The Inkwell presents: A Coat, a Message

By The Inkwell

Linking these stories are found coats with mysterious messages, what will you find?

Drowning in Fate - A shopkeeper watched a homeless man peruse his wares, and is surprised by what occurs.
Consignment Hell - Kevin goes out shopping to find clothes for his new houseguests...all 7 of the Deadly Sins.
Meaningful Searches - After discovering a coat with a single word in the tag, a woman quests to complete the mysterious message.
Best I've Ever Had - Man finds a suspiciously familiar jacket at a secondhand store.
To Carry On - We meet Jay and his familiar from an upcoming series called Spiritbound.
Déja Vu - A man struggles with memory lapses and other issues and wants to know why.
A Knighton November - A vague light causes a woman to explored the ruined husk of a spaceship.
The Dare - Life imitates art behind the scenes of a reality dating show.
Washing Instructions - Woman comes across a coat just like her grandmother's that she just has to have.
Savior - A man struggling to survive finds out he's made a terrible mistake.
Summon the Sun - Cozy New England town hides a terrible artifact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Inkwell
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005357887

The Inkwell

We are a writing collective founded on Discord that currently includes 20+ writers all helping each other on the climb to completed works.

Book preview

Drowning in Fate

Written by Justin Burrier

The homeless man shoved his way into the shop. Stumbling and sliding, he struggled with the door. To the lone shopkeeper, he appeared to be in a tug of war battle with the door, or perhaps the door with him.

After finally closing the door, victorious, the man cast a glance at his surroundings with humble appraisal. He’d come in seeking shelter from the formidable storm that now sank its talons into the city. Sheets of rain cascaded down, turning the neon lights outside into a shimmering Atlantisesque utopia. 

The man gave a start as the lights flickered, died, then came back on lazily. A hot red Clearance!!! sign to his immediate right reared its head at him, commanding all attention.

As if he were a prophet watching the carefully laid plans of Fate unfurl, the shopkeeper watched the man shuffle forward to the racks of forgotten and unwanted clothing. The well-worn paperback novel he held long forgotten. Now it was a shield as he shamelessly watched the gaunt features of the man light up. The man ran his hand over the shirts, taking in the well-worn buttons. A ghost of a smile, worn thin by life’s atrocities, tugged at his lips as he caressed a lively green shirt.

Lightning pulsated in time with thunder, making both the men glance outside into the torrential malice. Unknown shapes danced over the windows as lightning flitted across the sky a second time. 

The shopkeeper felt a chill run down his spine as the rain took on the illusion of floating upwards. He was sure it was the lightning forming signs mixed with shadows. But maybe it was being alone with the homeless man that made his mind run astray with Lovecraftian fantasies. He saw the city sinking into the ocean it had hugged for near a century. Cthulhu himself, rising up to claim it for his own.

It was these very fantasies that caused him to miss the vagrant's arrival at the discounted coats rack. He had happened upon a pristine pea-coat in a nice gray color. The homeless man had always wanted a pea-coat, for as long as he could recall. Businessmen heading to and from their important meetings wore them day in and day out. It was an item the destitute would never have. He coveted the idea.

Or so he thought, as he glanced at the price tag. The price was way beyond fair and the change weighing his pocket down in a zip lock bag would cover it two times over. 

Startling the shopkeeper, the man croaked out in a raspy, parched voice, Are these cleaned? 

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, bemused at a homeless man's concern of hygiene.

Yes, all our clothing is cleaned before we stock it. There was a nasally annoyance that leaked into his tone. Not that it seemed to matter to the homeless man. Over his already bulky and wet attire, the homeless gentleman started to don the coat. He looked down the coat at the buttons, running a finger over them in wonder and awe. 

He peeked at the interior of the coat and furrowed his brow. Sewn artfully into the interior in red thread was a language unknown to him. Dashes and lines in ways that made him feel strangely unsettled. His eyes widened as a deep, unknown panic settled over him like a phantasmal presence.

The shopkeeper noted his only customer's distress. When the next row of lightning struck and the man gave a shout and fell to the floor, the shopkeeper felt his heart skip a beat. The lights danced, threatening to abandon him. 

Sir, it’s just the storm! the shopkeeper shouted, but the homeless man did not reappear from below the racks. 

Swallowing thickly, the proprietor  willed his feet forward, rounding several racks to where the man had fallen. As he approached the final display the lights abruptly cut off with ominous finality. 

The dark shape of the homeless man stretched out before the shop keep. Sir? he urged, desperation on the edges of his breathless voice. The figure stirred slowly, easing the shopkeeper’s worries ever so slightly. Sir, are you okay?

The homeless man stood up. Silhouetted against the window, darkness embodied him.

To the horror of the shopkeeper, the homeless gentleman spoke in a guttural menacing speech, Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. 

As the last sacrilegious syllable wretched forth, two red pinpoints of light peered back from within the depths of the shadowy face at the now trembling shopkeeper. He emitted a low moan of unbridled, paralyzed fear that spread throughout the pit of his stomach. A sickening wet slithering sound emanated from the vagrant’s face as shadowy tentacles crawled forth from the dark face.

The shop's only employee felt himself shrink under the gaze of this now inhuman entity. Rooted to the spot with a horror so paralyzing it was able to override his primal survivalism. Even as the now transformed man lurched quickly towards him.

With one last crescendo that shook the entire city, the lights flickered back to life, illuminating an empty shop. Devoid of life and anything unusual to the casual eye. Unless you counted an extreme case of dust. That, or the puddle of water on the carpet just far enough from the door to have logically come from outside. As the rain slowed to a serendipitous tempo, the only other sound that could be heard was the soft screeching of metal as a hanger rocked on a rack. The fetching pea-coat of gray wool danced back and forth. Waving to no one in particular. Not yet, at least.

Justin Burrier

We aren’t too sure about the history of this writer. When asked for a comment, we only received a handwritten note:

c' throdog ehye ephainafl'fhtagn ephaii ng c' lllln'gha nilgh'ri

Consignment Hell

Written by M.A. Freeman

The door slammed. Everyone looked up and around. The only person missing was Kevin, who had left some time ago. When Kevin didn’t appear from the entrance way, Greed threw his hands in the air.

Okay, seriously? This dump is haunted. I’m telling you. When the fireplace sputtered and almost went out as if to punctuate his words, Greed gestured to it. See!

Wrath rolled her eyes. Yes, it’s haunted. We’re going to be murdered in our beds, blah blah blah.

You laugh now, but who’s gonna be laughing when a monster is skinning you? Huh? Me, I’m gonna be laughing. And possibly the monster skinning you. Greed wrestled his way to his feet from the sunken and broken-down couch. There’s gotta be something we can do. Envy?

She didn’t even look up from filing her nails. We’re bound as sure as a wart to a witch’s tit. That summoning circle in the basement is rock solid. Has been for generations, from what I can tell.

Gluttony crunched on a Fuego Takis chip and grimaced. Kevin is out of control. This is the only food in the house. How does he exist on these? I’d be proud of his dedication if it wasn’t so sad. I miss Prohibition.

The door slammed again and they all looked up. Greed moaned. No one else is worried about this?

Wrath threw a couple of logs in the fireplace and tried to stoke the flames. Greed just snorted at the sad attempt for warmth. It was always cold in Kevin’s house, and that was saying something as they were beings of Hell. And should have been immune to the cold. Like Kevin was apparently, damn his soul.

Where did Kevin go? Lust strolled in from the kitchen and Pride scowled. Mr. Neat Freak did not like it when her naked