The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house. The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing. Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed. Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft. She had nailed it shut last week. She had bolted it the day before yesterday. She had prayed over it last night. Nothing worked. From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand. Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house. The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing. Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed. Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft. She had nailed it shut last week. She had bolted it the day before yesterday. She had prayed over it last night. Nothing worked. From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand. Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
Warming up the keys
.
.
.
Motivation
What he focuses on
How he writes
Bestsellers
Stephen King before King
INST*
INST*
BEHANCE
BEHANCE
TELEGRAM
TELEGRAM
*Banned in Russia, owned by Meta
RU /
EN
layout and design of the project:
Ekaterina Safonova

Sources

All images used in this project are for educational and non-commercial purposes only. Below is a list of visual materials used, with sources cited. If you are a copyright holder and believe that use violates your rights, please contact me at katy.slivko17@gmail.com
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Home
2025
Nonprofit project as part of @citadel.study
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house. The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing. Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed. Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft. She had nailed it shut last week. She had bolted it the day before yesterday. She had prayed over it last night. Nothing worked. From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand. Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house. The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing. Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed. Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft. She had nailed it shut last week. She had bolted it the day before yesterday. She had prayed over it last night. Nothing worked. From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand. Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
The wind outside was howling, pulling at the corners of the old house.
 The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the ashes shifted like something breathing.
 Martha sat in her rocking chair, staring at the door that wouldn’t stay closed.
 Every few minutes, it creaked open an inch, though there was no draft.
 She had nailed it shut last week.
 She had bolted it the day before yesterday.
 She had prayed over it last night.
 Nothing worked.
 From the dark crack, she swore she saw a hand.
 Small. Grey. Beckoning.
I'm available for business trips to other cities for projects lasting a month or longer.
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