Bringing Bright Ideas to Life:  My Flash

Nova Scotia, 1933 Chapter 1 The first snow came early that year, soft and steady, as if the sky had decided to wrap our little cove in a blanket before anyone else in the world. I remember pressing my face against the frost-rimmed window, tracing stars into the glass while my breath fogged the pane. The wind had the sound of an empty stomach — hollow and hungry — and somewhere in the kitchen, I could hear my mother humming over a pot that didn’t smell like much. We lived in a

Snow fell over the town in great, slow spirals, each flake catching lamplight and fracturing it into tiny, trembling rainbows. The town seemed alive, folding and unfolding like delicate origami beneath the weight of winter. The air smelled of pine and smoke, with a faint, sweet tang that made my chest ache—a memory I could not place, as if it belonged to someone else. I had meant to be home for Christmas Eve, yet the streets bent under my feet, twisting into crooked lanes I b

A Sequel to “The Whispering Lace of Widow Briarvale”By An Anonymous Lady “The eyes follow still, though the hand that painted them is long dead.” — From the notebook of Inspector L. Corbyn, 1890. ❧ Published in The London Penny Gazette , November 7th, 1889 Price One Penny CHAPTER I The House Reopened [Editor’s Note: The following is taken from the recovered journal of Inspector Leonard Corbyn, assigned to the peculiar case of Mrs. Eleanor Briarvale, deceased.] When I first en