New Horror Story: The Green Fields

The Green Fields Melissa R. Mendelson
Nobody knew where the green fields came from.  They just grew overnight.  First, they were a small patch of land.  Then, they consumed a good portion of Missouri, and the first man to disappear inside all that green was eighty-years-old.  Anyone under that age that went into the green did not return alright.  Some spoke backward.  Others were missing ears, or their eyes were a dark shade of white.  The government soon cut off the land, preventing anyone else from entering, but with every life lost to that strange field, the world was finally quiet.  There was no violence.  There was no death.  No more lives needed to be lost except for those that rode the bus to the green fields. My job was simple.  Wait for the buses.  Lead the elderly one by one off the bus, and then guide them toward the green fields. Most of them accepted their fate. The world finally knew peace, and it was grateful for their sacrifice.  If the green fields did not eat, then the …

Native American Festival - August 2019

Photography by Melissa R. Mendelson  @2019

Goshen Art Walk - August 3, 2019

Thank You to everyone for stopping at my table at the Goshen Art Walk on Webster Avenue in Goshen, NY on August 3rd.  I promise that my photographs will be posted to this blog soon.  In the meantime, you can find them here on Fine Art America:

Also, if you are interested in my short stories, they are available on Amazon Kindle for $0.99, and you can find them here:

I hope everyone has a great weekend!

Melissa R. Mendelson

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge Story: The Dead Man in the Ravine

The Dead Man in the Ravine Melissa R. Mendelson
The flow of water moving downward filled my ears.  The wind rustled through the trees and over my flesh.  The green grass underneath me turned red from the bullet hole in my shoulder.  Sunlight opened my eyes, and the rocks cradled my head. I had falling over the edge hard.  It was amazing that my body wasn’t broken, but moving my ankle nearly had me cry out in pain.  I slowly raised my head upward.  My eyes moved over the trees, but I could not see through the green.  Where was he? Suddenly, a bullet struck the ground not far from my head.  I glanced at the hole and then over at the water. I could not touch the water especially because I was bleeding, so I remained lying on the small bank.  And he emerged from his hiding spot, and I realized that he had been there all this time, waiting to see if I was dead. “You could have just put the bullet in my head,” I said, watching him shrug with the gun still in his hand. “I need you to answer someth…

Poem: Burnt Sand Castles

Burnt Sand Castles by, Melissa R. Mendelson
All the land around me is afire,   burning down to their heart’s desire,   and all my memories lie in ruin.   That’s what we get for assuming  that they would just be satisfied,   but all it did was feed into their lies.   Now, we plant the For Sale Sign,   and they continue to buy their time  to turn this ash into clay  and build a world for only them to stay.

Horror Short Story: Tears of a Clown

Tears of a Clown Melissa R. Mendelson
The cold beer felt good against Paul’s hand.  He nursed each sip as he sat back in the loveseat, staring at the man seated before him.  He savored each taste, running the man’s words across his mind.  He heard of small towns having their secrets, and some of those secrets were dark.  But what this man was telling him went beyond drama, and he didn’t believe in the supernatural.  He only believed in the cold beer in his hand. “I know that you are new to this town, Paul.  This town, Poenitet has its secrets.  Actually, it only has one secret,” the man sitting before Paul said. “Does that explain the adults dressed as clowns here?”  The man before Paul nodded.  “Does that explain why each family has their own clown?”  The man nodded again.  “So, what happened to your clown?” “Dave?  He died. Heart attack.  No one saw it coming, which is why I am here, Paul.  I heard that you were looking for work, and I am willing to pay you.  Just name your price.” “Matt,…

Short Story: When The Pennies Fall

When The Pennies Fall
(Inspired by Rest Haven, Monroe, NY) Melissa R. Mendelson
The birds wake me up in the morning with their chirping and flapping.  I hear them inside the walls.  I always wondered how they got in there, but it was a familiar, comforting sound.  There was no sound today.  That bothered me.  Summer was not over yet, and they usually left right before winter.  Then, they would return, telling me that spring was on its way.  They should be chirping and flapping right about now, but they weren’t.  And the silence broke into a symphony of snores. Becky had started to sneak into my room at night.  She didn’t want to startle me by crawling into the bed.  The bed was also small, so she slept on the arm chair to the left in the corner.  I didn’t know she was there until she started to snore.  Sometimes, she would even talk in her sleep.  At least, she would try to.  It was like she was chasing conversations with a ghost. The breakfast call sounded from the kitchen and marched up …