Short Stories
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This story was written for a creative writing class in college. I have wanted to turn it into a short story series for a while now. Jessie crept slowly through the cornfield behind the old farmhouse. She was careful not to alert the hounds standing guard on the porch. At the edge of the field,
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The kettle shrieks as the water inside boils away. I let it scream; the sound echoing through the stone walls of the family estate. It sounds old. Estate. It looks old too, and it is, for an American home. My great-great-grandfather built it in the 20s, after he made his fortune. He was, by all
Alicia Coast 