And so she stands under the lamp post with her camera strapped around her neck and a candy cigarette tucked between her lips. That’s just for kids, isn’t it? But this woman certainly isn’t a kid. She has the look of a doting aunt. It’s in the eyes: the eerie combination of leering adoration and simmering jealousy.
Continue reading “Miss by Keith LaFountaine”
The first came in at nine thirty. A bag lady. Large plastic shoppers and canvas sacks hung from her shoulders. Even more burst through the metal frame of the grocery cart she left in the lobby. Hair wrapped in a kerchief, body wrapped in at least three coats, she handed a newspaper wrapped package to Officer Hill. He promptly vomited. Those of us who had been making coffee or taking calls now gathered around to absorb the horror. Lt. Mahoney let out a low whistle before snarking,“Somebody pissed somebody off.”
Continue reading “The Levite by R. R. Setari”
There are two types of nurses: the ones who believe in ghosts, and the ones who are lying.
We don’t talk about it much, especially now that the war is over. You can feel it more than see it when we’re together—a collective haunting, invisible guests at the dinner table. The conversations lulls and our gazes drift and we stare at strangers we’ve seen somewhere before. Was it the operating table? A hospital bed? The morgue?
You do this kind of thing for years and eventually everyone becomes a ghost of someone, somewhere. We don’t talk about it much.
But sometimes we get drunk.
Continue reading “The Magician of Sixth Avenue by Sam Mueller”
When you read this, I will most likely be dead.
The night is biting and cold against my naked skin. The rope is impossibly tight around my ankles, set on digging its way down to the bone.
I am not sure anymore, what will kill me first; The cold , the starved predators of the forest or my own people.
Now, before I tell you my story, I want you to know, that I am nothing like the terrible things you might have heard about me.
Continue reading “The Hive by Rania Hellal”
Be Aware this story has content that some readers may find upsetting
The swing squeaks and bucks high up into the sky, its ancient chains straining against the pull of gravity. The boy shoots his legs out violently, pumping them up as far as he possibly can before falling back hard onto the seat, enjoying the thrill of his body leaving the earth. Rusted metal poles rise up from the ground, wood chips and random debris scattering with every pass he makes. He can’t go any higher, yet keeps on trying, constantly testing his boundaries.
Continue reading “Swing by A. Elizabeth Herting”
1.
Alarms blare. It is the end. David knows it as much as he knows anything else. Below, glorious golden clouds meld in a blue atmosphere. So much like Earth. But his family won’t see the light of this star system for twelve years. They will grow old and die, and if he ever makes it back all that will be waiting is a grave. Assuming, of course, there is a planet to return to, and a way home.
The ship falls, and David with it. McLonsky’s blood bubbles and flutters around the cockpit in globules that have minds of their own.
This is it. The end. David closes his eyes, and he waits for his Maker’s embrace.
Continue reading “Home Again by Keith LaFountaine”
There was the smell of fried wires and greasewood; the sound of tempered glass shattering, the echo of it like bar chimes.
Continue reading “It Was Like You Saw the Devil in Something and Just Kept Going by Rory Hughes”
The Thing at the Border:
But erecting a building on consecrated ground presents its own challenges. Wailing banshee? Use stone-wool insulation for soundproofing. Vengeful demonic presence? Mix a dash of salt into the foundation concrete. Ghosts? Use the phrase “historic charm” in the branding. Carlos is ready for anything.
Continue reading “Shut Your Hellhole by Gabriel Munro”
We slosh through these places, Jorvy and I, with beeping equipment we don’t understand and in suits that keep us alive. Our breathing is laboured. Boluses build at the base of our throats, resting like half-swallowed pills. The gin they give us, which tastes like it had to cross a dozen illicit borders to get here, dissolves them.
Continue reading “Civil Servants by Ben Fitton”
I have yet to meet my new housekeeper. She comes highly recommended from, well, shall we say an intimate acquaintance of mine. The agency is headquartered in an anonymous building along the industrial riverfront where, if the amateur historians are to be trusted, a loose affiliation of second-rate magicians used to gather during the Depression to practice their dark arts. Like those illusionists, my housekeeper finishes her duties and vanishes with remarkable punctuality moments before I arrive home from my office at the graphic design firm.
Continue reading “The Disciples of Baphomet by Kevin P Keating”
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