All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Crusader by Diane M. Dickson

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The air in the alleyway was damp and cold, smelling of urine, rot and decay. Old bricks were wet as his hands brushed against them and the cement under his trainers was slick with vile gunk. Frankie drew away from the wall with a shudder. Pulling his zipper closer under his chin, he crept slowly towards the doorway hidden in the gloom. His dark knitted hat sparkled slightly with moisture under the dim overhead lighting, making him appear to have been sprinkled with Christmas glitter. The thought would not have amused him. He had no patience for such stuff, tinsel and trimming, laughter, joy. What place did it have in a world with all this work to do, all this clearing out and cleaning up?

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All Stories, General Fiction

Thirty Eight Special by Robert Kruger

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“If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather.”

—Stephen Fry

________________________________________

Author’s note: My good friend, Sean, had repurposed an old decanter that once held Johnny Walker scotch, whose label he had steamed off and replaced with one of his own design. On the new label he had printed: CONVO-LOTION. In fine print, it announced: “Good for what ails you. Apply liberally.” If only those words had proven to be true.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

Blow, Bonny Breeze by Stephen Silvester

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The big man filled the doorway of The Smack Inn, blocking out the insistent daylight. ‘Samuel Root?’ he boomed into the gloom.

A wiry little figure leapt up from a table in the depths of the room and scurried forward, hand outstretched. ‘Ned Polley?’ The other grunted. ‘Welcome. How was the journey?’

‘Long. Hard on the arse.’

‘Ale will see to that.’ Root waved and slopping tankards appeared. ‘Parents well?’

‘Mother same as ever. Father won’t see fifty again but good for a few years yet.’

‘Sorry about your uncle.’

‘Took me an age to read your letter.’

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

Spice of Life and Death by M Bridger

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“I reckon that lass Lyra or Lula or something was well into me, I got her number, I might get lucky later this week if I can see her again”, Kyle smiled, slapping his closest friend on the shoulder.

“Yeah and pigs might fly! Catch you Monday Kyle”.

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Short Fiction, Writers Reading

Writers Read – And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie an essay by Leila

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Agatha Christie 1939

Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None was my mother’s all time favorite book. If that isn’t true, well, she can come back from the other side and tell me about it (that statement causes me a bit more anxiety than you might think). She died fifteen years ago and lately I’ve been re-examining the crash and thud of our extremely difficult and often semi-violent relationship. Now, I never swung at Mom except once when I was nine, and she actually pulled a knife on me once when we were both considerably older. I believe “volatile” sums it up if I had only one word to choose from.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 595: Who’s On Your Wall and a New Feature

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I went to high school with a girl named Michelle “Mick” Kleinschmidt. Mick looked as far removed from Kleinschmidtiness as you can imagine. Her father was an American of German ancestry and her mother (whom Mick strongly resembled) was a Filipina. Mick’s parents met and were married in Manila. He was in the Navy and brought Mrs. K to live in the United States. Bremerton, Washington is a Navy town, and after Mick’s father was honorably discharged he landed a job at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. This is very common in this part of the world and continues to happen to this very day. (For the first time ever, while I worked on base, I met a female Ensign who brought her Filipino husband home to America.)

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All Stories, General Fiction, Historical

Ana in the Negative by R W Owen

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By Chancellorsville, his camera had grown heavier, the straps of its leather case cutting into his shoulders, the sway of its brass and wood bruising his ribs. Among the war dead he had photographed, he lacked one, his sister, Ana, who had died two years earlier in a field hospital outside Fredericksburg. Fever, they’d said. By the time he found her name in a ledger, no body was left to claim.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Akelarre  by Matias Travieso-Diaz

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There is nothing more dangerous than a woman who dances.
Pablo Agüero and Katell Guillou, Akelarre (screenplay)

On the night of her sixteenth birthday, Garazi was awakened from deep sleep by an apparition, an ill-defined smoky shade with wavering contours that appeared at the foot of her bed. The intruder spoke in a flat voice that lacked warmth or inflection: “Get up, Garazi, for you are no longer a child, and come to celebrate your passage into womanhood!”

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

Fire Eating by Christopher Ananias

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A homeless man is lying across the railroad tracks. A green bicycle is parked sideways on the rocks. “What the hell is this,” I say to Jonny. We’re grinding along the parallel lines in an old beater I just bought last night.

“Helluva deal,” says Jonny, smiling, then he gives him a little toast, and takes a big gurgling gulp of Budweiser, and belches from deep in his stomach. A beery cheeseburger and onions drift towards me. “Look’s like he’s homeless…” then he says, “Homes.”

Around town you might see this homeless man or his twin, sometimes they’re female (they all look alike in their dirty Carhartt’s), pumping their bike or shopping cart from trash can to trash can sorting out spaghetti-sauced aluminum GOLD.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Forever Bench by SJ Butler  

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The same place: Hampstead Heath. A misty London morning, the rising sun at times peeking through the pea-souper; joggers, dog walkers, city slickers taking a short cut, coffees in hand, trailed by confused people with no inclination to be doing anything, but stumbling around like zombies searching for a familiar face. Me: Canon in hand, covert, waiting for that magic pic to arrive – I’m poised.

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