Take a brief small bookstore tour around North Carolina with us and find some niche new (and old) places to meet your next favorite book. Be sure to check individual store websites and socials for the most up to date information on inventory, events, and offerings.

Elsie Jones did not belong here. Despite the soft sunlight that filtered in through her large windows, the lush pillows surrounding her, the gorgeous silk scarf holding her dark curls aloft as she slept, and the inviting platter of tea sitting on the table beside her door, the entirety of Southerby Plantation seemed to constantly ooze a sense of foreboding. It was as if the very structure itself whispered obscenities to her through the walls each night...

Kid crashed his car into the River at 2:03. It was just as the sun came into his eyes and flared that he’d swerved. Or didn’t realize he’d swerved. Not that it mattered.

He comes in those moments before sleep sweeps across my brow, sinks me into nothingness. His words mere whispers. In my ear? My mind? I can never tell. They encoil my heart and steal my breath as terror surges through me, awareness of my mortality palpable. His presence a shroud embracing me. Portending that which lies beyond my end.

Pickles the Clown was calmer than he remembered being in his entire life. Leaning forward in the vanity chair toward the mirror, he carefully drew a rag across his cheek. The thick white makeup and red freckling transferred from his face onto the cloth. He’d been with the traveling carnival for three seasons. During that time, he’d aged from runaway teenager to legal adult. The other members of the troupe had treated him like a grown-up from the beginning.

Author Samantha Dunaway Bryant recently took the time to answer Ink & Oak’s burning questions via email. Keep reading for more on her forthcoming titles and bookish events you can find her at over the next few weeks. 

You don’t have to look far for inspiration when setting out to write chilling content in North Carolina. Our state is home to a host of authors delivering freshly brewed horror tales. Read on, if you dare, for details on local meet-ups and frights to spur your creativity.

I wrote this like Psalms etched in the sand, A message from the soul, so I hope you’ll understand. I used to marvel at your magic like Strange with the hands, Now your spells feel hollow, generic, and bland.

We are at the brink of October, that time of wandering souls, Samhain and otherworldly vibes. Here at Ink & Oak, that means we are sending out a call to all you tortured souls and twisted Triangle-based writers to hit us with your finest flash fiction, micro-fiction, and short stories that bring out the dead, the undead, and all that occupies the liminal space between.