All Stories, Fantasy, Humour

And A Crow In A Pear Tree by Nik Eveleigh

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And in the alehouse below
A creature was stirring
A miserable old crow…

“Stirring’s a bit strong a word for it to be fair Nug, but I admire your cheery optimism.”

Nugget shook his lumpy, misshapen and somewhat yellow head. “You know me Bresst. Ever cheery.”

“Been meaning to ask you something though, Nug. What’s this Christmas thing you keep singing about?”

“That? The celebration of Christopher Thomas?”


“Christopher Thomas? You’ve heard the tale of Old Chris surely?” Nugget laughed goldenly as Bresst shook his head. “In that case I propose the same again to lubricate the tale. And,” he continued, poking the form slumped over the table beneath a black feathered cloak, “We’d better get another ale into him if we’ve got any chance of him functioning. Now where’s my favourite…ah! There she is! Menna! Three ales please darlin’. And a couple of those otters on a stick if you’d be so kind.”

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All Stories, Humour

From the Mouth of Peter Dowd by Fred Vogel

Man: Hello. I’m Peter. You are a lovely lady.
The lovely lady seated across from Peter: Well, thank you, Peter. I’m Georgia.
Peter: You are too pretty to be a state.
A courtesy smile.
Peter: You have perfect teeth.
Georgia: I brush between meals.
Peter: Good concept.
Georgia: You should try it.
Peter: I believe I will.
Georgia: Tell me, Peter, why are you here?
Peter (after a brief moment of reflection): I believe religion to be an archaic concept that caters to the insecurities of fragile, ignorant people. And you?
Georgia: Goodbye Peter.
Peter: Goodbye Georgia. Continue reading “From the Mouth of Peter Dowd by Fred Vogel”

All Stories, General Fiction

This is the End by Adam Kluger

When it came it was sudden.

There had been a bunch of false alarms and near misses.

Paul Buckington had avoided the inevitable for as long as he could and at some points he thought perhaps, Providence played a part, and at others he credited himself with simply persevering against daunting odds.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Inescapable Touch of Sunset By Leila Allison


The atavistic avatar dropped from space:

“I did it only to see the look on our face.”


On his way across the short overpass that unofficially connects Corson Street to Torqwamni Hill, Holly glances down at a small house below. It’s an ugly little fist-like rental that had gone up during the Second World War—as had countless others of its kind in Charleston. Like the caw of a crow or a bit of dandelion fluff getting stuck to your cheek, this house exists only in the moment you share with it. Yet nearly thirty years gone by, the same house had once unclenched and gave Holly a touch of honesty; thus it had it had earned in his mind its own small history.

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All Stories, Horror

A Silent Playground by Sean Crouch

The world stops. Lincoln no longer hears the sounds of recess through the open kitchen window facing the grade school playground. In the living room, his wife holds fast, motionless, her words clipped as quickly as shears snip a stem. The silence rushes over him the way water envelops a diver. It’s startling and complete.

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All Stories, Latest News

Week 104 – Interest, Promotion And Mrs Claus’s Disappointment.

It has been a strange week for me this week folks. I met a guy I went through secondary school with. I reckon I hadn’t seen him for around thirty years. I was very surprised when he asked about my writing. He had seen an article regarding the anthology over a year ago and had remembered. It was nice to be asked. Not many people ask, but to be truthful, not many people know or realise what this all means to me.

I mentioned last week about me writing poetry and I’ll admit, I am the most un-poetic person ever! I’m even surprised that I do it! I have always kept all my writing a bit hidden. I am not as guarded now as I once was and if anyone asks what I do in my spare time, I champion this site and all our stories.

Continue reading “Week 104 – Interest, Promotion And Mrs Claus’s Disappointment.”

All Stories, General Fiction

Breaking Vials by James Hanna

When I became a San Francisco probation officer, I hadn’t expected to do drug sweeps.  Drug sweeps are typically performed by police better trained in the use of force.  But one day, a dozen of us were deployed on a two-month sweep.  Our task was to pat down our probationers and smash their vials on the sidewalk.

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All Stories, General Fiction

All Saints Day by Tobias Haglund

”I used to live up there, in the red house. My window was just behind the oak tree and I stared out during the night, over this graveyard. I guess you can imagine how I’d fantasized.  Wandering ghouls and vampires. Back then only this lamppost existed. Not that one or the one after. This lamppost was like a lantern, a lonely lantern in the dark, and during damp autumn nights when it was dead silent I snuck down here and stood next to it. Heard only the flickering sound of the lightbulb. The hedges were walls all around me. And when a wind flew through the branches and when someone visited the graveyard, I hid in the bushes.”

Erica pressed out a mint from the candy tube and ate it. “Time to go?”

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Hermit of Breakheart Woods by Tom Sheehan

Over millions of years ago Breakheart Woods, between Saugus and Wakefield in Massachusetts, had been bookmarked by boulders and blow-offs and earthly cataclysm, and to this day, somewhere in its innards from those first struggles of granite and earth fire, from violent fractures and upheavals to be known again only at the end of it all, was a cave, a cave as dark as a heart, a cave that once, I believed, pulsed with a heart. Now we were searching for that cave, in earnest.

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