Cover art for The Conduit, a new horror story featured in the Ink & Shadows Blog. Pointe au Baril, 2023 Dean watched her creep toward that shitty little townhouse. He drowsed. Alarms in his head blared he was sending his baby off to the gallows. How can you just sit there while she goes in? He tried to lift his head. He listened. The whispering started quietly. They sounded like a man’s voice until he really tried to focus on them. The tone would shift and evade him compreh

North Bay, 2023. It took most of the trip out to her dad’s place, but around Laurier Garden Centre the crowd on the bus thinned out enough for Lori to find a seat at the back. Mercifully, the fan blew tepid air against her blazing hot skin. She rubbed her eyes, shifting the reusable bag from the seat next to her to between her legs as a heavy-set man in a suit wedged his way into it, nodding appreciatively to her while he dabbed his forehead with a folded handkerchief. Lor

No rth Bay, ON: 2023 Tiffany Sellers raced down the street calling after the last bus that would take her home. She waved her hands trying hard to hold on to the loose leaf sheets that threatened to leave her grasp in the wake of exhaust fumes. The bus gained speed and an errant Ruffles bag tumbled down the sidewalk. She slowed, her flip flops slapping the pavement as her hope for getting home on time merged with afternoon traffic. “Ah shit,” she said, doubling over to catc

Sunset speared the horizon as Nelson Lancaster stumbled through loose shale. The blood red orb was a constant compass pushing him...

Horace Franklin is a sick man, and he's about to get away with murder Subscribers to my newsletter will receive sneak peeks of the chapters before they hit the blog. They will also get bonus content that will not be available anywhere else. You should be prompted to submit your email to receive the newsletter when you enter the blog post section of my website. If you missed that and want to be a part of the subscribers that get early access and bonus content including exclusi

I took an ice bath yesterday. I watched the tub fill, and didn't want to do it. I dumped the ice in, and didn't want to do it. I stripped down and stepped in, still didn't want to do it. But I did it. After the ice melted and the tub was drained I felt amazing. I was happy I did it. Writing for me works the same way. I know it's good for me, but the lead up to it (and sometimes the actual act itself) makes it seem like I could do literally anything else and feel just as accom

This chapter contains graphic subject mater, reader discretion is advised Heat shimmered off the blacktop as Helena made her way down...

I’ve always shied away from writing characters that weren’t, on some level, related to me. What I mean by this is any character that wasn’t a straight white male. I learned quickly that this leads to very one dimensional stories (or worse, retelling the same story just repackaged.) I realised that writing diverse characters is not only essential to my success as a writer, but it’s crucial to my actual growth as an author. But I was faced with a daunting question: what gives

The trees enveloped Tyson as he climbed the hill like he was walking into a great green maw. He watched as tan coloured moths flitted...

When Tyson woke up the darkness seemed alive. Shapes formed and dissolved in the darkness and for a moment he felt like there was someone...

“Your unit is dead Tyson, suicide.” Humphry’s tone softened a note at the last bit, an honest attempt at sympathy.