A Few Reflections at the End of a Year

Over the past few weeks, as I've been cleaning and shopping and wrapping and caretaking and stressing--par for the course around December--there have been a number of times I've wanted to sit down and write a blog post, but I just haven't had the time. And now that I have a handful of minutes, there …

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Flash Fiction Saturday: The Rise of Agoraphobia

My newest piece of flash fiction, originally posted over at Stitched Smile Publications. Enjoy.

Stitched Smile Publications

I look over the order and click “confirm.” Rocking back in my chair, I can’t help but feel sick. I’ve never ordered groceries online before. Why would I, with at least five grocery chains within ten miles of my home and a personally owned market two blocks away?

I was on my way out, keys in hand and about to turn the knob when I stopped, swamped by an overwhelming wave of dread, and I realized I couldn’t go out. Not today.

Not now.

I’ve been watching the news, of course. Who hasn’t? I know about the attacks. Recent events have changed everything, and no one is safe. Neighbors who have peacefully lived side by side for decades are now mortal enemies. Families are being ripped apart. Everyone thinks they know the best way to handle the descending chaos, and anyone who disagrees is no more than an obstacle to…

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Horror Humpday: Phobia

A short, creepy piece of poetry for your pleasure.

Stitched Smile Publications


Breath hitches.

Chest clinches.

A bitter chill sets in.

Eight hairy legs

carry eight evil eyes

as it scurries

and scuttles

and sidles closer.

Cold sweat beads

then weeps,

trickling along icy skin,

and the scream is caught,

cut off,

as terror engulfs.

Heart races.

Horror chases

the spider in its wake

as it knowingly creeps

along flesh

steeped in fear.

Breath ceases.

Blood decreases

as essence slips away,

retreating from the

lifeless shell

which is all that remains

of a phobic hell.

~~Briana Robertson, Author, Stitched Smile Publications


Briana Robertson is an emerging speculative fiction author, working primarily within the genres of horror and fantasy. Her love of authors such as Stephen King, Shirley Jackson, Patrick Rothfuss, and J.K. Rowling has developed her own need to put pen to paper. Her short stories have been published in several anthologies, and broadcast on online podcasts. Her debut novel is in the…

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Flash Fiction Saturday: Here Comes Santa Claus

Santa’s coming a little early this year, and he’s got an axe to grind.

Stitched Smile Publications

santaclausJim glared at the house on the hill. Smoldering cigarette in hand, he studied the couple through the window. Only silhouettes, but still, he knew they were slouched on the couch, raising bottles of Bud to their lips. His ex and that lousy motherfucker, Joey. Suzanne’s current live-in boyfriend.

There should have been a third figure. Smaller. Delicate. Crouched on her knees in front of the tree, shaking wrapped packages close to her ear. But Jenna wasn’t there this year. His loveable pixie of a six-year-old was now six feet under. Tucked snugly into bed at the West Pointe Cemetery.

His mood already black, Jim flicked the cigarette, nothing more than a butt and ashes, into the shadows. Reaching into the bed of his pickup, red as Rudolph’s goddamn nose, he pulled out the axe and ran his finger carefully, caressingly along the blade’s edge.

The prosecutor had tried his…

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Flash Fiction Saturday: He Came Home

Take a look at my new short story, “He Came Home,” originally posted on the Stitched Smile Publications blog for Flash Fiction Saturday!

Stitched Smile Publications

We both knew he was going to sit up. Lord knows, we’d sat in my living room time and again, lights off, knees up to our chests, watching Michael Myers slice and dice the babysitters and their boyfriends. More times than I could count. So we knew. Of course we knew. Still, when he did rise, then slowly turn his head to stare at Jamie Lee Curtis, we both squealed.

“Get up, get up, get up!” I muttered the phrase under my breath with pressing urgency. As if she could hear me. As if it would make any difference. Even now, knowing what would happen, I almost believed if I said it enough times, the sequence of events might change.

“He’s coming, Laurie, oh my God, he’s coming! Get up. Get up. Move, dammit!” My best friend Rachel clapped her hands over her mouth; whether it was because she’d cursed–which…

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