Harlan Covington

March sun peeked through the curtains, casting warm beams on the freshly painted walls. Emily stood by

Anna was pacing the kitchen, her knuckles rapping nervously against the countertop. “Are you mad?

The mist lay thick over the river like a fine muslin curtain. Margaret Thompson sat on the porch steps

Simon was gone, and she only smiled. “God, I’m so sick of this!” Simon paced the kitchen

– I won’t let you do this, Margaret! Not without my corpse blocking the way! – my mother bellowed, stepping

Diary Entry, 10th April I still love him. He—loved my best friend. Margaret Whitcombe stood by the window

Everything was perfect until she returned “What are you doing here?” Emily nearly dropped

Clara and the Unseen Father Clara never hated her stepfather, but she certainly didn’t like him.

Late at night, my phone rang. I answered it to hear my daughter’s voice. “Mom, it’s me, Emily.

Long ago, when the northern moors held a stillness even the hares respected and the heather throbbed