The Omniscrolls

Growing up, my parents often pushed me to follow their footsteps and become a doctor. My elder brother was fine with it, but that’s not what I wanted. Even if I did, I didn’t have the talent for it. Science was the bane of my existence; I couldn’t retain any information no matter how hard I tried. I would have preferred a career in either art or writing, but no, they always dismissed those ideas. By the time I reached my final school year, things were looking bleak: I was constantly hearing complaints from my parents about how bad my Science grades were that it even affected the grades of the subjects I was good at. One night, I overheard my parents talking about me in the living room. I got out of bed to grab some water, but they made me wish I had never woken up at all. “Simone, just what are we to do with Sherry? At the rate she’s going, she won’t even be able to become a nurse.” “I don’t know, Clyde. Maybe we’ll have to get her to redo this year’s work.” Hearing those words was dev

Hi, everyone. My first book in the Shadow of Death trilogy, The Shadow of Death: Trails of Blood , is available on Amazon again:   https://www.amazon.com/dp/ B0CKTWMCQN/ You can also check out my horror short story collection, Malisons & Shadows , which is also on Amazon:   www.amazon.com/Malisons- Shadows-Sharon-Jansen-ebook/ dp/B0CJ5SMJXW/ Cheers, Sharon

Growing up on the streets as a child, I did what I had to survive. Sometimes that meant taking things that weren’t mine. Life was harsh and death was indifferent, so I had no other choice. I may have not been good at it at first, but once I discovered my abilities, I was unstoppable; I easily slipped under the radar of the police every time I took on a new job. After all, who could hunt a faceless girl? My being a shapeshifter was a blessing in the long run. I accumulated enough wealth and started my own business, but although I was happy and stable, I was still not satisfied. That thrill of being on the run… I began to miss it more and more as time passed by. And so, I returned to my roots, but stepped up my game. I already had enough wealth, so I switched to stealing rare artefacts instead. I struck several museums and stole many a relic, from stone tablets to jewellery, and even some rare and bizarre weapons. I even bought a separate mansion just to house all the rare antiquities I

I woke up late yet again. It was the third day in a row I had to endure extra sleep after I moved back into my childhood home following my mom’s passing. I didn’t want to walk by the dressing table mirror in the morning, not after seeing the writings that would show up on it every time I woke up. There were no signs of forced entry, and nothing was even stolen. It felt like a sick prank. Someone was sneaking into my house just to write “Good morning, Ariel” on my mirror. I didn’t know what to make of it. I informed the police about it, but that got me nowhere, so I did the next best thing: I bought a camera and hid it inside a soft toy to catch the culprit in the act. But what I thought would give me answers only raised more questions: there was no culprit—the letters were forming on the mirror all by themselves. What was I supposed to do with the footage? No one would believe it to be true. I buried myself in work to avoid the paranormal issue that plagued my house; it was the only th

I was tired. Tired of the repeated issues that plagued my family for as long as I could remember. My parents always fought, and my dad would often leave the house for weeks if not months. I was too little to remember what their arguments were about, but I remember my elder brother, Tom, being angry with Mom over Dad always leaving. One day, Dad left and never came back. I was ten at the time. Tom was the next to leave; he joined the Navy just five years later, as soon as he turned eighteen. I was left alone with Mom, who fell ill the very next year. It was cancer. She fought hard for five long years, but it eventually got the best of her. It has been a year since Mom passed, and I am left with scars that have barely healed over time. Tom and I rarely talk, and neither of us have a clue of Dad’s whereabouts, or even if he were alive or not. Whenever I tried to ask Mom about him, she would always say it was best I knew nothing about him. She said I’d be safer the further he was away from

I was preparing for my night job behind the bar when a man walked inside while we were still closed. He looked more worn-out than I did. “How did you get in? That door was locked.” “No, it wasn’t. I just pushed it open.” “Either way, we have another twenty minutes to open.” The man sighed. “It’s just twenty minutes. Can I just grab a quick drink, please? It has been a long day.” I felt bad for him. “What do you want?” I poured the man some whiskey. He downed it in one gulp and asked for another. He did the same again. “You might want to slow down there. I can’t have you passing out on opening time.” The man chuckled, his eyes fixed on the shot glass he grasped. “I don’t get drunk. I hate it here.” “Here?” He sighed before placing the glass on the counter and turning to me. “Earth. I don’t know how you do it, Tetraxa.” I moved back from the counter and started to muster my magic. “Easy there, I’m not looking for trouble,” he said, raising his arms. “Who—what are you?” The man smiled. “Z