Nyx Kain is a writer with roots deep in both the Canadian prairies and a fascination with the power of belief. From velveteen rabbits to ghost stories that give more life to their subjects with each fascinated retelling, their passion is to celebrate and affirm how the feelings we share through fiction themselves create something new and real – whether that is a friendship with someone fascinated by the same story, a call to action, or something as small and tenacious as a memory that only breathes when a wind in the right season blows across it.
They came in silent twos and threes, drawn by the smell of blood and runework. Yet he could sense them, even with his eyes squeezed shut. The feeling of being…
He started the preparations three hours before sunset, but still barely finished before dark stretched through the forest. He hadn’t accounted for the shaking in his hands. Hadn’t admitted, before…
The best thing he could have done for anyone was sleep. Gather his strength for when the alarm bell would ring in the morning. But knowing it was coming, knowing…
Never take another shape too long, they said. Never long enough to need what it does. Needs shape a thing more than flesh and bone, after all. Needs mould a…
Killing people for a living wasn’t noble, of course. He’d met a few who made the same living and tried to insist it was, and the last person they usually…
When his brother swung wide and the opening was there, the throat bared, he had to take his chance. He had come into that fight, that sacred circle, weaker but…
It had been eight years, six months, and three days since she had last stood on the porch of her childhood home. If it had been eight years, six months,…
Her brother had never thought a thing through in his life. The number of times he’d called her to say that he was in trouble would have filled a year’s…
He tried to look at the screen only from the leery corner of his eye, as if it would help. Only the usual call-connecting colours flashed and coruscated across it…