E.B. Holloway
@hollowaycrow.bsky.social
Horror writer, in Wales no less. | Straws - 12 short tales of horror - Autumn 2025. #Horrorlit #Darkfiction #Horrorwriting
The Magpie is one of 12 horror shorts I’ve written that’ll be released in Autumn/the Fall.
There’s a million things to read out there - many will be better, but if you ARE interested - I’ll keep posting here.
#HorrorCommunity #folklorehorror #shorthorror
There’s a million things to read out there - many will be better, but if you ARE interested - I’ll keep posting here.
#HorrorCommunity #folklorehorror #shorthorror
June 27, 2025 at 2:10 PM
The Magpie is one of 12 horror shorts I’ve written that’ll be released in Autumn/the Fall.
There’s a million things to read out there - many will be better, but if you ARE interested - I’ll keep posting here.
#HorrorCommunity #folklorehorror #shorthorror
There’s a million things to read out there - many will be better, but if you ARE interested - I’ll keep posting here.
#HorrorCommunity #folklorehorror #shorthorror
This morning the magpie didn’t come.
She did.
Her eyes were black.
She did.
Her eyes were black.
June 27, 2025 at 2:10 PM
This morning the magpie didn’t come.
She did.
Her eyes were black.
She did.
Her eyes were black.
They got worse, the dreams.
Cold stone. Clawed branches. Flap of frantic wings.
The same word always whispered.
“Remember.”
Cold stone. Clawed branches. Flap of frantic wings.
The same word always whispered.
“Remember.”
June 27, 2025 at 2:09 PM
They got worse, the dreams.
Cold stone. Clawed branches. Flap of frantic wings.
The same word always whispered.
“Remember.”
Cold stone. Clawed branches. Flap of frantic wings.
The same word always whispered.
“Remember.”
“You’re not being gifted,” she said, “you’re being marked.”
I said that was impossible.
She asked if I’d had the dreams.
I lied.
I said that was impossible.
She asked if I’d had the dreams.
I lied.
June 27, 2025 at 2:09 PM
“You’re not being gifted,” she said, “you’re being marked.”
I said that was impossible.
She asked if I’d had the dreams.
I lied.
I said that was impossible.
She asked if I’d had the dreams.
I lied.
The bird came every morning at seven.
Black eyes, white chest, tapping the window, testing.
I tossed it crusts. It bowed.
It brought me a ring the next day.
Then a tooth.
Black eyes, white chest, tapping the window, testing.
I tossed it crusts. It bowed.
It brought me a ring the next day.
Then a tooth.
June 27, 2025 at 1:16 PM
The bird came every morning at seven.
Black eyes, white chest, tapping the window, testing.
I tossed it crusts. It bowed.
It brought me a ring the next day.
Then a tooth.
Black eyes, white chest, tapping the window, testing.
I tossed it crusts. It bowed.
It brought me a ring the next day.
Then a tooth.