The links sparkled on her bracelet as she set the ruby in her navel.
Always wear the ruby in the navel, she used to say.
Tag Archives: genre fiction
Crimson Dalliance by Clara Brown
The hooked carcass swayed in my kitchen door frame as I tore at each tendon with my antique J. Russell butcher knife. Blood gushed to the floor and pooled like glass Continue reading Crimson Dalliance by Clara Brown
Army Of Evil by Sara Knight
As the silver coin spun rapidly through the air, Fr. John watched with bated breath.
Head’s or tail’s to decide his fate.
The coin slows.
Stops.
Falls.
The devil fires out a horrid Continue reading Army Of Evil by Sara Knight
Symbiosis by Bellakentuky
The first time I laid eyes on her; I had just robbed a liquor store and gunned down two people in cold blood. As I trotted out the front door, I had a wad of twenties in my hand, and a smoldering .38 stuck into my belt, and there she was, leaning against the trunk of my new Lexus puffing on a cigarette like a prom queen on meth.
Scarecrow by Jack Bristow
We stood in Ned the Butcher’s shop, Boon and me. Together
The Dog Who Shat Against the Wall by Jack Bates
Jenny packed her smokes against the heel of her hand. The old bitch was down there again, her Pomeranian on its leash and taking a shit by the brick wall that was probably painted once upon a time a bright peach color but now looked like the color the Pennsylvania crayon company once called ‘flesh’.
Eric, her companion du jour, asked her, “What the fuck do you care about the old lady’s dog?”
A Day Of Darkness by Todd Woodstock
The news was everywhere about the strange, luminous phenomenon that had filled the night skies for the past couple of nights. Different colored rays streaked a rainbow show for the townspeople to view. It kept many folk up late, wondering what marvelous creations of light had invaded their tiny community.
Hunters in the Snow by Thomas Simmons
Tub didn’t make it clear at first. He didn’t want to make it clear. He wanted to make someone else notice, which in turn would help take some of the blame off him. “Oh no,” he said to himself, sitting on the couch, the gashes rested directly on his forehead. “Oh no,” he repeated again, over and over, while the music played.
Neighbourhood Watch by Charlie Wade
A smashing, crunching of wood woke Bryn from his afternoon nap. He jumped to the window and rattled the net curtain. The door across the street had been demolished. Six officers, heavily booted and uniformed piled into the house.
“Druggies across the street being raided,” he called to his wife.
“That’s nice dear,” she said, her head not moving from her laptop screen.
“Six of them, police, piling in.”
He watched them fly up the stairs, the door half hanging from its hinges. “Get the bastards,” he muttered. They’d been nothing but trouble, that lot. Rented house, that’s what the problem was. This wasn’t that sort of area. Parties at night, comings and goings at all hours. They were nothing but trouble.
The World is Made of Candy by Heath Lowrance
Harry Bales heard the slap of the newspaper on his doorstep as the paper boy cycled by. Whistling cheerfully, he went out to get it.
It was a placid early summer day. A light breeze ruffled the tops of the sycamore trees up and down the street. Bales picked up the newspaper, glanced at the top half of the front page. More dead soldiers in Iraq. More lay-offs from major corporations. More salmonella in canned goods.
He nodded, comforted by the predictability of the news. He started back into the house, flipping the paper over to see the bottom half.
He stopped cold in his doorway.
A photograph took up most of the space at the bottom of the paper’s front page. It showed a man with thinning hair, a pleasant but slightly crooked nose, an unassuming mouth. The caption under the photo read: Harold J. Bales, 36 years old, Complete and Total Bastard.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Continue reading The World is Made of Candy by Heath Lowrance
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