The Cafe In the Village

It wasn’t December, rather, a grim October haunted by a relentless early chill. Dipping my hat, I hurried across the cobbled street. Opening the door, I delighted in the glow of table candles and the low hum of conversations. The place was charming and oblivious to the danger.

Our eyes met and the shooting began.


Ross Coppage.


A Witness to the Horseman

A smothering silence fell upon the air, the trees and the dark.

Swallowing, I gripped tighter on the rains, slowed my breathing and strained to see the source of the struggle.

Squinting, my eyes fell upon an imposing soldierly figure.

There, silhouetted against the harvest moon was his jagged, headless neck.


He got Ichabod…



Ross Coppage.


The Witches Colony – The Spell

I felt it… I breathed it… the rustle of crisp leaves, the deep cool sky, the dusty, earthy scent of the harvest work.

So hypnotic, the smoke and the crackle of cherry logs, beneath the ancient iron caldron.

Naked, grasping her vile hand, I blissfully obeyed her dire request, and stepped into the boiling pot.


Ross Coppage.


Fear In A Mexican Prison

Gritting my teeth, my nostrils kept time with my heaving lungs. My arms and forehead were perched against the damp, cool concrete. Not even the rush of scalding drops could impugn the pulsing adrenalin and bristled animal fear. A fear that gnashes at you to let it in and buckles your knees when you do.



Ross Coppage.


Fearful Silent Eyes – A Vampire Tale

I traced my icy fingers along her Hellenistic form, the chiseled turn of her lips, her flawless pail curves… that of goddess.

So striking and fearful, her silent eyes compelled the most wanting dreams.

Alas, enslaved I am, by the aching lust, the sickening thirst, by the deep red beads crawling down her neck.


Ross Coppage.





Tucking against a shadowy column, I saw my skin grow rigid bumps. Fanning my fright, it was passing only an arm span away. In its grasp, writhing and bloody, was a young girl, futily clawing at its armor. With a strangling grip, I spun wildly, slashing my sword through its bony skin.


Ross Coppage




“Oh no, it hurts!”


“It burns!”


Sobbing: “ No…I cant… it’s so far.”

“Hold my hand.”

Crying: ”I won’t do this!”

“Maria, do you know god?”

A shroud of motion took hold.

Our thoughts, still.

Our hands rigid and grasping.


“I do.”


Ross Coppage.


A Naive German Soldier’s Introduction to Hell

Her sincerity was relayed by her dimple clad half smile. Mine, with a gaping mouth and awestruck, wide eyes. She obliviously strode in the single file “shower” line, taking my heart toward the rusty threshold. With one last half smile, she disappeared, the door was sealed, the gas released and my young sole died, forever.


Ross Coppage