Hello Readers,
Here’s another sample of my work for the 10% Club series of posts, I give you a few morsels of The Cold and the Dead, a short horror story with a setting akin to the western frontier.
The Cold and the Dead by Allan Walsh
Macey perched on the edge of her old rusty bed, wind howling through the cracked window, snowflakes blasting through the gaps of the wooden shutters as they clattered in their frames. A fire roared in the stone hearth, sending embers swirling up the chimney. A cold draught blew across Macey’s brow, breathing life into the flames, making them flare up in an angry dance. The bed creaked as she nudged herself forwards, closer to the warmth. She looked across at her father snuggled down into the threadbare cushions of the faded couch beside her. The golden glow of the fire flickered on his weathered skin, the incandescent light setting his hair shimmering.
“What you fidgeting for?” her pa asked.
“I’m cold, hungry, and bored, Pa. Seems winter don’t want to let up. It’s bad enough being cooped up on this here farm without being stuck inside for days on end ‘cause of a storm.”
“It’ll pass soon enough,” he said pushing himself up from the couch. He lifted the iron lid from the pot on the fire and scraped a ladle of broth into a bowl.”
“Here’s your soup,” he said, offering her a bowl, steam wafting from its brim. Macey took it, and held the soup under her nose, breathing in the rich aroma. She felt her mouth watering.
“That’s the last of the rations, should help a little with your hunger, but best take your time to savour it,” her pa said. He looked past her to the window.
“I told you not to sell all the cattle.”
“If that wolf didn’t get the chickens we’d have been alright. Let’s hope this weather breaks soon so I can go into town and get supplies.”
A howling wind caught the window shutters, slamming them hard against their bracing, giving Macey’s father a start.
“It’s alright Pa,” Macey said with a smile, “You built this home with your own two hands. We’ll be safe enough from the storm tonight.”
“It’s the worst one I ever saw, love.”
“Worse than the winter Ma died?” she asked running her finger around the rim of her bowl. Through the corner of her eye she noticed her pa peer over at her, then look down at the floor.
“Ah, you remind me so much of her at times. You’ve got the same brown eyes. Eyes that sparkle like a river in the moonlight when you smile.”
Macey took a sip of her broth. “I wish I’d known her better, Pa.”
“So do I, love… So do I. She’ll always be part of you though, you know that well as I do.” The sound of the wind and the crackle of the fire faded away as Macey stared into the steaming bowl of soup. She looked up at her pa.
“What was she like? I mean… what was she really like?”
If you enjoyed this sample of my writing, please share it with your friends.
Allan Walsh writes Fantasy and Horror. If you’re looking for something new to read in these genres, why not check out his books here. You can also find his titles available in some libraries.
