My heart was going mental as Monica turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The only light in the hallway was a dim yellow glow coming from a room to the left. I knew that room – the bedroom – right down to the last detail. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d been in this flat. These days, Monica was the only prostitute I would ever fuck. There was a time when I’d screw any of them. I realised how easy it was, and I just went for it. It didn’t matter what they looked like as long as they opened their legs. Nowadays, though, things were different. I’d known Monica for a while now. She was good at what she did and she wasn’t bad looking, so I didn’t mess with the others anymore.
All posts by Jason Michel
Backstreet Redemption by Darren Sant
We ran bloody, battered and defeated. It’s amazing how fast you can run with a hoard of screaming Millwall fans hot on your heels, even with several pints of lager inside you. I dashed down an alley and chanced a look over my shoulder. I seemed to have lost the lads but at least there was no sign of the Millwall firm. I leaned against a wall and panting slowly regained my breath. It had been a reasonable day. We had won at the football which was always a bonus. The planned meet with the Millwall crew did not go so well though. Frankly, we had gotten a pasting and ended up legging it. To be fair to us it was their manor and they had much greater numbers. I looked around in the fading light, it was not so much an alley as a very narrow street. I wandered slowly down it, limping slightly. Some bastard with hobnail boots had kicked me repeatedly. It’s a risk you took being in City’s firm. I spied a little pub at the end of the street. Well, I had missed my fucking train so I might as well have a beer and find a hotel.The pub was a scruffy looking building, but then it would be down a seedy little street in the shite part of town wouldn’t it? I pushed open the scratched, beaten door and wandered inside. The place was a typical back street pub. The tables were wonky, many with a beer mat Continue reading Backstreet Redemption by Darren Sant
Savage Detours, Film Noir, and the American Nightmare by Matt Dukes Jordan
Detour, 1945, feature film, USA, directed by Edgar Ulmer, starring Ann Savage as Vera, and Tom Neal as Al Roberts
Savage Detours: The Life and Work of Ann Savage, 2009, a biography and filmography by Kent Adamson and Lisa Morton, McFarland, with a Foreword by Guy Maddin
The most fun role for actors is always the bad or twisted character, the weirder the better. Often villains in film are Continue reading Savage Detours, Film Noir, and the American Nightmare by Matt Dukes Jordan
Pickle Party by Richard Godwin
When Jack Laretto made two million on the sales of his novel ‘No Mercy’, he took his wife Viola to the Caribbean, fulfilling a lifetime dream.
They spent two weeks in the sun, made love every night by moonlight and he returned ready for the sequel. He was going to write the next great Southern novel. He considered the path that had led him to overnight fame.
His first breakthrough came with the ‘Mustard Man’, a gruesome if realistic account of a split personality serial killer. That was how the reviewers interpreted the story. Jack’s readers felt it was an account of two characters, seeing the Mustard Man as a separate entity to Norm.
Over the Edge By Ian Ayris
People been going off edge of these cliffs sixty years, and probably sixty years afore that. Forever, probably. When the wind’s up, and it’s howling, these cliffs ain’t a place to be. There’s one, two a month, go over sometimes. They put a railing up couple years back. And a sign. But it don’t help none.
The Strangers by Benjamin Imamovic
There were two of them. She was washing the dishes when they came. She couldn’t see them. The strangers were two shadows with the sun behind their backs. One of them said, ‘Open up, ma’am. Police.’ She glanced at the clock and sighed. They were not her husband.
She left the security door locked. She said, ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘Do you mind if we come in? It’s about your husband. We need to speak to you about your husband.’ ‘It’s a scorcher out here,’ the other one said. He pushed his badge against the metal mesh of the door. With his other hand he wiped his forehead. ‘We won’t be long.’
Three Clowns – A Twisted Fairy Tale by Gina Marie Slade
Once upon a time, there was a young lady named Emily. After a long day in the house, Emily decided to take her Schwinn for a spin, a long spin.
Emily lived in her house like most people live in their skin. Today, Emily’s house wouldn’t hold her for very long. Continue reading Three Clowns – A Twisted Fairy Tale by Gina Marie Slade
The Wild Beast by Melanie Browne
Tracy placed two frosted Mugs of beer in the Freezer. She was expecting her boyfriend at any minute.
She glanced in the mirror and touched up her make-up. He called at around ten o’clock to tell her he wasn’t feeling well and needed to cancel.
Tracy was tired anyway, so she chalked it up to bad timing.
She reached into the freezer to pull out the mugs but to her surprise they were no longer sitting there on top of her Lean Cuisine dinners. “That’s odd,” she said out loud. She looked in the refrigerator. They weren’t there either. Now she was starting to get really spooked. They weren’t on the counter. They weren’t even in the dishwasher. She felt uneasy but decided to let her fears go because she was tired and had a busy day tomorrow cooking for out-of-town guests. She walked into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling a comfy t-shirt Continue reading The Wild Beast by Melanie Browne
Cold By Ian Ayris
Jonathan Sideboard trudged up the garden path, through the snow, to the front door of his house. The funeral had gone well. Well enough, it had to be said. His late father, Ernest Sideboard, eighty-four, was six foot below ground. Six whole feet separating him from the surface of the earth. From Jonathan. And a funeral couldn’t go Continue reading Cold By Ian Ayris
Where Are the Assassins? by U.V.Ray
I trace the outline of Elena’s face, running my fingertip down her delicate nose and along her slim jaw line. She is young and the texture of her skin flawless, like a pebble on the beach made smooth by the sea. She has not a single line or a scar or blemish, except for the pretty freckles speckling her cheeks. She is the colour of coffee and cream. Her sleeping head with its auburn hair cascading like a waterfall on the pillow next to me; she is truly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I like watching Elena as she sleeps. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I lie listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing; attuning my own with hers, until I begin to drift off.
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