(Adult content – refer to the tags at the bottom of the page)
Mick blindsides me as I finish a cigarette and I fight the urge to crack him.
I’ve never liked him. His teeth are black from all the bootlicking and he’s punchable in a way that would make a heavy bag jealous.
Continue reading “The Summoned by Alex Sinclair”
“Mommy! Mommy!”
As the summer sun neared the horizon on this longest day, the heat of late June only fading slowly, Ann drew fingers through her dark hair, trying to work out the beginnings of a tangle. I should just cut it short, she thought. Everyone else my age does.
Continue reading “Night Stranger by Torger Vedeler”
They’re talking about me. I can’t hear the exact words, but I know it. Their eyes carefully shoot glances from time to time while their mouths move fast with worry and sympathy. I need someone to tell the doctor tomorrow that I don’t like this new medication. It makes my thoughts dizzy and my legs slower.
Continue reading “It Was Best Like This by Margarida Chagas”
I’ll ask, are you ready? and she won’t hear me the first time. She’ll be busy wrestling the damp residue out of her clothes, cursing the dryer for its indolence.
I’ll ask again.
Are you ready?
Continue reading “End in Sight by Tyler Wilkerson”
This month’s Whoever has been with the site since we published her first work in 2015. We love seeing her name in the submissions emails because there is always something quirky and intriguing. If you haven’t checked out her back catalogue have a look at Ashlie Allan’s page. You’ll be glad you did.
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
If I was to believe the stereotypes on TV I’d be very jealous of the Americans. You see, most times I have watched anything from a Comedy to a Thriller, most Americans are portrayed as hard working folks who strive to be the best at their work and are never happiest until they are happy at work.
Continue reading “Week 441-Egg Mayonnaise To Mourn To, Mary’s Flying Baby And I Loved His Wee Trike.”
Warning – Content that some readers may find upsetting – refer to tags on the bottom of the page
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What do you say to a person who tells you, when they get one of those shivers-running-up-and-down-the-spine feelings, that not only is someone really walking across their grave but that they can tell who it is …? Well, I can state for the record that what you absolutely do not do is laugh. I learned that the hard way. So, when he sat bolt upright in his armchair, rolling his shoulders and glaring at me as if it were somehow all my fault, I knew better than to look up from my ironing.
Continue reading “Grave Stepping by Steven French”
The sound was awful and those who lived on the ground floor knew right away that something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t the clang and clatter made when kids chucked stuff over the concrete balconies, and it wasn’t the soft thud like the time the nutter on the tenth floor threw all her clothes over in a bin bag. This was a heavy ‘thunk’.
Josie sitting in the gloom at her place on the corner thought it sounded like the You Tube video of someone smashing their head into a watermelon. In fact, this was a sort of reverse truth and a darned good analogy according to the police.
Continue reading “Cause and Effect by Diane M Dickson”
Mr. Overalls comes into Old Da’s room at Henrytown Home for the Elderly and Infirm at night—not each night—but often—and pisses in the radiator. This is particularly problematic in winter. She tells Nurse Bee that she hears the hiss, which, she says, makes her queasy and uneasy, and she says she worries that if she can get used to the smell, she might be able to get used to anything, and she says she fears what it is she may have already gotten used to.
Continue reading “A Long Time Between Yesterday and Tomorrow by J Bradley Minnick”
Neighbor, how we can talk of bone-on-bone arthritis woes, our children, and the Highlander’s muscles over the fence in less than ten minutes! Listen, I have a gift for you for watching over my house whenever I’m on a trip. It’s a bright blue pottery cup with hand-painted fuchsia flowers, suns, and lime green leaves swirling around it. It looks unusual here, but it isn’t in Mexico. Stores are crammed with that lovely pottery and delicate glassware splashed with chunky abstract designs straight from the impulsive mind of the painter.
Continue reading “Blue Heat by Susan DeFelice”
literally stories 