Makitia Thompson's Blog, page 2

🌒The Burrington Curse: A Time-Bending Horror Series

 

A Journey Through Burrington

Welcome, traveler. The fog curls along the streets again. The lantern 🕯️ you carry trembles with each footfall. Burrington is awake tonight, and it remembers. Perhaps it has remembered you all along.

I am the Storyteller.  I have walked these streets long before you arrived, and I will walk them with you until the town decides it has had enough of our presence. Step lightly, and keep your lantern close. For once you cross the threshold of Burrington, the town does not easily release its visitors.

🌙 The Town Square: Where Time Began

The center of Burrington is deceptively quiet. The buildings lean slightly, as if tired of holding their own weight. Shop windows display nothing but dust and shadow, yet they hint at lives that once lived here, a town brimming with small joys, whispered conversations, and the kind of grief that repeats until it becomes ritual.

It is here that the story begins. Here that the first book, Until Time Remembers 📖, waits for your eyes. You can find it on Amazon, but in this walk through Burrington, I offer more than a simple link. You will see the world as it unfolds inside its pages.

A healer once stolen.
A child who never stopped watching.
A girl trapped in a motel where the day never ends.

Each of these echoes through the square. You might hear them in the wind. You might see them reflected in the puddles along the cobblestones. And the town folds upon itself, carrying every forgotten memory like a stone tied to the ankle of anyone who dares to wander its streets.

This is Burrington’s first secret: it is alive, but only for those who listen. 

🕰️ The Clocktower: Secrets Before the Clock Broke

Follow me up the steps to the clocktower. Its stone steps are slick with mist, and the air grows colder with each floor. Here lies Before the Clock Broke: Creating a Cursed World 📜, a behind-the-scenes look at Burrington before its story reached your hands.

The book waits on a dusty lectern, its cover worn by the fingers of the few who have glimpsed it. Inside, you will find:

The three endings that nearly were, each a path Burrington could have taken if time had been more merciful.

Maps and sketches of the town 🌳, including streets and alleys that never existed in our reality but thrived in the mind of the town’s first chronicler.

The strange logic of broken time, explaining why days loop endlessly and why the past refuses to release its grip ⏳.

Even if you cannot touch the book, the tower will share a secret with you. Lean close to the pages, and you can hear the whispers of choices the town nearly made… and the ones it still regrets.

🍎 The Orchard Road: The Withering Orchard

Step away from the square, following the narrow dirt road lined with skeletal trees 🌳. This is the orchard, The Withering Orchard. Its branches twist like fingers, reaching not for the sky 🌫️, but for something lost long ago. The fruit has rotted for decades, yet the memory of sweetness lingers in the air.

Here, the story unfolds in two forms:

The short story 📖, which you can read on MindsInDesign.com.

The screenplay adaptation 🎭, also available online, which lets you see how Burrington’s shadows shift under a director’s eye: The Withering Orchard Screenplay.

The orchard does not simply rot. It remembers. Every fallen leaf 🍂 is a memory, every twisted branch a sorrow. Children once played here, whispering poems to the wind. Farmers once walked these rows, humming to keep time from slipping away. Now, it is haunted by echoes and by the stories you are about to read.

📚 The Library: Letters of the Forgotten

Turn down the alley past the orchard, and you will find the library. Its windows are dark, though you may glimpse candlelight flickering within. Open the creaking doors, and the smell of old paper and dust greets you. Inside, drawers are stuffed with letters and journals, some written centuries ago. Here is where Paper Ghosts: Echoes of Yesterday, Volume 2 ✉️ waits for your hands: Paper Ghosts: Echoes of Yesterday.

Within these letters are voices that should not be heard:

A mother writing to a son who vanished among the trees 🍏.

A merchant noting the disappearance of townspeople in the square 🪦.

A student attempting to reach a friend outside the town, unsure if anyone will respond 📝.

Each letter hums with the tension of unfinished lives and whispered truths. They are windows into Burrington’s soul, fragments of a past that never truly fades.

🕷️ The Halloween Streets: Seasonal Hauntings

As October arrives, Burrington wears a different face 🎃. Lanterns light in windows where no one lives. Shadows stretch across alleyways, twisting into forms that do not belong. The town remembers its dead more keenly than its living, and those who wander near the orchard at this time may catch glimpses of horrors long past.

This Halloween, a special short story collection will appear, bringing new voices and ancient ghosts to the streets. You will walk through tales like:

The Lantern Keeper’s Bargain, of a boy who must keep every candle lit or risk awakening what waits in the dark 🕯️.

The House at the End of Stone Row, where every dare to enter becomes a permanent warning 🏚️.

The Widow’s Harvest, the woman who collects fruit from the orchard, though the orchard never forgives her 🍎.

You may feel these stories brushing against your own world, as if the veil between Burrington and the living thins in October 🌫️.

⏳ Time’s Fracture: Book Two is Brewing

Even now, the town is not finished with its story. The Day That Broke Time is officially in progress. The curse that began in Beck’s hands in Until Time Remembers leaks beyond Burrington. Amber watches as the loops and fractures expand.

You may notice subtle changes in the streets as you read this post: a clock that skips an hour, a shadow that lingers too long. These are not illusions. They are the town reminding you that time here does not obey normal rules and it will not obey them in the next book either.

The manuscript grows heavier with each word, as though the town itself presses upon it, demanding that all stories be told.

🔮 The Past and Future of Burrington

While you wander the streets today, consider this: Burrington did not always look as it does now. There were harvests that fed the town 🌾, festivals that drew the countryside, laughter spilling from every doorway. But the curse arrived, quietly, and changed everything.

Hints of that past appear in sketches, letters, and fragments in the behind-the-scenes books. And the future? The clock waits for midnight it may never strike, The Moment That Ended Tomorrow  and someone, somewhere, will uncover all the town’s secrets in The Town That Time Watched.

These are not merely books. They are glimpses into a town that exists in layers: past, present, future, all overlapping, all haunting.

🌐 Free Content: Step Closer Before You Enter

If you are hesitant to enter completely, Burrington is generous to those who approach carefully. On this blog, you can access free content that will let you step into the town:

The first issue and second of The Clock Between Worlds 📝, the official newsletter.

A free chapter of Until Time Remembers 📖.

Sneak peeks into the town itself, including lore and behind-the-scenes glimpses 🔮.

Every corner you explore prepares you for the larger journey. You may even find clues to the stories yet to come if you read closely enough 👀.

💚 Supporting Burrington

For those who wish to see Burrington thrive, the Kickstarter campaign provides an opportunity 🕯️:

Backers receive:

Alternate covers 🎨

Audiobook editions 🎧

Behind-the-scenes content 📜

Early access to future short stories, letters, and the Halloween collection 🎃

Your support allows me to keep walking these streets, writing them as they unfold, and giving Burrington life beyond the page. Kickstarter

 A Final Whisper

The lantern flickers. You may feel a cold breath against your neck ❄️. Burrington does not always allow its visitors to leave unmarked. And yet, there is healing here, in the memory of what was and the story of what endures.

You are welcome to step back into the town, to read its letters, and to wander its streets. But remember: the town remembers you, too. And it waits.

Until the clock tolls again,
The Storyteller of Burrington 🕰️

#Makitia #Makitiathompson #MindsInDesign #Themiduniverse #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Midstories #Thedaythatbroketime

📜A Letter From The Founding Mayor

 

Silas Glaston

It is strange to observe the world from this… place. One foot upon the earth, the other elsewhere, and yet my thoughts remain tethered to what I have begun. I am both present and absent, a witness to the echoes of my own ambition. Perhaps I am foolish to speak of it-I have learned that even greatness cannot outrun the quiet truths that linger behind every foundation laid.

Glaston-what a splendid name for a city, a monument to vision and will. And yet, even as I consider its streets, its markets, the very walls of its houses, I sense something inchoate, something restless, that I did not intend. Perhaps it is the nature of creation: the very act of giving life can leave shadows in one’s wake. The plans I cherished, the triumphs I claimed, will endure, yes-but they will endure differently than I ever imagined.

I know not how much time remains to me, or in what form I persist, but I have observed enough to see the currents stirring beneath the surface. There are forces that will take root long after my hands have left the soil, after my voice has faded from the halls, and the city will grow in ways I could not have foreseen. Some of it will be bright; some… darker.

Perhaps you, the reader, sense it already. The small flickers in the quiet corners, the stirrings that do not belong to anyone yet claim the air. It will only become more apparent in time. Glaston, my creation, will come to be known differently, and those who walk its streets will feel the weight of what I planted here. The future is inevitable, and yet, it is not entirely mine to command.

I leave this note not as warning, nor as boast, but as acknowledgment. What begins in ambition does not always end as intended. And while I depart from the life I once knew, the city, the streets, the people, and the shadows will carry on. Perhaps one day, you will understand the full measure of what I set into motion.

Until then… watch closely. The echoes of Glaston are only just beginning to stir.

- Silas Glaston

Buy The Founding Mayor on my website now and dive deeper into a town Where Time Can't Exist.

#Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Themiduniverse #Makitia #MindsInDesign #Midstories #Thedaythatbroketime

🕰 The Clock Between Worlds | Issue #2

 

Issue #2 - Whispers in the Orchard | From Minds In Design

🕯️The Lantern Lights (Introduction)

Do you hear it? The toll of the bell. The sound that seeps between your bones, shaking loose the memories you thought you had left behind. Welcome back, traveler. I warned you last time: once you enter Burrington, the town finds a way of keeping you close.

The fog has grown thicker since you last walked these streets. It curls over cobblestones slick with autumn rain, clings to wooden signs that creak on rusted hinges, and gathers around the great clocktower whose hands, even now, twitch with impatience. Some swear that Burrington isn’t a place at all but a hunger that learned how to wear buildings.

But you’ve come anyway, lantern in hand, stepping carefully as I guide you further in. Why? Perhaps curiosity. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps a story you cannot shake.

Tonight, the town has many gifts to reveal:

The orchard that rots no matter how many times its trees are replanted.

The whispers preserved behind the clocktower walls.

An account of time itself beginning to break.

The promises October holds when the dead press closest to the living.

Letters pulled from drawers that should have remained locked.

Breathe deeply, traveler. The air tastes of iron and cider, smoke and sorrow. Stay close. If you drift too far, Burrington may mistake you for one of its own. Explore my site Minds In Design for more.

🍏The Orchard’s Rot (Feature on The Withering Orchard)

The lantern light dims as we turn away from the square and descend a dirt road no one admits exists. The trees lean here, crooked and scarred, their bark swollen with disease that refuses to die. This is the orchard, Burrington’s orchard, though no fruit worth eating has grown here in decades.

Children whisper that if you bite into one of its apples, you’ll taste not sweetness but grief. Adults say nothing, because their parents taught them silence is safer. But every few years, someone wanders into these rows of trees and doesn’t return. Their names are added to the orchard’s roots, and Burrington pretends not to notice.

This, traveler, is the setting of The Withering Orchard;  a story already told, but never finished, because the orchard does not stop with words. On my site, you may read its full telling. For those who crave the curse in another form, there is more: a screenplay. Some say the orchard looks different when filmed, that shadows caught on camera behave unlike shadows on the page. I cannot tell you which version is truer, only that both breathe.

Would you like a taste? Not the full fruit, but just the skin?

“The orchard smelled of sweetness that was long gone, as though the memory of fruit lingered but the flesh had rotted away. Every branch creaked not with the wind but with the weight of what had been lost.”

Even these words are dangerous. Hold them gently, lest the bark find its way into your skin.

The orchard does not simply rot. It remembers.

🧭Behind the Clocktower (Behind-the-Scenes Book Feature)

From the orchard, we climb stone steps slick with moss. Each footfall echoes as though a dozen others are following, though I assure you, traveler, we walk alone. At the summit stands the clocktower, face cracked, hands twitching, its tolling heart the rhythm of Burrington itself.

But tonight, the tower is not content to chime. It wishes to confess. And so I lead you inside, where each floor reveals a piece of the truth.

First Floor: Endings That Could Have Been
Here lie three doors, each leading to a future Burrington could have claimed. One whispers of release, one of eternal looping, and one of sacrifice. Only one door was chosen in the end, but the others still rattle on their hinges, desperate to be opened.

Second Floor: Maps of a Town That Never Was
Pinned across the walls are sketches of Burrington’s streets, drawn and redrawn until the ink blurred. This building was here, then gone. That family once lived in the square, then never existed. Burrington’s design shifts like memory: unreliable, but stubborn.

Third Floor: How Time Fractured
Here the air thins. Diagrams hang from beams, notes scattered across desks, all trying to explain the loops and the breaks. Time in Burrington is not broken by accident but by intent. Someone, something, pulled too hard at the threads.

These are only fragments from the first behind-the-scenes book. More lies above us, but the steps vanish here. The tower has no wish to reveal everything at once. Secrets must be earned.

🔮The Day That Broke Time (Book Two Update)

Do you hear the ticking? No, not from the tower. From beneath your ribs. That is the sound of The Day That Broke Time.

The story has begun. Ink on page, heavier with each word. Beck is awake again, though what she’s done to Burrington lingers like a wound. Amber stirs, carrying blood that ties her to survivors and chains her to ghosts. And the curse, it leaks. Burrington no longer contains it. The outside world begins to notice.

Writing this book feels like carrying a clock that grows heavier the longer you hold it. Every page groans beneath the weight of memory and consequence. This is no longer a story confined to a forgotten town. It is a fracture in time itself.

Traveler, do not mistake progress for safety. The book advances, yes, but each sentence risks pulling the curse closer. Still, it must be done. And so I write.

🪦October’s Hauntings (Halloween Special)

It is October in Burrington now. The leaves are crisp, curling into the shapes of hands reaching up from dirt. Lanterns glow faintly in windows, though half of them should be empty. The streets smell of smoke, though no fires burn.

This is when the veil thins. When Burrington’s curse breathes hot against the neck of every traveler. And so, in mid-October, I will bring you more, a collection of Halloween short stories set within these cursed streets.

📜Letters the Dead Shouldn’t Write (Character Letters Tease)

In the library’s basement, where no one has dusted in years, I find drawers swollen with damp. Inside are letters that should have crumbled to dust, yet remain intact, ink fresh as the day they were written. Shall I read a few?

Letter One: A Mother’s Regret
“My dearest boy,
If you had left when I begged you, perhaps the orchard would not have taken you. I leave bread at its edge each morning, though the crows eat it before you can. If you are hungry still, forgive me.”

Letter Two: A Merchant’s Note
“To whom it may concern,
If you value your goods, leave this town. Each week, one of my wagons disappears. The wheels are found in the square, but the horses and drivers are gone. Burrington swallows them as though it were hungry. I am no longer safe.”

Letter Three: A Student’s Plea
“Mary,
I wrote you every week, but you never wrote back. They tell me no such town exists beyond the valley. How can that be? You promised to visit. Please, do not forget me.”

The ink smears here, as if a hand reached across the page. Whether that hand was living is uncertain.

⏳Echoes of What’s Next (Closing & Teasers)

The lantern sputters. Our walk must end, but before you leave, Burrington wishes to whisper what comes next.

Another behind-the-scenes book waits, its release by month’s end. It will guide you deeper into choices made and choices avoided.

The Halloween special draws near, mid-October, when the town is loudest.

Book Two, The Day That Broke Time, grows, page by page, like a heartbeat.

And the letters, oh, there are so many more. You’ve only read the first drops of the flood.

Remember this, traveler: Burrington does not let go easily. When you leave tonight, the gate may not be open tomorrow.

🦉Walk the Whispering Streets of Burrington

You step off the main road, and immediately the world changes. The air grows heavier here, not with heat or humidity, but with something else...memory, shadow, and the faint pulse of secrets that refuse to leave. Your footsteps crunch against gravel that seems older than the town itself, worn smooth not just by human passage but by the weight of unseen things moving just beyond sight.

The houses of Burrington lean slightly in the late afternoon light, their timbers groaning softly as if telling stories no one else can hear. Windows reflect the gold of the sun, yet in those reflections, sometimes you glimpse something more, a figure that isn’t there when you blink, or a shadow that moves against the grain of reason. You catch your breath, though no one else is around. Burrington has that effect on people.

Turning a corner, you follow a narrow lane flanked by high stone walls and creeping vines. The scent of apples drifts faintly on the breeze, sweet and rotten all at once 🍏. Somewhere ahead, an orchard waits- gnarled, old, impossibly thick. The branches twist toward the sky, yet when you glance down, you sense roots weaving through the earth like silent sentinels, holding every secret buried beneath the soil...

Read the full post here inside Burrington

 Parting Whisper (Signature Ending)

The fog curls tighter now. Lanterns fade. The cobblestones beneath your boots grow slicker, as though trying to trip you before you escape. But I will guide you one last step, beyond the arch of the gate.

Tell me, traveler. If Burrington remembered you, not just your name, but the way your laughter sounded, the way your shadow bent, would you want it to?

The town waits for your answer.

Until the clock tolls again,
The Storyteller

#MindsInDesign #Makitia #Themiduniverse #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Thedaythatbroketime #Midstories 

🔪How to Write Killers That Haunt Readers

 

Introduction: Why Your Killer Should Keep Readers Awake at Night

Let’s start with some honesty.

Most “scary” stories aren’t scary. They’re laughable. You know the type: blood fountains, masked villains doing gymnastics with machetes, jump scares shoved onto the page like someone screaming “BOO!” into your ear. It’s cheap. It’s boring. And worse, it’s forgettable.

But here’s the truth: when you’re writing about killers, realistic killers, the ones who make readers shut their blinds at 3 a.m. You can’t rely on gore or flashy tricks. You have to dig deeper. You have to write them in a way that feels possible. Disturbing not because a demon popped out of the closet, but because your neighbor could be hiding a body in theirs.

That’s what we’re doing today: learning how to craft killers that haunt. No monsters, no rivers of blood. Just psychology, suspense, implication, and tone. Think of it as true crime on steroids.

By the end of this post, you’ll not only understand why most horror-thriller writing fails, but you’ll have a toolkit for writing villains so chilling that your beta readers will text you at 2 a.m. with “um… are you okay??”

(And yes, I’ve built an entire 90-page workbook to help you go even further, but more on that later. For now, grab your coffee or something stronger and let’s get into it.)

Section 1: Why Jumpscares Don’t Work in Writing ⚡

Ah, the jump scare. Hollywood’s favorite shortcut.

On film, it works because sound and timing manipulate the audience’s nervous system. Bang! Flash! Screechy violins! Your heart rate spikes because you’re basically being mugged by sound design.

On the page? Not so much. You don’t have violins. You don’t have a director controlling milliseconds. You have words. And words don’t scream, they whisper, they linger, they suggest.

Why Jumpscares Fail in Prose

They’re predictable. “Everything’s quiet… oh no, the cat jumped out.” Yawn.

They break immersion. Readers know you’re trying to jolt them, and nothing kills fear faster than realizing you’re being manipulated.

They don’t last. Startling isn’t the same as scaring. A scare fades in seconds. Dread? Dread lingers for hours.

What Works Instead: Slow-Burn Horror

Suspense thrives in stillness. A killer that walks slowly toward their victim is infinitely scarier than one who leaps out of the bushes. Why? Because the victim (and the reader) has time to anticipate, to imagine, to panic.

Example 1: Cheap Jump Scare

“She turned the corner. Suddenly, a shadow lunged at her!”

Okay. You jumped? No? Exactly.

Example 2: Slow-Burn Terror

“She turned the corner. The hallway stretched too long, each bulb flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay alive. Halfway down, a shadow stood, motionless. Watching. It didn’t move when she did.”

See the difference? One makes you roll your eyes. The other makes you want to close the book and throw it across the room, but in the best way.

Mini-Exercise

Take a scene from your draft where you tried to “shock” your reader. Rewrite it with:

10% more silence

10% more distance

10% less action

You’ll be shocked (pun intended) at how much scarier it gets.

👉 In my workbook, I call this technique the Suspense Dial. It helps you measure how much tension you’re building versus how much you’re blowing too early.

Section 2: The Psychology of a Killer 🧠

If you want readers to remember your killer, forget the hockey masks and chainsaws. What they’ll actually remember is why.

Killers Aren’t Monsters, They’re People

Real killers don’t think of themselves as villains. They think they’re right. They think they’re justified. Sometimes, they even think they’re heroes. That’s what makes them terrifying: they’re human.

Motivation Without Cliché

Not enough: “They kill because they’re crazy.” Lazy.

Better: “They kill because they think they’re fixing the world.” (Still horrifying, but chillingly logical.)

Best: “They kill because of a deep, specific belief or wound that warps their worldview.”

Archetypes (Expanded & Twisted)

The Savior: They “rescue” victims by killing them. (Mercy, in their mind.)

The Teacher: They want victims to “learn” a lesson before death.

The Collector: They kill to preserve; souvenirs, memories, control.

The Mirror: They see their victim as a reflection of themselves, which terrifies them.

The Chameleon: They adapt to any social circle, hiding in plain sight.

Case-Study Style Example

Imagine a man who volunteers at the community center every Sunday, smiling, helping with food drives. But in his private journal, he writes about “cleansing” the weak. His kindness isn’t fake, it’s part of his worldview. To him, kindness and cruelty aren’t opposites. They’re both “necessary.”

Mini-Exercise

Write your killer’s diary entry the day before their first murder. Don’t describe the murder, describe their logic. If their reasoning scares you, you’re on the right track.

👉 In the workbook, there’s a Killer Profile Builder. A template that helps you pin down these motivations so you’re not stuck with cardboard cutouts.

Section 3: Victims and the Missed Red Flags 🚩

Here’s something most thrillers forget: killers aren’t scary without victims. Victims give the story weight, contrast, tragedy. And the most chilling part? The red flags they miss.

Why Victims Matter

Readers know the victim is doomed. That’s the tension. But watching how they get there, how they almost noticed something, but brushed it off. That’s what keeps pages turning.

The Psychology of Manipulation

Killers rarely pounce on strangers in alleys. More often, they manipulate.

Charm: “He seemed so polite.”

Authority: “She was the doctor, I trusted her.”

Normalcy: “He was just a neighbor.”

Missed Red Flags

Overly eager helpfulness.

Too much interest in small details.

Shifts in tone that don’t match the situation.

Controlling environments (“Let’s just talk at my place instead”).

Exercise

Write a scene where your victim misses a red flag. Then, rewrite the same scene where the reader does notice the red flag, but the victim still doesn’t. Boom. Instant tension.

👉 The workbook has a Victim Red Flag Worksheet where you list subtle danger cues your characters overlook.

Section 4: Building Suspense Without Blood 🌫️

Suspense is like seasoning. Too little and it’s bland. Too much and it’s overwhelming. Just right? Readers can’t stop eating.

The Tools of Suspense

Pacing: Slow down right before the climax.

Silence: Sometimes what you don’t write is scarier.

Implication: Hint at horrors instead of showing them.

Tone: Word choice can turn a sunny kitchen into a crime scene.

True Crime on Steroids

Think of your fiction like a true crime documentary where you know something awful happened—but you don’t know when the reveal is coming. That’s the vibe.

Scene Layering Example

Background Unease: A door unlocked.

Small Shifts: A photo frame turned the wrong way.

The Reveal: A phone buzzing in the next room… that isn’t hers.

Exercise

Write three versions of a silence. Example:

Silence that feels heavy.

Silence that feels expectant.

Silence that feels wrong.

👉 The Mood & Suspense Tracker in the workbook helps you test these variations.

Section 5: Confession Scenes That Give Chills 💬

Confession scenes are your mic-drop moment. But too many writers use them for info-dumps instead of psychological gut-punches.

Why They Work

Intimacy: Killer and listener are locked in a verbal cage.

Horror: The killer’s words don’t match their crimes.

Arrogance: They want you to know they’re smarter.

Dialogue Techniques

Understatement: “It wasn’t hard. Easier than you’d think.”

Repetition: “I told her. I told her. I told her.”

Chilling Honesty: “Yes, I enjoyed it.”

Example Excerpt

“Do you know what surprised me most? Not her screams. Not her begging. It was how quickly she went quiet. Like she understood. Like she agreed with me in the end.”

Yikes. And that’s exactly the reaction you want.

👉 The workbook includes a Confession Scene Drafting Page so you can test your dialogue without slipping into cheesy territory.

Section 6: The Editing Process 🖊️

Writing thrillers is fun. Editing them? That’s where killers are made or broken.

Why Editing Matters Here More Than Anywhere

If suspense is uneven, readers notice. If a killer’s psychology flips mid-draft with no explanation, readers toss the book. If your red flags vanish in editing, you lose all tension.

Red Flags in Drafts

Info-dumping: “Let me tell you my entire tragic backstory in one page.”

Inconsistent suspense: Tense in one chapter, sitcom banter in the next.

Flat dialogue: Killer sounds like a cartoon villain.

Editing Checklist (Teaser)

Did every scene add tension?

Does the killer’s motivation stay consistent?

Are victims believable, not props?

👉 In the workbook, you’ll find a full Self-Editing Checklist designed specifically for crime/thriller drafts.

Section 7: Writing for Chills, Not Sympathy 👀

Hot take: not every killer needs a tragic backstory. In fact, most don’t.

Why Sympathy Weakens Fear

When you make readers pity the killer too much, they stop fearing them. They start thinking, “Well, maybe it wasn’t their fault.” That’s not the point. The point is to scare.

Complexity vs Excuses

Complexity: “She was abused as a child. She still chose to kill.”

Excuse: “She was abused, so she had no choice but to kill.”

See the difference? Complexity deepens horror. Excuses weaken it.

Exercise

Write your killer’s “alternate choice moment.” Show the one time they could have walked away, but didn’t. That’s where true horror lives.

Section 8: Bringing It All Together 🧾

Let’s recap.

Jumpscares? Lazy. Suspense? Gold.

Killers? Humans, not monsters.

Victims? Vital, because they show us what we fear losing.

Suspense tools? Pacing, silence, implication, tone.

Confession scenes? Mic drops of psychological horror.

Editing? Where you sharpen the knife.

Sympathy? Optional. Chills? Non-negotiable.

Now imagine having all of this, not in scattered notes, but in structured worksheets, exercises, and checklists built to make your writing sharper, scarier, unforgettable.

Final Thoughts & Call to Action

If this post made you rethink your villain, good. That was the point. But also this was just the free appetizer. The main course is my 90-page workbook, where everything here is broken down into step-by-step exercises with space for your own writing, brainstorming, and revisions.

Think of it as your personal crime lab:

🧠 Killer Profile Builder

🚩 Victim Red Flag Worksheet

🌫️ Mood & Suspense Tracker

💬 Confession Scene Drafting Pages

🖊️ Self-Editing Checklist

It’s practical, it’s creepy, and it’s going to make your killers unforgettable.

👉 Mindsindesign.com. Write villains that don’t just scare readers, haunt them.

And remember: if your beta readers sleep well after reading your draft… you didn’t go far enough.

- Makitia

#MindsInDesign #Makitia #Themiduniverse #Makitiathompson #Midstories #Thekilleracrossthestreet 

🖋️The M.I.D. Newsletter | Issue #4

 

The M.I.D. Newsletter | Issue #4

From the desk of Makitia Thompson | Minds In Design

Editor’s Note ✍🏽

Welcome back, or welcome for the very first time. This is Issue #4 of The M.I.D Newsletter, landing in your inbox as we step into September. If you’re new here, prepare yourself. This isn’t your average polished-to-perfection newsletter. It’s raw, it’s layered, and yes, sometimes it bites back. I’ll let you decide which part you prefer. 😏

This issue is packed. I’m talking updates that matter, writing wisdom you won’t want to ignore, characters who will haunt you (literally), and more behind-the-scenes looks into the ever-expanding M.I.D universe. Stick with me until the end, I promise it’s worth the scroll. 👀

Who We Are: Minds In Design 🌌

For those just tuning in, Minds In Design is my creative home and now, officially, yours too. I, Makitia Thompson, built this space because I believe imagination should never be a passing thought; it should be a universe you can step into. This is where stories, poetry, screenplays, and strange little experiments come to breathe. Expect the unexpected. M.I.D is where imagination lives, sometimes softly, sometimes with claws.

What’s New in the M.I.D Universe 🚀

The biggest announcement? The Store is Open.
👉 mindsindesign.com

This is where everything now lives, exclusively. The Where Time Can’t Exist short stories, my poetry collections, short story collections, screenplays, and the behind-the-scenes content you didn’t know you needed.

Currently available:

It Ended By Beginning (short story collection)

It Hurt Beautifully (poetry collection)

The Withering Orchard (short story)

The Withering Orchard (screenplay)

The Mind’s Keepsake: Makitia’s Quotation Book

Paper Ghosts (Vol. 1 & 2)

The Killer Across the Street

All available in digital (ebook) format. No middlemen. No waiting. Just me → you.

Podcast Update 🎙️

Okay, cards on the table: I jumped the gun when I announced the podcast. My excitement got the best of me. Consider this my official apology for dangling it too soon. The good news? It’s still happening, I’ve just delayed the first episode until October 2025.

Why? Because I’d rather give you real content now; books, stories, BTS insights. Instead of rushing something half-baked. The podcast will drop no later than October, and trust me, the wait will be worth it. Stay tuned.

Promotion Tip for Writers 🖋️

Want your work to be remembered? Here’s the tip: quotes.

Dig through every story, novel, novella, and poem you’ve written. Find the lines that sting, that ache, that make your chest tighten or your lips curl into a smirk. Then, post them. Everywhere. Pinterest, TikTok, Instagram, Facebook. Quotes are emotional doorways. When you share them, you’re inviting people to step into your story without spoiling the whole house.

The right quote doesn’t just get likes. It compels. It whispers: there’s more where that came from.

Makitia’s Book of the Month 📚

This month, the spotlight shines on my own collection: It Ended By Beginning.

In this unforgettable and raw collection, It Ended By Beginning unearths the buried emotions we try to forget and confronts the truths we often run from. Across 32 hauntingly honest stories, readers are invited into intimate, visceral worlds shaped by grief, betrayal, envy, pride, justice, and silence.

📖 Read It Here

Makitia’s Writing Corner ✨

Here’s your reminder: Don’t discard the story you think is bad.

Rewrite it. Polish it. Keep the skeleton, rework the skin. Use what you’ve already created as scaffolding. Mistakes aren’t proof of failure, they’re ladders. Climb them.

Character of the Month 🩸

Meet: Gregg Thorton.

For 44 years, Thorton hid in plain sight - murdering over 20 people, including three of his own wives and seven of his sixteen children. When new evidence surfaced, he didn’t break from guilt. He confessed to deepen wounds, to twist the knife into those who survived him.

He’s the character you won’t stop thinking about. And in late September to early October, his final book arrives. Don’t miss it.

From the Blog 🖤

August highlight: Am I Desperate?
Read it here

This post pulls apart the stigma of self-publishing, the whispers that it’s the “last resort” for writers who “couldn’t get a deal.” Spoiler: that narrative is lazy. Self-publishing has its challenges, but it also offers freedom, control, and direct connection with readers. It’s not desperation. It’s strategy.

Minds In Design Sales – September 💸

Here’s what’s waiting at mindsindesign.com:

25% off The Mind’s Keepsake: Makitia’s Quotation Book

$1 off It Ended By Beginning

25% off all orders over $10

Buy The Killer Across the Street → get Serial Family Man: The First Interview with Gregg Thorton for half off

Upcoming Projects 🔥

Coming soon: a documentary-style story about Gregg Thorton. This won’t be the recycled true crime formula. Instead, you’ll get voices of survivors, fragments of media, testimonies from neighbors and family members of his victims. A portrait built from the people who lived his terror. Expect distortion, hidden truths, and a haunting you won’t easily shake.

Connect With Me 🌐

Let’s stay connected. Follow me across the universe:

Instagram: @mindsndesign

TikTok: @mindsndesign

Twitter: mindsindesign_

Facebook: Minds In Design

YouTube: Minds In Design

Pinterest: M.I.D on Pinterest

Store: mindsindesign.com

Parting Words 🕯️

Minds In Design is more than a brand. It’s a promise. I’m dedicated to publishing stories that linger, that echo, that leave fingerprints on your mind long after you’ve closed the page. Stories that don’t let you forget them, no matter how hard you try.

Thank you for being here. Until next time.

- Makitia Thompson

#Mindsindesign #Makitia #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse #Midstories #Midcontent #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #MID #Themindsindesignstore

✍🏽Minds In Design: A Home for Imagination

 

1. Writing As My Lifeline 💭

I don’t write because it’s cute. I don’t write because it’s trendy. I don’t write because I thought one day, “Hey, maybe I should crank out a book, slap a cover on it, and call myself an author.”

No. I write because I’d lose myself without it.

For me, writing isn’t a hobby - it’s oxygen. It’s the way I keep myself stitched together when everything else tries to unravel. People who’ve known me long enough will tell you I’m not great with conversation. I stumble, I overthink, I stay quiet when I should probably speak. But the page? The page has always listened. The page never interrupts, never rolls its eyes, never tells me I’m being too much. The page is my confessional, my sanctuary, my battlefield, and my best friend.

So when I created Minds In Design, I wasn’t thinking about business plans or logos or quarterly reports. I was thinking about survival. I was thinking: If the world can’t hear me, maybe it can read me.

Some people climb mountains 🏔️, some run marathons 🏃, some throw themselves into careers that make sense on paper. Me? I throw myself into words.

I know I’m not alone in this feeling - that for some people, the page listens better than any person ever could. That’s who I write for. That’s who Minds In Design is for.

2. The Birth of Minds In Design 🌱

So, why “Minds In Design”? Because that’s exactly what this is: designing with the mind, for the mind. I didn’t want to be just “another author” tucked into the farthest corner of the internet. I wanted to build something bigger than myself, a hub, a company, a little world where imagination isn’t just encouraged but demanded.

Minds In Design is my way of saying: Stories matter. Imagination matters. Words matter.

And no, not in the pretentious “words will save the world” kind of way (though wouldn’t that be nice 🌍). But in the sense that stories shape how we see ourselves. They echo in our heads when we’re trying to fall asleep. They help us feel less alone.

When I say I bring imagination to life, I mean it literally. My job isn’t just to entertain; it’s to build stories that stick. Stories that follow you. Stories that crawl under your skin 🕷️ and remind you weeks later of something you felt while reading them.

Minds In Design was born because I needed a place where that love could live without limits.

3. My Work: A Walk Through My Books 📚

Here’s the part where I tell you what I’ve written. But instead of just giving you a boring list, let me take you through why each work exists, what it means, not just to me but hopefully to you.

Poetry Collections ✒️

It Hurt Beautifully 💔🌹
Raw. Pain and beauty inseparable. Not pretty poetry - it bleeds a little.

Because I Felt Everything 🌊
Embracing emotions - all of them, messy or not. Refusing to apologize for being “too much.”

Because I’m Still Breathing 🌬️❤️
Survival poetry. A reminder that if you’re still breathing, you’re still here.

These three collections are my emotional roadmap. For anyone who’s ever been told they’re “too much.” Spoiler alert: you’re not.

Short Story Collections 📖

It Ended By Beginning 🔄
Thirty-two stories. Thirty-two ways to see the world crack, heal, or both. Haunting, hopeful, lingering.

The Withering Orchard 🍏🌑
A dark standalone that ties into my Where Time Can’t Exist series. An invitation into a cursed world.

Experiments in Storytelling 🖋️

Paper Ghosts 👻📜
Fragments, letters, voices. Like peeking into a diary you shouldn’t be reading.

The Mind’s Keepsake 🕯️
A book of quotations - because sometimes a single sentence can shift everything.

4. The Process and the Sacrifice ⚔️

Let me be blunt: writing is exhausting.

People like to imagine authors sitting in coffee shops ☕, typing away with serene smiles while inspiration rains down like confetti 🎉. Cute image, right? Reality check: writing is staring at the same sentence for an hour, rewriting it six times, then deleting it entirely.

And because I’m an independent author, I don’t have the luxury of a giant team polishing my words, designing my covers, or marketing my books. I do it. I oversee it. I bleed into every stage of the process.

I don’t half-ass this. If I did, I wouldn’t still be here.

5. Readers: The Other Half of the Conversation 🤝

Here’s the truth: writing feels personal, but it’s not just about me. It’s about you.

I can pour myself into every word, but without a reader, it’s only half a story. Readers complete the loop. You take my words, filter them through your own experiences, and make them into something I could never have imagined. That’s magic ✨.

Support matters. Not because I’m chasing yachts and fame (please, I’m an indie author. My yacht would be a kayak with a hole in it 🚣♂️💧). Support buys me time. Time to write. Time to create worlds.

When you buy a book, share a post, or tell a friend about Minds In Design, you’re not just supporting me - you’re keeping these stories alive.

6. The Manifesto: Why This Matters ❤️📜

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Truly.

This isn’t just a company. It isn’t just a collection of books. It’s my lifeline. My love. My sanity.

Minds In Design exists because stories matter. Because imagination deserves space. Because writing is how I survive, and maybe - just maybe, it’s how you survive too.

I don’t do this for money. But I won’t lie: the support of readers is the only reason I can keep doing it without limits. And that’s why I’m asking: if you’ve connected with anything I’ve said here, step into my worlds.

🌐 mindsindesign.com - my online store
📝 mindsndesign.blogspot.com - my blog

If the page has ever listened to you, the way it listens to me, then we already understand each other.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. Thank you for letting me keep bringing imagination to life. 💫 #Makitia #Mindsindesign #Themiduniverse #Midstories #Midcontent #Themindsindesignstore

🌀The Art of Rambling: Why Storytelling Needs to Wander

 

😊Go On A Ramble With Makitia

Let’s start with a confession: I love to ramble. Not in the “grandma telling you about 1974 when all you asked about was the soup” kind of way (though honestly, grandma might be onto something). I mean the kind of rambling that stories need to feel alive. The kind of meandering that makes characters less like chess pieces and more like people you could accidentally get stuck behind in line at the grocery store, half-annoyed, half-fascinated, wondering if they’ll keep talking about the price of grapes or reveal something that cracks the universe in half.

Writers are often told: stick to the plot, cut the fluff, be concise. And sure, that’s good advice when you’re trying to assemble Ikea furniture or file your taxes. But stories aren’t Ikea furniture, and God help us if they ever start to resemble taxes. Stories are messy, contradictory, emotional, wandering little beasts. They need to breathe. And sometimes, they need to run off chasing a squirrel, because that detour is the part that makes the whole thing worth experiencing.

That’s where the art of rambling comes in.

🎨Rambling Isn’t Pointless - It’s Pulse

The word rambling often gets slapped with a bad reputation. It conjures up images of someone talking in circles, wasting time, forgetting their point. But in fiction? Rambling is a pulse. It’s the heartbeat of a character asserting: I exist beyond this plotline.

Because the truth is, no real person lives life like a story outline. No one speaks in purely functional dialogue:

“We must leave now before the villain arrives.”

“Yes, I will grab the map and the sword.”

“Excellent teamwork, now on to chapter eight.”

That’s not how people work. People interrupt themselves. They start telling you about one thing, then remember another, then forget what they were saying, then somehow circle back in a way that, if you’re listening closely, makes them more human than anything else they’ve said.

Rambling in a story, when done right, gives a character a soul. It’s the crack in the glass that proves it’s not plastic.

😂The Secret of Real Characters: They Talk Too Much

Want to know what makes a character feel real? It’s not just clever dialogue or a tragic backstory. It’s their ability to talk about absolutely nothing and make you care.

Think about it: when you meet someone in real life, you don’t instantly know their darkest secret or their five-year plan. What you do know is how they get carried away talking about their favorite band from high school, or their weird obsession with ceramic frogs, or why they hate one brand of peanut butter with the fire of a thousand suns.

That’s the stuff that makes them stick in your memory. The unnecessary details. The “off-topic” moments.

In a story, when a character starts rambling, when they digress about their childhood fear of swing sets in the middle of a high-stakes heist-it feels alive. It reminds the reader that this isn’t just a pawn of the plot. It’s someone who, if they stepped off the page, might actually argue with you about which breakfast cereal is the most philosophical.

🔍Rambling Is Where Themes Hide

Here’s the sneaky thing: a ramble is rarely just a ramble.

On the surface, it might look like nonsense. But underneath, it’s usually bleeding into the heart of the story. A character complaining about the weather might really be telling you about their inability to control anything in their life. A tangent about pickles might be a metaphor for bitterness they haven’t admitted out loud yet.

The art of rambling is the art of disguise. It’s taking a truth too raw to state directly and letting it peek out sideways, through humor, through nonsense, through detours that feel unimportant until they suddenly aren’t.

Think about your favorite books or films: how many of their most memorable lines were completely “off-topic”? How many felt like the character was just riffing, only for you to realize later that the ramble was the point?

🗣️Rambling Makes the Plot Feel Less Like a Plot

Here’s the dirty little secret of storytelling: plots are artificial. They’re neat little constructions we use to cage chaos into something digestible. Real life, meanwhile, is messy, inconvenient, full of interruptions.

Rambling is what smuggles that mess into the neat box of story.

When a character veers off-topic, when they waste half a page talking about the texture of bread crusts or the exact shade of blue the sky never quite achieves, it’s an act of rebellion against the rigid structure of “beginning, middle, end.” It’s life leaking through the cracks.

And that’s what keeps readers from feeling like they’re being spoon-fed fiction. It makes the world breathe, reminding them: you’re not reading an outline. You’re eavesdropping on lives.

🖋️The Risk and Reward of Letting Go

Of course, rambling can go wrong. It can drag. It can feel self-indulgent. It can turn into an author showing off rather than a character existing. That’s why it’s an art, not just an accident.

The trick is balance. A ramble works when it’s true to the character, when it reveals something (even if subtle), and when it carries the rhythm of real thought. A ramble fails when it’s just filler or when it hijacks the story with no tether back.

But here’s the thing: the risk is worth it. Because the alternative is sterile storytelling. The kind where everything is neat and efficient but hollow.

If the choice is between a too-long tangent that makes someone laugh, or a perfectly polished scene that leaves them cold, I’ll choose the tangent every time.

Rambling as Connection

At its core, storytelling is about connection. And what connects us more than a ramble?

Think about late-night conversations where you and a friend start talking about one thing, then end up in a completely different universe. Those are the moments you remember, not because they were efficient, but because they were alive.

Characters who ramble recreate that feeling. They don’t just tell a story; they invite the reader to sit on the floor with them at 2 a.m. and follow their train of thought wherever it goes. That’s intimacy. That’s vulnerability. That’s what makes a story stick.

📚The Nonsense That Matters

In the end, the art of rambling is the art of trusting nonsense. It’s about knowing that not every word has to drive the plot forward at 60 mph. Some words can take the scenic route. Some can stop at the gas station to argue about chips. Some can wander into the woods, get lost, and come back with a pocket full of twigs.

Because nonsense, when handled with care, stops being nonsense. It becomes the part of the story that feels most like life.

And isn’t that the whole point? To make the reader believe, even for a second, that these words on a page are alive, and messy, and real.

✨Final Thought

So, the next time someone tells you to cut the ramble, to trim the nonsense, to stick to the plot-ignore them. Or don’t. Or do, but only half-heartedly, while writing a three-page digression about why their advice reminds you of a badly made sandwich.

Because the art of rambling is this: turning detours into destinations. And if you can master that? Your story will never just be read. It will be lived.

- Makitia Thompson
✨ Writer. Creator. Plot Twister.
✍️ Minds In Design

#Mindsindesign #Makitia #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse #Midstories #Mdicontent #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers 

The Orchard Remembers: Why I Turned The Withering Orchard Into a Screenplay

 

Some stories aren’t content to stay on the page.

The Withering Orchard began as a short story, a quiet descent into ritual, memory, and the kind of silence that creeps under your skin. I thought that was enough. I thought prose could contain it. But the more I lived with Burrington, the more I realized the orchard wasn’t just meant to be read, it was meant to be seen.

That’s when I started the screenplay.

Why a Screenplay?

Screenplays are strange creatures. They’re stripped bare, no long inner monologues, no drifting paragraphs, no gentle padding of language. A script is bones and muscle, waiting for light and shadow to bring it alive. And that’s what makes it terrifying.

Because when you write something as a screenplay, you have to see it.

You don’t write “Anabeth felt the weight of being forgotten.”
You write:
EXT. TOWN SQUARE – NIGHT
Anabeth kneels alone. No one looks at her. The journal glows faintly in her hands.

And suddenly, the loneliness isn’t in her head- it’s on the stage, in the street, pressing against the audience as heavily as it presses against her.

The Set of Memory

When I reimagined the orchard for the screenplay, I didn’t see endless groves. I saw something almost theatrical, trees standing like props, roots breaking through stageboards, a shadow that felt both painted and alive. The orchard became a stage, and Anabeth? She was an actor trapped in someone else’s ritual, reading lines she never agreed to.

And if that sounds eerie, it should. Because that’s what screenplays do: they make the unseen visible, whether you want to see it or not.

A Bonus, A Memory, A Warning

I’m releasing The Withering Orchard: The Screenplay as bonus material to the short story, not because everyone loves reading scripts (most people don’t), but because some stories deserve to exist in multiple forms.

This isn’t just a retelling. It’s the orchard from another angle. The ritual still unfolds, the cloaked figure still waits, the roots still pulse beneath your feet - but now, you can watch it happen.

And maybe, when the lights go down and the script fades to black, you’ll feel the same realization Anabeth does:

The orchard never forgets.
Not her.
Not you.
Not anyone who lingers too long.

👉 The Withering Orchard: The Screenplay is now available as a companion edition to the short story. For readers who want to step into the square, see the ritual performed, and watch the orchard claim its memory. Find it here The Minds In Design Store The Withering Orchard is just a small part of the Where Time Can' Exist series, but it acts as an opening to the time forgotten town of Burrington. 

#Makitia #Makitiathompson #Mindsindesign #Themiduniverse #Midstories #Midcontent #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Thewitheringorchard 

Serial Family Man: A True Crime-Inspired Descent Into Darkness

 

Some monsters hide in the dark. Gregg Thorton grew up in it.

From the moment he took his baby sister’s life at just six years old, Gregg’s path was carved in blood. Over the next three decades, he hunted without remorse. Choosing victims who didn’t meet his impossible standards, punishing them in the only way his fractured mind understood.

Nearly a dozen innocent lives were lost before the law finally caught up to him.

Now, after years of silence, Gregg is ready to speak. His full confession promises to unearth buried truths, expose long-hidden horrors, and offer grieving families the closure they’ve begged for.

But some truths don’t bring peace. Some truths only bring more nightmares.

In Serial Family Man, I wanted to do more than just tell the story of a killer. I wanted to explore the fractured psychology behind him. What shapes someone into a predator? How do they hide behind the image of a “perfect family man”? And when the truth finally comes to light, can it ever really bring closure?

Through chilling confessions, raw emotional beats, and an unflinching look into Gregg Thorton’s mind, this story blurs the line between fiction and the terrifying truths it’s inspired by. It’s a literary experience that grips you from the first page and doesn’t let go until long after you’ve finished.

Limited-Time Offer 🎁

For a short time only, when you buy the digital copy of Serial Family Man from my store, the first 20 readers will receive a FREE audiobook code for the story.

📖 Read it.
🎧 Hear it.
And decide for yourself whether Gregg Thorton’s words are confessions… or just another layer of manipulation.

🛒 Get your copy now: mindsindesign.com/products/serial-family-man

#TrueCrimeReads #AudiobookDeal #PsychologicalThriller #MindsInDesign #BookPromo #Makitia #Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse #Midstories 

🌳Walking the Whispering Streets of Burrington

 

You step off the main road, and immediately the world changes. The air grows heavier here, not with heat or humidity, but with something else...memory, shadow, and the faint pulse of secrets that refuse to leave. Your footsteps crunch against gravel that seems older than the town itself, worn smooth not just by human passage but by the weight of unseen things moving just beyond sight.

The houses of Burrington lean slightly in the late afternoon light, their timbers groaning softly as if telling stories no one else can hear. Windows reflect the gold of the sun, yet in those reflections, sometimes you glimpse something more, a figure that isn’t there when you blink, or a shadow that moves against the grain of reason. You catch your breath, though no one else is around. Burrington has that effect on people.

Turning a corner, you follow a narrow lane flanked by high stone walls and creeping vines. The scent of apples drifts faintly on the breeze, sweet and rotten all at once 🍏. Somewhere ahead, an orchard waits- gnarled, old, impossibly thick. The branches twist toward the sky, yet when you glance down, you sense roots weaving through the earth like silent sentinels, holding every secret buried beneath the soil.

You pause at the edge of the orchard. The air feels thinner here, almost vibrating, though you hear nothing but the soft rustle of leaves. And then you notice it: a faint hum, just beneath perception, threading through the air between the trees. You cannot locate the source. It is everywhere and nowhere. You step closer, and the hum pulses with your heartbeat. You swallow, feeling the sudden taste of something metallic and sweet. Apples. They hang from the branches like small, perfect moons, too bright and smooth to be ordinary 🌙.

Somehow, the orchard knows you are here. It has always known.

You begin walking between the rows, fingers brushing against bark, tracing the deep grooves worn by hands long gone. The shadows shift, and you swear you see a figure... a girl, pale and silent, moving through the branches. She vanishes as quickly as she appears, leaving only the hum behind. You wonder if she is real or a memory woven into the orchard itself, one of the countless fragments Burrington keeps hidden.

The closer you walk, the heavier the past becomes. You sense stories tangled in the roots. Families that have lived and left, secrets that have been stolen or buried, echoes of voices that whisper just beyond comprehension. One house you pass seems ordinary until you catch movement in the window: a journal, its leather cover weathered and stitched with care, resting on a table as though waiting for you. You do not touch it, yet the air around it feels charged, filled with small fragments of existence you can almost see but cannot hold.

Time feels different here. Minutes stretch into hours, or perhaps it is the other way around. The town has a way of folding itself around those who linger too long, of testing perception and patience. You notice subtle anomalies: a tree that has bloomed out of season 🌸, a path that seems longer than it should, a door that was closed the day before now slightly ajar with no explanation. Burrington is patient, and it records everything. Every touch, every whisper, every thought.

A sudden breeze lifts fallen leaves into a swirling dance, and you realize it carries echoes- small, fleeting fragments of voices. A girl laughing somewhere far away, a man cursing under his breath, a mother calling her child. You strain to listen, but the orchard folds the sounds into shadows before you can fully grasp them. And yet, the feeling remains: you are not alone. Burrington is never empty.

You come upon a clearing where the oldest trees stand, their twisted trunks looming like guardians. Here, the hum grows louder, a pulse beneath the ground that syncs with your heartbeat. A bench rests beneath the largest oak, and at its base, the earth shifts slightly. Kneeling, you brush away the soil to reveal a tin box, its edges dulled by time. You lift it and find a small journal inside. The leather is worn soft with age, the pages filled with handwriting that speaks of strange fruit, stolen fragments of self, and a girl who walks through trees that remember. 🍎✒️

Reading the pages, a chill creeps up your spine. Somehow, the orchard acknowledges your presence. You feel a subtle pressure in the chest, as if some part of yourself has been recorded, noted, preserved, a fragment you didn’t even know existed. The orchard knows you are here, even if you do not understand how.

Shadows lengthen across the orchard, and the girl appears again. Her silhouette is fluid, wavering in the pale light of the approaching evening. She watches, unseen but known, her presence threading between the trees like a whisper of wind. You do not speak. You do not need to. The orchard hums, and in that hum, her story is already part of yours.

Night falls quickly. The air chills and thickens. Lanterns glow faintly in windows across Burrington, though no one seems to move behind them. The town itself feels alive. Not with people, but with memory. Footsteps echo in empty streets, doors creak, leaves rustle without wind. Burrington has recorded every story, every sorrow, every stolen moment, and it waits patiently for those willing to notice.

You wander past the houses, past the orchard, past the faint traces of what has been. The wind carries scents of apple, moss, and something darker, older, almost metallic. You realize with a sinking certainty that the town is not just a place. It is a living archive, a record of existence itself, and the orchard at its heart is the pulse, the keeper of everything forgotten, everything stolen, everything remembered.

Somewhere behind you, a shadow moves in the branches. The girl is there, again, watching, waiting. She is both a warning and an invitation. The stories are not finished. They wait for those who will follow, who will read, who will listen. Burrington has patience beyond reckoning.

If you have been drawn here by curiosity, by whispers in the wind, or by the faint hum beneath the trees, there is more to uncover. The Withering Orchard, a short story that plunges into the heart of Burrington’s mysteries, is exclusively available in digital format at The Minds In Design Store 🌐. For those ready to follow the threads of memory further, the first full novel in the Where Time Can’t Exist series, Until Time Remembers, is available on Amazon in both digital and print formats 📖✨  A deeper journey into the town, its secrets, and the subtle curse that weaves through its streets. Until Time Remembers

The orchard waits. The town hums. And for those who pay attention, the girl in the branches continues to move silently through the trees. Burrington remembers. And if you are listening… you might just hear it too. 🌙🍂

- Unknown

#Makitia #Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse #Wheretimecantexist #Untiltimeremembers #Midstories #Midcontent #Burrington