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.
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
I parked my car three blocks away on Fern under a street light. My OCD kicked in and I rechecked the glove box and under the center armrest. Both were still empty because I cleared them out two hours ago. Sometimes you have to proof even your own work. I felt under the rear wheel well and the tracker was nice and secure. Continue reading A Mister and his Destiny by Bobby D. Lux
They come in looking around Little King’s, it’s a glance that says look at me. They pass by the mirrors, eyes for themselves only, feasting on the couples that hide in the recesses. They don’t see you, they don’t see me. They come to eat. They eat to come. The food is meat. The food is people, names, diaries, lunches, cock. I wait on them. Same crowd. They pass through the square restaurant, past the hunchbacked busboys Danny and David, looking like a pair of comic statues. I’ve served this crowd for months, they don’t even know my name. Not that who I am would be of interest to them. Little King’s used to be called Viande Exotique. Now we have Rupert running the show. Rotund snotty Rupert who needs a blow job more than anyone and will never get it. Not from this crowd. They sit there and talk. My customers.
There’s Bertha, married to Don. I call her The Snatch, he’s The Wallet. She’s mid- forties, overweight, good thighs, wears her skirts too high, shows her cleavage in La Senza, likes to wear her blouses unbuttoned to where you can make out the hint of a black lace, a neat line of the cup on her full tits. She wears too much makeup and yaks about shopping and sex. Don doesn’t hear her, they’re engaged in monologues, he boasts of the money he’s made and talks of his secretary in a lewd manner, thinking his wife doesn’t notice. He wears suits, grease stains on his shirt front, a smutty man heading towards old age with no inhibitions. He touches his phallus from time to time as he eyes passing women. I reckon he likes the company of women with a meretricious streak, makes a low bid and ups it until they let him slide it in. He’s more money than dick, a guy who lives for the moment when he can tell his buddies.
On May 31st, the first plant entered the building.
“It’s just going to die. You know that right?” Martin Lampitt said to his father whose infirm hands shook as he tucked a handkerchief into the pocket of his jeans.
It was a splendid summer afternoon, the sky a deep, gleaming blue and the air filled with the songs of chirping sparrows as Bartholomew Wethers strolled through the bustling streets of Old Town Eureka, a bundle of fresh cut flowers for his wife clutched in Continue reading A New Man By Matthew Brockmeyer
The elderly taxi driver drops me off at a chain link fence blocking the main drive of the University of Hollinsbridge. “You sure you want to do this, lad?”
Genesis 4:8 – King James Bible
“And Cain talked with Abel his brother: And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother and killed him.”
Cain Jones, owner of Cain’s Bar and Grill, was in big money trouble with Jimmy the Knife, a tall skinny psycho hood. Continue reading Cain and Abel (REDUX) by Dr. Mel Waldman
When you’re standing on the edge of a twenty story rooftop, the world below is beautiful.
Once upon a time, when there were only a few folks living on Earth, and the Lord God could take the time to address them individually, God spoke to Abraham.
Continue reading Back to Ur by Matt Lang