chills. It’s nothing. I told myself. But the lamppost above flickered like a dying firefly. The bulb must be going out. Then I saw a pair of crimson eyes staring at me through the dark. A cat. The park was ladened with them. No surprise.

My eyes darted upwards, cursing. The moon was full just like Jessica cleverly prophesied. A coincidence merely. These sorts of things do go hand in hand. I wouldn’t allow superstition to play tricks on me. Halloween was a joke after all.

I proceeded by the moon’s courtesy, but then I heard a wailing noise echoing from the otherside of the park. It caught me off guard and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up in alertness.

“HELP!” they screamed.

I started in a jog and broke off into a run. I didn’t know if my legs were leading me to the safety of my flat or straight into the mouth of danger. I found myself deeper into the timber than I’d wanted, surrounded by mindlessness. That’s when I saw it. A woman knelt over, floating above the sticks. I could only faintly see her. She was sobbing over the body of a man.

“What’s happened?” I asked anxiously, taking no note of the abnormality.

“He’s dead,” she whimpered tearfully. “It was an accident– an accident I swear. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

My eyes welled up uncontrollably. I was shocked. Paralized. I knew who he was.

“Please, don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my life. I’m only a child.”

I was gazing into a mirror. A lost memory from my past. She was me ten years ago. I’d forgotten entirely about it. My mind had purged it from my brain. But here I was. Hathaway Park had twisted into the depths of my darkest nightmare. I wondered if I could make it out alive. One more time…

Writers

September 16th, 2020

Paperbacks, Hardbacks, and eBooks. 
Their white pages remind us,
of the person in the mirror, 
before a few words changed our very lives.

You find escapism in the printed.
What a profound impact ideas can have on us all,
whether they be fictional or reality. 
To books, they are everything.
The taste of a fresh baked peach pie, 
or the way the snow flurries in the winter.

Writers have a responsibility.
We entrust in them without knowing,
and in moments of darkness,
we lean on them without permission.
How impolite of us all?

To the many, I say thanks.
To myself, I smile awkwardly.
The world is a far better place with writers,
whether you wish to argue or not.
They transform our hearts, 
and leave them,
more whimsical than before.

Carpe Diem!

Halloween Short Story: Mysteries from the Past

Writers