Rowan Hallow
9 stories published
Stories by Rowan Hallow
Elevator Ghost
The commuter hits every button to avoid the office, but the elevator shudders and stops between floors. A faint figure leans on the panel, apologizing for the delay. They talk about office coffee, tax...
Storm Chaser's Daughter
She chases thunderstorms the way others chase sales. In every lightning strike, she reads messages: coordinates, names, warnings. Her father, a retired storm chaser, says the sky is done talking. She...
The Last Phone Booth
In a busy square, one phone booth remains. It rings once a year. Whoever answers hears a single question tailored to their life. One year, a poet answers and hears, "Why did you stop writing?" The nex...
Forget-Me-Not GPS
A navigation app refuses to let you leave places you will miss. Every route recalculates back to a beloved cafe, an old school, a park bench. At first, it is charming. Then it becomes impossible to re...
The Day Silence Broke
At 10:02 a.m., sound stops. Air moves, mouths open, but nothing reaches ears. Car horns press silently. Birds flap in mute confusion. The world learns the texture of quiet instantly. Panic ripplesāalarms fail, emergency broadcasts are useless. People...
Puppet City Revolt
In Arlo, marionettes perform daily in plazas, controlled by skilled puppeteers. Tourists love the shows. One stormy evening, strings dampen, and a puppet named Finch jerks free. Without the hand above, Finch explores, limbs clumsy but curious. Other...
The City that Dreamed of Forests
Heron City keeps waking to saplings sprouting from concrete. Blueprints on planners' desks are covered with leaf prints. Architects panic; designs mutate into parks. Scientists blame a fungal bloom. Poet Imani suggests the city itself is dreaming of...
The Last Ferryman
The river between worlds had no name on any map, but everyone in the border town called it the Between. Boats crossed daily: paper barges of dreams, rafts of forgotten promises, ferries carrying souls who missed their connecting lives. Regulations were loose until the administration realized how man...
The Tide Accountant
Reema inherited the tide ledger and the tall stool on the pier. Every evening, she sat, pen poised, recording grains of sand taken by the sea and grains returned. Her mother had done it; her grandmother had started it, insisting the sea respected accounting. People chuckled. Reema knew numbers sooth...