by Walker Watson In a cemetery, hemmed in by trees that grew like knotted bones and branches that clawed at a light that never fully came, there lingered a thing the villagers dared not name. They called it, when they had to: the Grave Eater. It was said the creature…
by Perle Besserman First: What I love most about writing is being visited by characters who invite themselves onto the stage of my mind (or heart, or imagination, or dream life, or whatever you choose to call that place that is no actual “place” but is more real than the…