Writing Prompts: Weird Fiction

By Micah Castle

Weird fiction stories inspired by writing prompts, originally posted on www.micahcastle.com, and now gathered into a collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Micah Castle
• Release date: Apr 17, 2021

Micah Castle

Micah Castle is a weird fiction and horror writer. His stories have appeared in various magazines, websites, and anthologies, and has three collections currently out.While away from the keyboard, he enjoys spending time with his wife, aimlessly spending hours hiking through the woods, playing with his animals, and can typically be found reading a book somewhere in his Pennsylvania home.

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Writing Prompts

Weird Fiction

by Micah Castle

Copyright © 2021 by Micah Castle. All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Book artwork, graphic design, and lettering by Jesse Daughtery.

First Published Digitally, 2021

Table of Contents

Shifting Passageways — 4

A Room, the Viewer, the Man — 10

Through Fire There's Rebirth — 13

Waking from One World to Another — 17

The Cure of the Moon — 19

The Stars on the Inside — 21

The Hidden Black Depths — 24

Acknowledgements — 25

Writing Prompt #13 — Shifting Passageways

Prompt: You know your town is old, you just didn't know how old until a hurricane rips through it. An ancient tree is ripped from your backyard, revealing a door in the ground where it once was.

My home was no longer a place I could call mine. I kept my tears at bay as I made my way through the piles of torn and bloated books, broken artifacts, and framed awards, and out onto the back porch. A hole was ripped out of the grass, where the oak tree I spent most of my childhood under once stood. There weren’t any signs of dirt. That's odd, I thought. I went out into the yard. The closer I got; I realized the grassless patch wasn’t a hole but actually a trap door.

What the hell? I murmured, kneeling and touched the damp wood. It had a rusted ring for a handle, and faded golden bolts down its middle.

It was if I found some secret that I wasn't supposed to know about. It