Growing up as a Nigerian meant that your parents filled your head with all sorts of supernatural phenomena. When we were children, my mother would tell us these euphoric stories, a lot of which kept us up all night, like they kept a lot of other kids around us up at night as they too were being told these stories in their own homes.
Continue reading “The Monster at the end of this Tale by Mohammed Babajide Mohammed”
As one of the new faculty members at a small Midwestern college, I used to get the short straw when it came to various off-campus activities, such as ‘community outreach’. Basically, that involved a long drive out to some godforsaken rural township in the middle of nowhere to give a talk on local history to a bunch of bored Shriners. Who never asked questions, never showed any more interest than ‘that’s another event ticked off the calendar’ and who wouldn’t even stump up for dinner afterwards. Which meant hunting down a diner somewhere for a slice of pie as a reward to myself, partnered with a stay-awake coffee and refill.
Continue reading “Gentlemens’ Agreement by Steven French”
“Harry… Harry…”
The voice was muffled, barely audible.
Who was Harry?
A foaming mess of memories flooded into his head, a tidal wave of information he could barely comprehend.
The wave retreated, leaving a simple truth washed up amongst the flotsam and jetsam.
He was Harry.
Continue reading “Last Stable Backup by Ed Dearnley”
Pen Gipperson wasn’t thrilled that he had to visit the attorney handling the lawsuit against him at a fuckhole office in Connecticut. Extremely inconvenient. But because of legal matters there was no way around it.
Continue reading “Mary Mary by Adam Kluger”
Alexander Korda’s 1948 film ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’, starring a moustache-less David Niven, was a famous flop, in both Britain and America. At the time, it was suggested by the critics that Niven had been miscast, but Alfredo Epps’ new release, ‘The Last Jacobite,’ implies that there was a deeper problem with Korda’s original movie. Namely, that the main character was at fault, not the main star.
Continue reading “An Appreciation of Alfredo Epps’ ‘The Last Jacobite’ by Michael Bloor”
William Wendron balanced on a wooden stool, wedged into the corner of the old pub, leaning upon the slate bar top. A crooked half smile fixed upon his face; old hands deformed with arthritis by years of toil in the damp with pick and axe. He grappled with his mug, draining the last of the sour gin down his throat. He welcomed the warmth spreading out from his gut, encompassing his wizened body; worn before its time, the pain of years of hard labour dulled under the gin’s spell. He knew he should not have another; he had promised the mine captain he would stop turning up in the morning stinking of gin with glazed eyes. Despite the ember of guilt in his conscience he shouted for the barmaid.
Continue reading “Knockers by Amy Tryphena”
His wife smiles as she looks over at him, slipping her hand over top of his. They sit in rented beach chairs not far from where their three small children are playing in the sand. Digging up ‘rivers’ for the sea to flow into and filter out of. Sand castles that are hastily built and quickly moved on from. Splashes in the cool surf washing far enough inland to get their ankles wet.
Continue reading “The Wave by D J Roosh”
Time for another delve into the darkest secrets of one of our favourite writers. Alexander Sinclair first joined the Literally Stories family back in 2020 and has built up quite a list of shorts. It is a fascinating mix of work, well written, intriguing, and entertaining rather like his answers to our writer’s interview questions. Here is what he told us. p.s. This editor is fascinated by his answer to question 16!?
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
Kindle is one of the greatest inventions since the pop-top beer can. Anyone who has had to pack and move hundreds of books from one place to another should be grateful for it. I look at my tablet, amazed that I have thousands upon thousands of pages stored in it; enough volumes to make my place look like that of a hoarder. I now own maybe three hundred paper books–down from the high of about fifteen hundred I had on hand in the 90’s.
Continue reading “Week 476: Xtra, Xtra Read All About It; Five, Make That Six Good Reads; Inked Jocularity”
I sat in Clarice’s office every week. My bedroom closet was bigger. A black leather couch with holes in it took up half the room. White stuffing like cottage cheese spilled out of it. Her pine desk overflowed with files. Clarice had more books on her wall than a library. They were in boxes on the floor. All that knowledge. Nowhere to put it.
Continue reading “Fractured by Lisa Lahey”
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