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Coach Rich

@_coachrichlit

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👧🏽🎨✍🏾 | 🦅💙🤎⚡️
Father • Artist • Writer
Former Educator & 🏀Coach
Health is Wealth🏋🏾‍♂️💜
Ville Platte is Home

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by @_coachrichlit

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4 years ago

by @_coachrichlit

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4 years ago

by @_coachrichlit

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4 years ago

👻The House That Hums🏠

Strange humming inside a Savannah apartment leads a young woman to hidden protections and something waiting just beyond the walls.

SWIPE FOR FULL STORY👉🏽👉🏽
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#fiction #writer #shortstory #horrorwriter

Nia took the room because it was six hundred dollars cheaper than anything else within walking distance of campus. The house leaned behind a row of live oaks in Savannah, three stories of faded blue siding and narrow windows, divided into apartments sometime before her mother was born. The house had enough age and character for Mr. Vale to market it as historic, though the girl downstairs seemed less impressed and usually described it as temperamental.

Then, on Nia’s third night, before she had even finished unpacking, the humming started.

At 3:17 a.m., a woman’s low hum came through the wall beside Nia’s bed. The melody seemed familiar at first, though she couldn’t place it or decide whether it was even a song she had heard before. Four notes rose, two fell, then the pattern began again.

The next morning, Nia asked Mr. Vale about the humming. He barely looked up before blaming the pipes.

“Pipes don’t hum.”

“These do.”

She knew he was lying. The problem was that calling him on it might end with her looking for another place she couldn’t afford, so she let the answer stand.

By the second week, Nia had learned to sleep through it, until one night the melody changed. She sat up before she understood why. The same voice was there, but now something rougher came through beneath the humming. The words sounded blurred, almost as if they were being spoken through water.

Nia recorded until the sound stopped at 3:31. The next afternoon, she listened through headphones between classes, raised the volume, filtered out the hiss, and slowed the recording.

A sentence gradually surfaced beneath the melody.

*Don’t answer him.*

Nia played the recording again to make sure she had heard it correctly. The words did not change, and that night she left the lamp on.

At 3:17, Nia lay awake watching the wall. A minute passed, then several more, and for the first time since she moved in, the house remained completely silent. Just before 3:30, a taken in Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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3 days ago

“Low Water”

👻In a drowned Louisiana town reclaimed by the bayou, receding water exposes a buried secret and an old bargain that couldn’t be erased by time.

SWIPE to read the full story

By August, the water outside Courtableau had pulled back farther than anyone could remember. For weeks, people had been finding pieces of the old world along the exposed banks: bottles, bricks, rusted signs, things that had belonged to Washington before the flood. Mud cracked beneath the sun where water had stood all spring, and dead gar lay silver-side up between exposed roots. The elders in town called it low water, the same way their grandparents had, usually with the kind of look that made Eli wonder what else they remembered.

He and Marcus found the rooftops on a Wednesday afternoon. At first, the black shapes beyond the cypress trees looked like stumps, but Marcus kicked through the mud and struck brick beneath his shoe. A chimney rose waist-high from the bank. Farther out, the remains of several houses leaned beneath curtains of moss, their boards gray and warped from decades underwater.

“Damn. Washington really was out here.” Marcus stared past the chimney toward the rooftops. “Guess we should’ve paid attention in class.”

Eli tapped his linkband and glanced at the display along his wrist, which flashed *NO NETWORK*. He suggested they head back, but neither of them moved toward home. Instead, they followed what looked like the remains of a road until it ended at a roofless church. Most of the pews had collapsed into the mud, though the wooden altar, remarkably, still stood. Behind it, half buried in the dry bayou bed, rested a six-sided wooden coffin wrapped several times in rusted chain. A railroad spike had been driven through several links and deep into the earth.

“Baw, don’t touch that,” Eli said.

“Mmcht. I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but yo’ simple ass was thinking ‘bout it.”

Marcus winked and crouched beside the coffin. Letters had been carved into the lid, softened by years of water but still legible if the light hit them correctly.

*ELIAS BAPTISTE*

Marcus looked back at him. “Cut’n, ain’t that cha name?”

Eli stared at the carving. There was no mistaking it. Elias taken in Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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10 days ago

🎃SWIPE TO READ👉🏽
“The Last Passenger”

This is my first entry for the microfiction series Tales of the Nightbound. Stay tuned every Thursday this month for another spooky season story 👻

Full Story also on
👉🏽coachrichlit.richefx.chatgpt.site👈🏽
#writer #microfiction #halloween #spookyseason

Maurice first noticed the woman in the yellow dress a little after midnight, standing near Washington Avenue in the rain. She looked young, maybe twenty, with dark hair stuck to her
face and bare feet on the wet pavement.

New Orleans gave a streetcar operator plenty of reasons not to question what people were doing after midnight. Maurice slowed, opened the doors, and waited. The woman raised one hand but stayed where she was.

“You getting on, love?”

She seemed to look past him. A horn sounded from behind the streetcar, and Maurice closed the doors. When he checked the window again, she was gone.

Twenty minutes later, he saw her near Napoleon Avenue wearing the same yellow dress, with the same wet hair and bare feet. There was no reasonable way she had gotten there first, but Maurice found explanations anyway. Maybe someone had picked her up. Maybe it was another
woman. He kept moving.

She appeared twice the following night, then again on Thursday as rain settled over St. Charles Avenue. Maurice passed her near Jackson, only to find her waiting beneath an oak several blocks later. At the next stop, she stood close to the tracks, but this time she wasn’t asking him to stop. She was pointing toward the rear of the streetcar.

Maurice checked the mirror and saw a man sitting in the last row. He wore a dark coat buttoned to his throat despite the September heat, his hands resting calmly in his lap. Maurice tried to remember when he’d boarded, but he hadn’t stopped for anyone in nearly half an hour.

Outside, the woman struck both palms against the glass just as the man began to turn his head. Every light in the streetcar went out.

Maurice hit the emergency brake, and the car shuddered along the wet rails. Somewhere behind him a seat creaked, followed by the slow sound of a footstep.

He grabbed the flashlight beside his seat and swung the beam down the aisle. It pas taken in Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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17 days ago

Not much change to the name, but a change nonetheless. For the last few years, I’ve used _@CoachRichFIT as all of my social handles basically. It represented a time where fitness was a major part of my life. Now that I’m no longer coaching or teaching, it’s naturally taken a dip in my priorities (sadly).

However, the change in my everyday routine has allowed me to pursue my old love for writing once more. And with, the name change is now _@CoachRichLIT….as in Literature 😂.

All of my writing endeavors will also be housed at
👉🏽 www.coachrichlit.richefx.chatgpt.site👈🏽

Link in Bio!

Stay tuned for new material REAL soon! taken in Lafayette, Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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18 days ago

Please and thank you 🙄😂 by @_coachrichlit

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19 days ago

Where did the time go?

Just yesterday you were a helpless little runt that rarely cried but made sure to be heard. Then you became that big fro little girl who was basically my shadow. Then you became the little sister to so many high school kids you couldn’t stand 😂. Then you became that top student in your class that always had an elaborate story filled with more mystical creatures and characters that I could keep up with. Then you became the Infamous Josama Bin Laden, the terrorizer of all student-athletes.

And then…right before our eyes you just became Jo Elle..

You’re still all of those individual things, terrorist and all, but on top of it all…you’re Jo Elle. You’re no longer in my shadow because now you command the room (when you feel like being bothered). Those elaborate stories have become a full fantasy world that you and your friends have created, complete with lore and backstories. You’re still very much helpless on this big ol’ world, but instead of running to your parents for saving, you attempt to solve things on your own. You’re creative. Intelligent. Inquisitive. Kind.

Every year it gets more and more surreal that I actually get to be 1/2 of the duo who gets to boss you around for a few more years. It’s the greatest gift I could have ever received. I know you can’t go back to being my little mini me, but I enjoy watching you become your own original you.

To the one and only Ellie Belly

🩷Happy Birthday🩷 taken in Lafayette, Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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a month ago

Brother. While we can’t help but feel like a hole has been left that can’t be filled, we can take refuge in knowing your physical fight is over and that you can finally rest and enjoy full health in the big house.

You’ve always been a real one man. In every era of your life. A many of many talents and many names. But I’ma always put on for the brother I gained way back in 6th grade when we were both chap as hell with them coke bottle frames 😂. Save a seat for me up there and you owe me a hoop session baw.

Rest Easy Mike Paul 🖤 by @_coachrichlit

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a month ago

That’s the coaches yall be glazing tho 🫣🫣🫣
#reels #netflix #explorer #lhsaa by @_coachrichlit

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3 months ago

💫 What if your deepest connections were not by chance? What if your path to love has been crafted long before your first breath?…in this life.

💫 “The Thread Before Time” is live on Medium!

💫 Use the QR code or follow the link in my bio to read the first installment of my short story series “In Every Life, You”

#ShortStory #Fiction #CreativeWriting #CosmicString #Author taken in Lafayette, Louisiana by @_coachrichlit

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9 months ago