Intriguing... it's very good! You wrote just enough to tell the story, but left out just enough to keep it bubbling in the back of the reader's imagination. Great micro!
Hello, Jeannine! That is the kind of feedback that warms an old gnome’s heart.
I firmly believe that the best stories aren’t the ones that hand you every detail on a silver platter, but rather the ones that leave gaps—little spaces where the reader’s own imagination can slip in and make itself uncomfortably at home. After all, what lurks in the shadows of the mind is often far more unsettling than anything I could spell out outright.
I’m thrilled that you found the balance just right—the enough and the not enough. That’s where the magic happens, isn’t it?
Thank you for your kind words! They mean more than you know.
Jaime, this was so damn good. Wow. You had all the ingredients for a horror story, but instead of going for the obvious, you took a different route—one that messes with the mind way more. That eerie, creeping familiarity? The way memory and identity start slipping through his fingers? That hit so perfectly.
And the details! The grooves in the couch, the weight of an unread letter—so subtle but packed with tension. Then that final moment? The voice not coming from the stairs but from a photograph? ‘chacho. That was next-level.
This is the kind of story that sits with you, making you wonder how much of yourself lingers in the places you’ve left behind. And whether “home” is a place, a memory, or something waiting to pull you back in. I surely thought of all my “homes” in the past and wondered if the energy left behind has brought darkness to the new inhabitants or love and light.
Well now, Kristie, I must say—your words are not only deeply appreciated but, dare I say, exceptionally insightful. It’s not often that a reader not only engages with a story but dissects its essence so eloquently.
You caught precisely what I aimed for—not just a tale to read but one to unsettle, to linger in the mind like a half-forgotten dream. Horror, in its purest form, isn’t about the grotesque or the gory. It’s about that creeping uncertainty, that whisper in the back of your mind that suggests something is not quite as it should be. Memory, identity, place—these are not just concepts but shifting tides, and you, dear reader, have seen the waves for what they are.
And that final moment? Ah! The photograph. I must admit, that was one of my favorite pieces to tinker with—twisting perception until the familiar becomes uncannily foreign.
Your thoughts on what we leave behind—whether it be light, love, or something…else—now that is a question worth pondering. Do places remember us? Do we haunt the spaces we’ve called home? I don’t have all the answers, but it pleases me to no end that my words led you to ask.
Your praise is an honor, Kristie. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
A simple statement, yet brimming with appreciation—and trust me, for a writer, those words carry weight. It means the story struck the right chord, made its mark, and perhaps even lingers a little in the back of your mind.
And that? That is the highest compliment I could ask for.
That was incredible!! It pulled me right in, but I, instead of imagining a horror story, pictured a happy ending, and a bran new beginning of something great.
I look forward to a positive, uplifting, and enthralling story of hope, and challenge, and victory, which you are so good at telling.
Hyrum, my friend, I must say—I love the way your mind works. It’s a rare thing to take a story steeped in uncertainty and see not just the shadows, but the light peeking through them. That speaks volumes about the kind of reader—and the kind of person—you are.
And yet… I find myself deeply curious.
Why is it, I wonder, that everyone seems so quick to assume that Jaime wrote this story? Have I, Höbin Luckyfeller—adventurer, historian, storyteller—not proven myself worthy of a good spine-tingler now and again? Is it because of my reputation with research? My endless love for gnomish engineering? Or perhaps it’s that people don’t expect an optimist to wade into the eerie and unsettling?
Fascinating. Truly fascinating.
But back to your thoughts—because I find them quite refreshing. The idea of this being the beginning rather than the end? That’s a perspective I’d love to explore further. After all, isn’t that what the best stories do? They give us possibility.
And you, Hyrum, seem to have a keen eye for it. That’s something I admire.
Thank you for your kind words—and, should I take this tale in a new direction, know that your insight will be rattling around in my head the whole way!
My sincere apologies, Hobin. I did not mean to discredit your amazing, and brilliant mind, and abilities.
I guess the most simple exclamation is that I picture both you, and my dear friend Jaime, as co-colaborators in this wonderful story, and I get so caught up in excitement, and enthusiasm that the wrong name jumps out of my brain, at the wrong time. Or perhaps it is the right time?
Perhaps I simply quantify greatness, of this sort, together.
Again, please accept my apologies, and I look forward to hearing from you again, soon.
Intriguing... it's very good! You wrote just enough to tell the story, but left out just enough to keep it bubbling in the back of the reader's imagination. Great micro!
Hello, Jeannine! That is the kind of feedback that warms an old gnome’s heart.
I firmly believe that the best stories aren’t the ones that hand you every detail on a silver platter, but rather the ones that leave gaps—little spaces where the reader’s own imagination can slip in and make itself uncomfortably at home. After all, what lurks in the shadows of the mind is often far more unsettling than anything I could spell out outright.
I’m thrilled that you found the balance just right—the enough and the not enough. That’s where the magic happens, isn’t it?
Thank you for your kind words! They mean more than you know.
Jaime, this was so damn good. Wow. You had all the ingredients for a horror story, but instead of going for the obvious, you took a different route—one that messes with the mind way more. That eerie, creeping familiarity? The way memory and identity start slipping through his fingers? That hit so perfectly.
And the details! The grooves in the couch, the weight of an unread letter—so subtle but packed with tension. Then that final moment? The voice not coming from the stairs but from a photograph? ‘chacho. That was next-level.
This is the kind of story that sits with you, making you wonder how much of yourself lingers in the places you’ve left behind. And whether “home” is a place, a memory, or something waiting to pull you back in. I surely thought of all my “homes” in the past and wondered if the energy left behind has brought darkness to the new inhabitants or love and light.
Absolutely brilliant.
But....that was Hobin.
.....
...right, note to self: Step it up...you're being outdone by a gnome.
Oops! 🤣
Well now, Kristie, I must say—your words are not only deeply appreciated but, dare I say, exceptionally insightful. It’s not often that a reader not only engages with a story but dissects its essence so eloquently.
You caught precisely what I aimed for—not just a tale to read but one to unsettle, to linger in the mind like a half-forgotten dream. Horror, in its purest form, isn’t about the grotesque or the gory. It’s about that creeping uncertainty, that whisper in the back of your mind that suggests something is not quite as it should be. Memory, identity, place—these are not just concepts but shifting tides, and you, dear reader, have seen the waves for what they are.
And that final moment? Ah! The photograph. I must admit, that was one of my favorite pieces to tinker with—twisting perception until the familiar becomes uncannily foreign.
Your thoughts on what we leave behind—whether it be light, love, or something…else—now that is a question worth pondering. Do places remember us? Do we haunt the spaces we’ve called home? I don’t have all the answers, but it pleases me to no end that my words led you to ask.
Your praise is an honor, Kristie. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
love this
Stephanie, you are too kind!
A simple statement, yet brimming with appreciation—and trust me, for a writer, those words carry weight. It means the story struck the right chord, made its mark, and perhaps even lingers a little in the back of your mind.
And that? That is the highest compliment I could ask for.
Thank you, truly!
That was incredible!! It pulled me right in, but I, instead of imagining a horror story, pictured a happy ending, and a bran new beginning of something great.
I look forward to a positive, uplifting, and enthralling story of hope, and challenge, and victory, which you are so good at telling.
Thanks Jaime.
You made my day, Hyrum.
I'll say it again though...it was Hobin, not me. 😉
Hyrum, my friend, I must say—I love the way your mind works. It’s a rare thing to take a story steeped in uncertainty and see not just the shadows, but the light peeking through them. That speaks volumes about the kind of reader—and the kind of person—you are.
And yet… I find myself deeply curious.
Why is it, I wonder, that everyone seems so quick to assume that Jaime wrote this story? Have I, Höbin Luckyfeller—adventurer, historian, storyteller—not proven myself worthy of a good spine-tingler now and again? Is it because of my reputation with research? My endless love for gnomish engineering? Or perhaps it’s that people don’t expect an optimist to wade into the eerie and unsettling?
Fascinating. Truly fascinating.
But back to your thoughts—because I find them quite refreshing. The idea of this being the beginning rather than the end? That’s a perspective I’d love to explore further. After all, isn’t that what the best stories do? They give us possibility.
And you, Hyrum, seem to have a keen eye for it. That’s something I admire.
Thank you for your kind words—and, should I take this tale in a new direction, know that your insight will be rattling around in my head the whole way!
My sincere apologies, Hobin. I did not mean to discredit your amazing, and brilliant mind, and abilities.
I guess the most simple exclamation is that I picture both you, and my dear friend Jaime, as co-colaborators in this wonderful story, and I get so caught up in excitement, and enthusiasm that the wrong name jumps out of my brain, at the wrong time. Or perhaps it is the right time?
Perhaps I simply quantify greatness, of this sort, together.
Again, please accept my apologies, and I look forward to hearing from you again, soon.
Oooo… spine shivering! 🥶