The Magic of Dark and Hollow Places

He reached to his shoulder. His uncut nails dug into the pulpy mass of muscle and tore downward. A ripping noise stopped every quill. Blood the color of a blind man’s dream flowed down his flayed arm. He took the mass and wrapped it tight around the girl’s head. Muffled screams seeped out, even as the Inked Man’s arm began to repair of its own volition. The girl kicked and clawed and scratched and was still.

Serkers and Sleep

It was dark as earth in the rafters. The rough beams on which I sat were painful, but I stayed still. Minutes later, the outer door opened. I would know her silhouette anywhere, even from above, even stretched and distorted by the angle of the moon; I knew Dipper almost as well as I knew myself. But now I knew her not at all.

Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Magic of Dark and Hollow Places

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You ask how I’m writing this? I found a piece of broken crystal and am scratching the letters into my calf.
From the Archives:
I thought at first my hands would shake. But when I reach to make the incisions, they are calm.