I’m the Ural owl. I haunt and possess you. If you see me in your dreams, you’re a dead human, a rotting corpse.
Many in Clowntown viewed life through a jumbo-sized pair of happy glasses.
But not Lugubro. His was the grey view. Continue reading Werebunnies Rule Clowntown! By Alex S. Johnson
I nod and hold the photo of my boy tight between thumb and index as the bag of walnuts with a red smudge of a scar on his temple ushers me into Mr Shaw’s presence. Mr Shaw rests his elbows on a cheap table, lit from behind by the vending machine. He shows a hand to the empty chair and I lift it to avoid a scrape on the carpet-free floor. Continue reading Fag End by Jason Beech
With apologies to Borges and Poe
Missy Anne Abime awoke from dreams of a miniaturized grandfather clock to find herself transformed in her bed into the self-same item. Continue reading Missy Anne Abime, Author of the Valdemar By Alex S. Johnson
It was raining the day I buried my step-father, Eddie.
I owned nothing in black, so I had to wear my work uniform: a crop top with the words ‘Slop Shop’ across the front in bright pink letters. By the end of the service I looked like the runner-up in one of our ‘Sloppy Sunday’ wet t-shirt contests. When I thanked the priest after the service, he almost had a shit-fit. Continue reading BLACK SHEETS OF RAIN By Tom Leins
Stacy held her black, stiletto heels in one hand, her new Coach clutch in the other as she weaved across the empty garage towards her beat up Subaru. The parking garage of the Ritz-Carlton was packed this evening before her cousin Jessie’s wedding reception. Now, her car stood alone among the echoing aisles. Continue reading BROTHERS by Jeff Dosser
Seatown train station was certainly a lot better looking than I remembered it but it still smelled of puke. And shit, And sweat. Well, it did now that Smiffy was there. He’d spruced himself up a bit, slicked back his hair, put on a double-breasted pinstripe suit. But his rancid stench still oozed out. I hadn’t really seemed to notice it when we were boozing together in The Cobble Bar but out here in the fresh air it seemed overpowering. Continue reading TRAIN IN VAIN By Paul D. Brazill
Almost three o’clock in the morning and his eyes are still open. The ceiling fan churns the silver light that slashes through the dark room, the moon fat and leaking through the blinds across the bed. He wishes he could wipe his nose with the back of his hand as burning eyes lock onto the face of his wife – angelic, serene, beautiful – and completely unaware. Continue reading THROWAWAY by KEVIN BERG
He depressed his index finger on the Enter key.
What appeared on the screen was a grainy shot that came from a security camera mounted to the building’s far corner, and not particularly close to the John Patrick Boutique storefront which was located pretty much in the center of the strip mall. There were people coming and going from the Italian restaurant which was situated closer to the camera, and one or two people going into the liquor store and another couple heading in and out of the bagel shop. No one, on the other hand, seemed to be heading into or out of the boutique. Continue reading Dressed to Kill: Part II By Vincent Zandri
It never failed to amaze me how effortlessly Blood could pump out a dozen chest presses with no less than three 45-pound plates set on each end of the bar. Adding in the weight of the bar, that made a total of three hundred fifteen pounds.
Blood already bore a body that looked like it had been sculpted from the richest dark marble ever to be found on the planet, so his workouts were only about maintenance. Unlike me who was always trying to improve my strength and size because after all, I wasn’t getting any younger and it seemed like these days, someone was always trying to punch me. Continue reading Dressed to Kill – A Jack Marconi PI Short Shot – by Vincent Zandri (Part 1)