All Stories, General Fiction

Christmas Spirits by Anna Sahli

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You can believe in hauntings and not in ghosts. You shrink a bit when you enter your parents’ house for Christmas dinner and feel your powerless teenage self slip her tired arms around you and whisper a reminder that you’re not enough and somehow also too much. The rage that boils in your chest while you watch your father criticize your mom only finds a way to possess you at this table, in this room. The icy indifference that serves as your answers to all your mom’s questions is a ghost of the child you killed so you could survive long enough to become an adult.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Signing Off in Style by Simon Berry

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“‘I can’t go on,’ just doesn’t cut it. Doesn’t stand out from the crowd.” Mandy pushed the offending piece of A4 back across the table.

Timothy looked at her and she knew what he was seeing.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Your Grief Doesn’t Interest Me by Simon Nadel

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“You got old early.”

Hannah didn’t need to finish the thought. She’d already said it so many times, and then, when she got tired of saying it, she left. But even when she came back to pick up this or that, she sometimes would say it again, maybe for old time’s sake. “You got old early when you lost your job and started spending your days getting way too wrapped up in the neighbors’ business.” I never had a good response, even though clearly I had plenty of time to come up with one.

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All Stories, General Fiction

1964 by Bett Butler

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The young girl’s sandals slap the buckled sidewalks of Wesley Street. She feels silly and conspicuous in her grandmother’s sun hat, the sweatband stained blue-black by hair dye and perspiration. Stiff from decades of blackland prairie summers, the straw crown swallows her head like an overturned bowl, hot and heavy on her scalp. She thinks about taking it off, but wearing it was a condition of the old woman’s consent for this little outing, and spying eyes lurk behind curtains along the way. In this town, everybody knows everybody’s business.

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever by Mick Bloor

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Poetry is one of those things that seems to divide readers into quite different camps. I am a poet and a poetry lover but fully understand how other people just don’t ‘get it’. This piece, though it’s about a poet is not altogether about poetry. Mick Bloor shows yet again what a knowledgeable and well read writer he is. Excellent stuff.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 482: Remembering Jon Brower Minnoch; Five Acts of Daily Goodness; the A to Z of Slang and Catchphrases

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Jon Brower Minnoch (1941-1983) was, and remains, the heaviest known human being ever to live (according to Guiness). He topped out at 1400 pounds ( a hundred stone in the UK). He holds many weight related records including the most pounds lost (900 plus) and the greatest weight difference between husband and wife (1300). Mr. and Mrs. Minnoch had two children, which is testament to both the determination of life and a prime example of something I’d rather not consider too deeply.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Assumed Position by T.L. Tomljanovic

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The seatbelt light clicked on and Tess checked her latch, her eyes flicking to Jake’s lap—unbuckled, of course. He got the aisle seat. She was in the middle. A stranger sat by the window.

The captain crackled on the intercom. “We’re experiencing a bit of turbulence, folks. Please remain seated as we begin our descent.”

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Vase by Dennis Kohler

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She bought it at the annual Presbyterian rummage sale. The small handwritten tag said 75 cents. The little girl who was watching the money box smiled at the 25 cent tip. In the end, they both got what they wanted. The little girl was a dollar closer to going to college, and the old woman got a small part of her childhood back.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Horror

Mallet, Stake, Button by Ed Kratz

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John works in the vampire processing room. A beep sounds and an open box rolls in on a conveyor belt. He grabs a stake with his left hand. Holds his mallet with the right, and drives the stake through the vampire’s chest. Then he hits the large red button, signaling he’s ready for the next. Mallet, stake, button. It’s how he survives. Mallet, stake, button.

It’s morning now, and he’s waiting for the battered old Ford truck that picks up factory workers.

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