Author has written 8 stories for General, Fantasy, and Historical.

I'm using this site as an outlet, just to get input on my writing from people I don't know. Letting my friends judge my stuff just doesn't work for me. Please review, even if you don't like it. I need the advice. :)

Something about my name:

The cold night air freezes you to the bone. It is not the cold you feel in winter, it is the chill you feel in death. The silvery moonlight illuminates the ground, but only serves to deepen and accentuate the shadows. As you step toward the grave, a strand of hair blows softly against your face, like the gentle caress of a hand. You look over your shoulder, a feeling growing that something is watching you. You near the grave. In the distance a wolf howls. The eerie echo sending a tingling down your spine, much like the crawling of tiny spiders. You shiver, but continue to walk forward. The gravestone is small; lit from behind by the moonlight. You can see writing on the stone, but are not close enough to read it. You hear the trees rustle, see shadows lurking. Your eyes dart from side to side anxiously. You tell yourself to calm, not even comprehending the words in your fear-frozen mind. Another breeze picks up, stirring the withered leaves at your feet. You are getting closer, ever closer to the grave. You reach the mound of freshly shoveled earth and stop. One single tear slides down your cheek, not in sadness but in fear, as you slowly drop one item onto the grave. A single, blackened rose. You shudder suddenly, and your teeth begin to chatter. Then you feel a hand on your shoulder. It grips you as tightly as a vice. It's touch is colder than the frigid night air. You slowly turn, terrified at the thought of what you might see. You stare at the ground, shaking uncontrollably. When you finally turn your body all the way, you look up and see it standing there; just as you saw it in your dreams. Or rather, nightmares. The black armor does not shine in the moonlight. Its spiny carapace soaks up every glimmer. The creature is staring into your soul, drawing out your inner terrors. You can smell its stench, the rank of decaying of flesh. Its eyes are fathomless chasms; they go on forever, and you see yourself falling into them. Your heart wrenches at the thought of being trapped in that space...that, void of nothingness. You want to run, but are utterly ensnared by this being. It is a fiend of the imagination, a horror from beyond, the shadow that was always hovering in your mind. It is...the Vrykyl.