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, ON: 1953 The city bus threw its occupants against one another in unison. Heads lolled on shoulders as some fought the motion to stay awake. The metal fan mounted above the exit doors had developed a small tick that did nothing to sooth the air of exhausted tension in the small space. Perfume and cologne fought a losing battle against some of the more animal smells the human body could produce. A woman in red high heels almost lost her footing before a man in a fe

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

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