For my sister Tracy – Happy birthday and I know that your mind will be elsewhere. Hope this cheers you up a wee tad.
Continue reading “Franky And Jesus by Hugh Cron (Warning – Very strong adult content with what some would find blasphemous references. Do not read if you are likely to be offended.)”Category: Horror
Week 399: A Tribute to Dark and Stormy Knights and Another Week That Is
As we get closer to Halloween I find myself thinking of the darker side of the human heart. But instead of making a list of horror films and actors (which I have done before), I would like to salute the Evil Bad Guys* of Film and TV, for they are the ones who make stuff worth watching. (I use the word “Guys” in the unisex form–for I do not care for “Gals.”)
Continue reading “Week 399: A Tribute to Dark and Stormy Knights and Another Week That Is”The Souvenir by Nick Satnik
The dusky light had gone out. The blinds lay beige and dull with no sky behind them. Only the phone screen remained, and the quiet waves, and the suckling embrace of a hotel mattress. He shifted and pressed send.
Continue reading “The Souvenir by Nick Satnik”Dear Survivor by Gary Opas
Dear Survivor,
I’ve always scoffed at the concept of a zombie apocalypse. That is, until now. It’s here. Think you already know everything about it? I bet there’s something you don’t know. Read on.
Continue reading “Dear Survivor by Gary Opas”A Typical Scottish AI Story by Hugh Cron – Warning – Adult Content.
“You’re coming on fine Malcolm.”
“Malky, I want to be called Malky”
“Malky?”
“Aye”
“Aye?”
“Aye? Are you just repeating whit Ah’m saying or are you just being a fud in general?”
Continue reading “A Typical Scottish AI Story by Hugh Cron – Warning – Adult Content.”Initiation by Barbara Stanley
He couldn’t believe it. It had actually worked. A crude pentagram, circle of ashes on the rug, some complicated mumbo-jumbo and poof, there before George sat a real live demon.
Continue reading “Initiation by Barbara Stanley”Baby’s Breath by Quinn
Charice went to check on Nate after having laid him down for a nap only twenty minutes ago. She had an almost obsessive need to check on him, which the online forums she frequented said was normal for a new mother. She found these social media groups to be just as helpful as they were harmful. There was a lot of information not based in science that made its way around. She found the support of other mothers to be the most helpful. To find reassurances in the words of other moms. Despite her enjoyment of the groups she was taking a break for the day after nearly getting herself worked up over someone being rude on her post mentioning Nigri, her cat, having taken a liking to the baby. They raged in warning her against the cat hurting the baby, against toxoplasmosis, and one nut told her the cat would steal her baby’s breath while he slept. While Nigri had been very interested in baby Nate since Charice had brought him home, quite the opposite of how she thought she would be, she didn’t feel there was anything more than curiosity of a new creature inhabiting the home.
Continue reading “Baby’s Breath by Quinn”Lives End Where Two Roads Meet by Enyi Nnabuihe
There were naked children rolling tyres in the rain on this particular Thursday the masquerades came. About seventeen of them; their wet, charcoaled skins, and little, rubbery limbs, emitting joy, radiating hope. There were mothers breastfeeding children in front of their shops; talking and selling, chatting, laughing and howling with the winds that accompanied the rains. There were dogs, goats and cats, roaming, resplendently, around the muddy streets, feeling at home.
Continue reading “Lives End Where Two Roads Meet by Enyi Nnabuihe”The Photographer’s House by Sarah Jackson
“What can you tell me about Eustace Randolph? What sort of man was he?” I asked as I took out my notebook. Gillian Reynolds, Secretary of the Friends of Eagle House, let her excited smile slip slightly at the corners.
Continue reading “The Photographer’s House by Sarah Jackson”Home Remedy By Young Tanoto
Yunmin lived in a patchwork apartment–mismatched, patched, and paper-thin, held together by red thread and a prayer. There were words on the walls; looping, colorful cursive on the mirrors and windows, written in whiteboard marker. He once admired it: the sharp ink, the crisp angles, the spider-like intricacy of every line and dotted letter. To sit and look about his mother’s house was like being trapped amidst a pastel and most perfect plague.
Continue reading “Home Remedy By Young Tanoto”