Eternalcycle Stories

Dear December, soft and slow, Like a sunset's gentle glow, Wrap the year in hues so true Gold and rose, in crimson brew.

The Covenant of the Hollow Womb (A three-part Ozark folk-horror novella) In the iron-dark hollers of Caldwell Ridge, the mountain keeps its own scripture. 1888. Mercy Caldwell makes a bargain with something older than sin: one child every generation, measured exact, paid in blood and breath. The cradle never burns. The handprint never fades. The psalm is always sung backward. A century later, the tithe comes due again. Three women, three lifetimes, one cradle. Mercy, who spoke the covenant. Temperance, who tried to break it. Clara, who was born to finish it. They all thought they could outrun the mountain. They all learned the mountain doesn't chase. It waits. It rocks. It hungers. Some debts are measured in inches. Some debts are measured in souls. The Hollow Womb is full... ...but never satisfied.