All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Confession of the Mayo Killer by Thurman Hart

First thing is this: You didn’t catch me. You aren’t smart enough to catch me. I gave up. I confessed. That’s it. Make sure you get it right.

Second thing is this: I have regret. I mean it. I really feel bad about killing those people. Except that first guy, but that’s different, because he deserved it. But the other six? Okay, yeah, maybe some more than others, but I have regret.

You want me to run through them? Fine. Take notes, because I’m not doing this twice.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Horror

Gentlemens’ Agreement by Steven French

As one of the new faculty members at a small Midwestern college, I used to get the short straw when it came to various off-campus activities, such as ‘community outreach’. Basically, that involved a long drive out to some godforsaken rural township in the middle of nowhere to give a talk on local history to a bunch of bored Shriners. Who never asked questions, never showed any more interest than ‘that’s another event ticked off the calendar’ and who wouldn’t even stump up for dinner afterwards. Which meant hunting down a diner somewhere for a slice of pie as a reward to myself, partnered with a stay-awake coffee and refill.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Absence of Good by Thurman Hart

I don’t believe in God; and I’ll tell you why. I don’t believe that good exists. There’s just evil and the absence of evil. It’s like your air conditioner doesn’t actually blow cold on you. It simply absorbs the heat and expels it elsewhere.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Historical, Short Fiction

Hartshead Moor Services – Westbound by Matthew Roy Davey

The service station was different. While it was busy, it was quiet: a gentle hum of conversation and the odd rattle of cutlery and crockery. Everything was calm. There was no panic, no urgency, no pain.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Tansy by Nancy Smith Harris

Every bone in her body warned Ellie Snyder to turn Bertha Miller away at the door; still, she took the haggard woman in and brewed the tea, fragrant as a Balsam fir in December. Clay Miller’d already saddled her with five kids, and one more might just put Bertha in her grave. Only problem with saving the wretch was Bertha’s need to make confession—it was religion that’d trip her up. The woman was a walking apology, a sinner perpetually pleading for redemption. Ellie hoped to hell she’d confess to somebody other than her damn husband.

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All Stories, Horror

Corbin Harrows Moroccan Rug by Reese Alexander

I am bleeding out on Corbin Harrow’s million-dollar, Moroccan, cream-colored rug because he raped a child in 1983. The blood rushing out of the hole just above my right hip-bone runs down my leg and pools at the rug’s edge. The spirit of my mother suddenly possesses me then, and I turn my head to Corbin, frozen only feet from me—still holding the fire poker he’s just pulled out of my side—to tell him that if he acts now, he can still get the stain out. After all, it’s only on one corner.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Jerry’s Last Problem by Jennifer Maloney

The Doctor is cleaning up Jerry’s mess, as usual. With a grunt, he bends, grabs the dead boy beneath the armpits and drags him toward the stairs. While the Doctor works, Jerry hides in an attic bedroom of their mind, eyes closed, fingers in his ears.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Fantasy

Button by Joe Manion

Mr. Randall prided himself on his ability to imagine a person in animal form, a technique he furtively employed, quite frequently it turns out, when he suspected the person might be smarter than him. This method reduced the individual into someone easier to deal with. As such, the small, long-necked man interviewing him from behind the desk in his bowtie and buttoned cardigan was perceived to be a bureaucratic turtle. The image, however, caused Randall to stew in disappointment. He had expected something more for his money—something out of The Sopranos—maybe a gorilla, or a bear. And that wasn’t all. Turtle-man’s office reeked of potpourri, for high on the wall a plastic dispenser spat out a staccato “phft,” and just about the time he forgot its annoying existence, it would “phft” again—signaling the imminent descent of chemical lavender.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Summoned by Alex Sinclair

(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.

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