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Aaron Morrison
Bio
Writer. Artist. I write horror primarily, but dabble in other genres here and there.
Influenced by Poe, Hawthorne, Ligotti, John Carpenter, and others.
Everyone has a story to tell.
Author of Miscellany Farrago
instagram: @theaaronmorrison
Stories (47/0)
CHRISTMAS WITH JERRY
Jerry arranged the decorations just so. A cherished mix of family ornaments, knickknacks, and adornments he had collected over the years. Snow globes and tin soldiers on the mantel. Garland and a nutcracker on the end table. A motorized Santa, who had long lost his naughty or nice list, in the corner. Jerry’s eyes lit up and a childlike smile appeared on his face as he switched on the toy train and it began its cycle around the Christmas tree. Dozens of other ornaments, decorations, and trinkets looked on as Jerry all but skipped to his keyboards. He preferred an actual organ, but that was too impractical. Jerry had worked the dual keyboard setup just as well. The extra control over the sound, as well as the portability, had appealed to Jerry. Though it had meant purchasing stands, foot pedals, cables, amps, and the like, he had never regretted the decision.
By Aaron Morrison7 months ago in Horror
PROTZFALIA
“How are you feeling?” “Like shit.” I took another drag off the cigarette. The crackling of the burning paper and tobacco flitted around the otherwise silent night air as the pulse of heat warmed my fingers. I held the smoke I knew was bad for me in my lungs for a moment, then expelled the cloud through my nose.
By Aaron Morrison9 months ago in Fiction
Ms. Abbott. Top Story - October 2023.
It was the height of summer when even the evening winds blow warm and don’t offer much relief. We’d distract ourselves from the heat by runnin’ and hollerin’ like untamed creatures. We’d try and cool off with sips of lemonade our Mas made, and sips of beer offered by our Pas, when our Mas weren’t looking of course.
By Aaron Morrison9 months ago in Fiction
CELATUS DIABOLI
Eliza had to have it. As soon as she saw it, she knew it was the one. Pristine. Silken. Glistening like fine, soft strands of obsidian. It looked more beautiful than any piece of jewelry Eliza had ever seen— and this adornment, at least to her, was more valuable. It wasn’t that Eliza was a particularly vain person. At first, in fact, she had been mostly uncomfortable with the idea of purchasing a wig.
By Aaron Morrison12 months ago in Horror
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