Fiction
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Bride of Neanderthal
by Jonathan Sweet
Visions of my death played themselves in my head like black & white newsreel footage. I tried to clear my thoughts and meditate, as Beatrice and Gordon had taught me. But I could manage no deep breaths, bound and rocked by despair as I was.
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Sickeningly Sweet
by Maia Lena
All her life she had been surrounded by sugar. It was all she ate, for her father would not share with her the raw meat that constituted his own diet.
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The Night The Cricket-Man Came
by Alejandro Omidsalar
He thundered across it with a victorious yell, and true to the tale, I stopped Daredevil, who reared up and nearly threw me of. Crane spun his horse about and shook his fist, shouting oaths and challenges, his lanky body nearly sliding off the horse.
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The Devil at Your Heels
by Robert Mammone
The rumbling rose sharply into a banshee wail, a shrieking that was matched by Arthur’s own. In his side mirror, the yellow car surged forward.
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AutoCanniBioTech
by Joseph A. W. Quintela
It’ll be just a few months after the surgery. It happens every time. You’ll show up at my office again with a strange look on you face. I’ll play dumb even though I know exactly why you’ve come.
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Happy Halloween, It’s a Bloody Puppet Show
by Bill Ratner
Like Torquemada at the Spanish Inquistion, he enlisted those least appropriate to help in his insufferable enterprise — the ones whom he knew would experience the most discomfort at his hands: incorrigible delinquents, boys with severe stutters, athletes, and the chronically shy.
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Judas Dances
by Paul Walther
Quentin would think of this every night as he rolled over on the filthy mattress that served as his bed and watched the skeleton dance.
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Finally Never Again
by Crystal Lynn Hilbert
He smelled fear far off in the distance, faint as feathers rasping on the back pockets of his tongue. In a second he was off, moving through alleyways stained purple with twilight, burrowing like a needle stitching and unstitching the dried up, labyrinthine veins of the city.
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Cats in the Backyard
by J. David Bell
And the cats, undeterred, continued to creep down the hill. It swam as if with maggots. In the fall he burned them in piles of leaves, in the winter he pried their bodies from the cement with a shovel, in the spring he dredged them from puddles of rainwater, oil and fur slowly swirling.
