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Know When to Lie

David Gallinger Mystery Short Stories

I thought I was compulsive... Editor

Know When to Lie

by David Gallinger

Two men sat on opposite sides of a small room. The table was four feet wide by six feet long, and was lined up perfectly with the floor tiles and ceiling tiles. The ceiling tiles, however, were two feet by four feet although the floor tiles were square, and one foot across. The room was eight feet by eight feet, and a one-way mirror was on the wall facing the short side of the table opposite the door. The mirror was the same size as the table and the door was half the size of the table. The floor tiles were matched up perfectly with the shape of the room but the ceiling tiles were not. The room was sixty-four square feet in size and each tile was eight square feet in size; it should have been possible to install the ceiling so that all of them were complete tiles, with none cut down. For some reason, they had been installed so that each wall was lined by half-tiles, with quarter-tiles in the corners, and this was really bothering Jason. It was acceptable to him in the sense that it formed a symmetrical, repeating pattern. The problem was the number of holes in each tile. Complete tiles had 433 holes: that is the 64th prime integer and there were 64 floor tiles, which created a satisfying pattern. If all the tiles were complete, there would be 3464 holes in total and that would have been awesome. However, the half-tiles had been cut in such a way that the cut intersected some of the holes, and they were not perfectly measured; they all had a different number of holes, some of which were prime numbers and some were not, and this increased the amount of data that Jason had to memorize to satisfy his compulsion. It was terribly inconsiderate.

The Dragon Bride

Jenny Schwartz Fantasy Short Stories

I do... Editor

The Dragon Bride

by Jenny Schwartz

"Listen, dragon," began Princess Julia of the Kingdom of Vanarre. Her hands were on her hips, her right toe tapping. "This can't go on."

The Southern Dragon, bigger than a house and with a row of spear point spikes along his spine, looked bemused--as well he might. Julia often had that effect on people. Who else would open parley with a dragon by chiding him like a naughty puppy?

The dragon opened his mouth and sent a stream of flame to incinerate a nearby pine tree which flared like a torch before falling into powdery ash in the intensity of the maintained flame. The dragon blinked in a satisfied manner, then glanced sideways to see how Julia had taken the demonstration of power.

She brushed ash off her wine velvet skirt. "That was very thoughtless. This is a new dress." It laced tightly across her bosom, emphasising her full figure. Julia was a big girl.

An odd rusty sound emerged from the dragon.

The Grove

Keith J. Scales Horror Short Stories

Leave me ALONE! - Editor

The Grove

By Keith J. Scales

What did I notice first? That the trees described a perfect circle, and I was at the center of it? That the moon I glimpsed through branches was full, but misty and wreathed with drifting clouds? Or was it the whispering?

I sat on dry grass and looked up and out from my circle at the world beyond, gradually realizing that the sounds I had been hearing for some time - wind in tree limbs, wind over grass, wind in the air above - had other sounds within, and those sounds, when I bothered to listen carefully, had sounds within them, like many instruments playing the same tune, except that the innermost voices of all were not making music but speaking. To me.

The voices were trying to tell me something, whispering, constant, insistent, sometimes urgent, they were trying to reach me, trying to teach me, to show me something, trying to make me understand something I had known for a very long time but had forgotten. What was it?

When You're Alone

Jonah Koenigseker Horror Short Stories

Sounds like my weekend - Editor

When You’re Alone

by Jonah Koenigseker

Karen was gone. She had been gone for three weeks now and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Due to the season, friends and family called to wish me happy holidays and inquire about how I was doing being that it was the first Christmas without Karen. The calls were appreciated, but invariably the well-wisher would quickly be escorted off by whiny, over caffeinated children or a demanding wife to perform some tired annual ritual. During the lulls between calls, I began to feel an intense tinge of loneliness. Christmas had always been a time of cheerful gatherings and exciting festivities for me. Now I was living hundreds of miles away, on the outskirts of Detroit, and while their well wishes were somewhat comforting, I was still alone.

Following an adjustment phase, I made the decision to cure the emotional and mental paralysis ailing me. The first few days of the next week I immersed myself in repetitive, tedious work, something to occupy my muscles and mind. Cleaning. Folding clothes. Going through and organizing the boxes in storage, something Karen always nagged me about doing. I missed her, even the sometimes incessant nagging.

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