Melpomene (M.N. Kee)

Staff Writer M.N. Kee is a stable hand, aka room service for horses, by day and SFF writer every spare second in-between. Daughter of a retired English teacher, she's always had an interest in writing but didn't start taking it seriously until about five or so years ago. She's working on a dark fantasy trilogy called The Mark of the Deceived, the plot of which has changed as much as she has over the years. She also has a spinoff blog called Infernal Happenings, told from the POV of Inferna the Vampire Queen. When she's not writing she's RPing on Twitter, binge watching YouTube, or chilling with her five goats.

Eye to Eye

The person turns around, a wide grin spreading across a face identical to my own. “Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here. I think it’s about time for you and me to have a little chat,” my dark alter drawls, causing my heart to drop into my stomach.

Beyond the Looking Glass

“Wait!” I hear him shout after me, but nothing can stop me. Nothing but— I suddenly slam into what feels like an invisible force field. My feet come to a grinding halt as I feel her black tentacles wrap around my subconscious. I try to scream, but it doesn’t meet my lips. Instead, laughter bubbles up from me as she pulls me under.

Accidents Happen

“You know, you’re pretty hot for a dead girl,” he continues, as if my silence is an invitation. Classy, idiot. You don’t know who you’re messing with. Don’t make her come out. Trust me, you’ll regret it.

Man in a Mask

Eyes like obsidian peek from behind his Guy Fawkes mask. Its twisted grin is like the antithesis to the gaping frown of mine. And yet, the foreshadowing of anarchy feels all the same. There’s a suave air to him as he dances up alongside me, just within reach and yet so far away. The energy between us feels static, like a live wire connects us.

Have a Tragic Christmas

As she goes to dispose of her drink, she trips on her own two feet, and without thinking, I reach out and grab her, steadying her on her feet. My heart goes into my throat as I feel a smidge of my power release.

Wasted

I click into a saved recording labeled Message for Melpomene, and it pulls up a grainy, static-filled video of my bedroom. A shiver goes down my spine as the dark shape of a woman moves across the room, idly swinging a club.

Two-Faced

“My, my, that’s quite the piece you have there,” the man at the front desk remarks, his eyes going round like saucers at the sight of it. I feel a slow smirk creep across my face as something, or someone, shifts in my head.

A Masked Mystery

So, this is strange. There’s a tragedy mask sitting on my kitchen table. I don’t own a tragedy mask. I have no idea where it came from or how in Tartarus it got in my house. It’s giving me a weird vibe, too, like déjà vu. It’s so bizarre. I think I’ll keep it.

The Haunted Undertaker, Part II

“I hope you have found your passage across the Styx, Mr. Steffens. If not, well…” I trail off, placing drachma in his palm. “Tell that greedy Charon I’ll pay your fare.” As my fingers graze his skin, I’m suddenly blinded by a flash of light as a vision takes over…

The Haunted Undertaker, Part I

I let out a loud yelp, stumbling backwards. I’m sprayed with coffee grounds and water as my back slams into the island cabinet. Propped up against my coffee machine is my ancient Greek tragic mask. It stares back at me with its large void eyes and gaping mouth twisted into a permanent frown.

Subscribe To In The Pantheon