Young Toche, “the bird,” slight of stature and weighing no more than a bundle of palm leaves, was forever a dreamer. In his tiny village, deep in the jungles in Colombia, time moves slowly. He lived the life of his ancestors. Dinner came at the end of a spear, and fire and a thatch roof were luxuries. Modernity was yet to invade.
Continue reading “Little Green Men by Jason Abshire”
I screwed all the lightbulbs back in. There was nothing in the sockets — no hidden bugs or cameras — but the feeling that I was being watched stayed with me. I had combed my place thoroughly that morning, and everything seemed to be in the right spot. I even threw away my cell, and all my electronics had been unplugged for days. But I knew they were somehow monitoring me, and I could have missed something. I went to the window and stared down onto the street, debating whether or not to leave my apartment and hide among the passersby, blend in.
Continue reading “The Syndicate by David Gershan”
I could write a novel on what I think about this writer.
James Herbert – My all-time favourite horror writer.
Continue reading “Writers Read – James Herbert by Hugh Cron”
Wonky Words
This week I again lost the battle of prescription v. “perscription.” It is a secret (well, not anymore) shame that inspires another look at certain words.
We all have our prejudices. These range from the meaningful to the downright insipid. Oddly, I find foolish prejudices more interesting and perhaps better telling of a person’s character.
Continue reading “Week 516: More Wonky and Wise Words”
Jasmine approaches the library through the vacant field. She searches for a place to hide her blue duffle bag and the remainder of her carrots and apples. She stuffs it between the hedges and the building. The low-hanging branches make it invisible there. The blister on her right heel burns.
Continue reading “Sanctuary by Patricia Ljutic”
I loved the dark when I was a kid. That’s when I made up my best stories. I’d lay in bed with the kaleidoscopic images shooting through my brain like a meteor shower. My lips whispered the sounds of squealing tires, explosions, and airplanes, and sometimes fluttering with the staccato of a machine gun or the thwack of a wooden bat. These images were projected onto the inside of my eyelids like View-Master stereoscopic reels. I knocked out bad guys, hit home runs, captured criminals and won wars. I quickly advanced the scenes until the day after my tenth birthday. That’s when I saw my funeral, and it scared the hell out of me.
Continue reading “The Charm by Ed N. White”
“Definition, please?”
She was dreaming again. Back on that same stage, the lights glaring in her eyes. The old elementary school auditorium with its thick crimson curtains parted. The microphone before her. Or sometimes she’d suddenly be in the gymnasium instead, the air rank with sweat and floor wax, the bleachers filled to capacity. It was never very clear. It was never . . . Wait, was it possible to smell in one’s dreams?
Continue reading “Parts of Speech by M.S. Nieson”
She holds up her hand to the bathroom window, feels cold air piercing. Early morning, still dark, the children asleep. She unspools a strip of foam, one-handed. At her feet, a diagram displayed on her mobile phone. Using a screwdriver, she pries off ragged remnants of the original weather-stripping. When she stretches to reach the top rail, her ribs ache.
Continue reading “Safe House by Alain Kerfs”
A red phone box stands alone in the middle of a field. Long grass and wildflowers surround it and little else. I make my way over; glad I’m wearing my wellies. I avoid the cow pats along the way and bat a couple of flies from my face.
Continue reading “Dial 1 for Heaven by N J Delmas”
Curtis Glide, a student of people, satisfied with his findings of them as “passable'” Even as a millionaire, the gained acceptance came as encouraging to where the heroes show themselves in a hurry, lest they lose the gain.
Continue reading “All-Souls Hangout by Tom Sheehan”
literally stories 