Perroni’s by Adam Kluger

Word of Bisbee’s Dad’s funeral got passed around through friends via emails.

Good ol’ Bisbee.

Stanley Schlumperdink thought to himself of the times that he and the Diabolical Bis would hit on chicks together at Trader Vic’s at The Plaza in High School. Bisbee preferred the Tiki Puka Puka to the Spider Bowls. Either way. The girls back then had candy flavored pussies and a real love of high fashion.

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The Precipitous Writing Career of Evelyn Jones by Bruce Levine

From the first thing of recorded history, that is, the first thing he could remember, Evelyn Jones wanted to be a writer. He didn’t know what he wanted to write and, at not quite two years old, that was to be expected. But he’d seen people writing things. Adults, his older siblings and anyone else that happened to hold a pencil or pen and place it against paper was fascinating. The mere act of passing a writing instrument across paper seemed so extraordinary that he felt he somehow had to try it.

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Our House Has No Windows by Neil James

Our house has no windows. On winter mornings, I leave in downpours and darkness at six, then return in the brooding grey of twilight. Sometimes your car is here and sometimes it’s not. On the evenings when you’re around we eat supper in silence, chewing food without flavour. I’m never hungry any more, either. We scrape more food into the dustbin than either of us eat.  You take to the sofa behind the barrier of your phone, tapping out messages to whoever. I take the armchair and read books I’ve read before.

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The Beguiling (1972) by Stephen Tuffin

One sunny morning, Pete Adcock and his seven year old son Nicky came out of the side door to their house and climbed in to Pete’s old Ford Popular. It was a rare sight to see – a car on a council estate – but if you wanted to split hairs you might point out that Pete’s house wasn’t actually on the estate, it was right next door to it and Pete owned his house – unlike many of his neighbours.

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In Through the Wow-Signal Emoji By Leila Allison

 

Renfield and Ethan Stoker-Belle are the proud owners of a “Spirit-enhanced house.” This used to mean “haunted house,” and the bump-in-the-night types within were known as “ghosts.” Whether you think it political correctness run amok, or simply a verbal showing of respect for the departed, a plurality of the individuals on the Otherside have a strong antipathy for the word “ghost.” You must call them Spirits. Nearly all Spirits find the G-word offensive, for it implies a state of existence inferior to that of the original item. This hoary old stereotype is going to be hard to dislodge from the human psyche; and not helping matters that much is the haughty attitude of some Spirits, who seem to deny that the only thing they had to do to become what they are is die. Still, the dead outnumber the quick by a ratio of nearly thirty to one. Nowadays this vast once silent majority refuses to rest in peace.

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It Varies From Fool to Fool by JC Freeman

At sixteen, Thommy Lemolo broke her leg while playing high school softball. She’d been tracking a pop-up in the outfield and had stepped in a small hole, which did big damage to both her right tibia and fibula. “Never break a bone before, kid? By the look of that leg I’d say you got two for the price of one,” said the vaguely cute X-ray tech as he prepared to take images of her injury at the hospital. A good thick shot of morphine had knocked back her pain, and it also made people funnier and vaguely cuter than they were prior to the drug’s administration.

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