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Latest Stories

February 06, 2026
General Stories Thomas Turner

The Lost Williamsen

Coming back from Switzerland, after my wife died, was pretty hard, but I made it. When I landed in LaGuardia airport. I went to go get my luggage. That's where my brother Eddie was, to pick me up and to see the rest of the family. Eddie comes over to me and…
February 06, 2026
Horror Stories Tom Kropp

Killing & Carnage

The sun was a blood lurid red slipping below the jagged peaks of the Redmount Mountains. For Shannon, its fading light was not a promise of rest, but a countdown to her dark side.​ She pressed her spine against the damp, crumbling limestone of a marketplace…
February 06, 2026
Poetry Markus J

2 Aussie Limericks 2 Aussie Clerihews

once a aussie yobbo named pete who only wore thongs on his feet a bunion grew on his toes and a red wart on his nose over were his days at the beach ------------------------------------------------------ there once was a jackaroo who went by the name of blue…
February 02, 2026
Flash Fiction Matias Travieso-Diaz

My Second Middle Name

San Lázaro no quiere palabras, quiere hechos. Popular Cuban refrain A few hours after I was born, my parents had a conversation regarding my name. The usual practice in Cuba, as in many other countries, was that a baby would have two given names apart from…
February 02, 2026
General Stories Thomas Turner

Year One

T J Tuner, Sonny Turner and Curt Chown January 4, 1976- Ocean avenue, Brooklyn New York: Sonny and his wife are having coffee at 5pm Sunday. His wife’s name is Candy. This is when Candy asks ‘When are they picking you up?’ Sonny says ‘7:30 pm.’ Candy asks…
February 02, 2026
Horror Stories Tom Kropp

Werewolf Bar Brawl

Shannon returned to the main street and boldly approached the cantina. At the doorway, one of the burly guards boldly said, "We don't allow no outside whores in here. Only Diego's girls are allowed to work here." "Don't insult me. I'm not a whore. I just…
February 02, 2026
Flash Fiction Matias Travieso-Diaz

The Self-Serving Giraffe

Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. Oscar Wilde Grumpff was a Somali giraffe male (Giraffa reticulata) in a herd that inhabited a dry savannah in northern Kenya. He was eighteen feet tall and two…
February 02, 2026
Poetry Markus J

An Aussie Had A Barry Crocker

once an Aussie had a Barry Crocker when he got fined from an angry copper he smoked up his golden ute then said it was real beaut because of this, the fine was made double and his best mate was nicked named blue cooked kangaroo and emu stew gave none to…
February 02, 2026
Crime Stories Shane Horton

Super Detectives (Queen Bee)

The smoke of my cigarette dances on the fire of its embers while I breathe in the tar. Chills silently run along my body from the slow breezes of the city. Exposed skin is cold like chunks of ice from the late winter. Honking, common yelling, and occasional…
February 02, 2026
Science Fiction Stories Tom Kropp

Eye Of The Cyborg

Fierce winds whipped across the blood red desert of Dumar and its stormy scarlet skies were filled with soaring starships. A large city sparkled in the hellish light, safe from the storm behind flickering photonic forcefields. It was a volatile planet prone…
January 27, 2026
General Stories J.P. Young

Bittersweet Christmastide In A Winter Wonderland

“Our sweetest songs are those of saddest thought.” ― Percy Bysshe Shelley “It”s always sumtin”, ain”t it?” – Rico Long ago and far away…Things were like the good old days…and as Rico said, Ray lived for the good olddays…As his wife Katrina was working late at…
January 27, 2026
Fantasy Stories Fayaway & Hermester Barrington

Three Days' Flight to Mitrúvishar

Wednesday, November 20th, 2024 From: John Parchment <dragonwriter@mitruvishar.com> To: Emmett Zuntz <ezuntz@majicorpmedia.com> Dear Mr. Zuntz, thou ASCII Mephistopheles, I hereby tender my resignation to Majicorp Media. When I left my secure-but-boring…

We watched the moving truck pull up next door. We were still in our pjs and looking down from our bedroom window. My brother, Wilson and me high-fived each other and got silly because we were finally getting rid of the bully, Norman who’d been tormenting us for years. We knew mom and dad were happy too cause Norman’s parents had been annoying them for years.

 

Finally, around one in the afternoon while they were still packing, another moving truck pulled up in front of our house with a van and a pickup truck right behind. A large, bald tattooed man got out of the pickup and a lady and two kids got out from the van. The dropped the tailgate on the pickup, pulled a ramp out and backed down two three wheelers which the kids got on and drove around the cul-de-sac. Around and around.

 

The mother, after a bit, took out a blanket and a picnic basket and walked over to our front lawn and made themselves to home. The father motioned for the kids to come over and they did wheelies and gunned their bikes over and parked in our driveway.

 

Mom was speechless because dad was going to be coming home soon and the lawn was his pride and joy. The two kids, they looked about twelve, listened to their father and came up and rang our doorbell.

 

“My father says we should use your bathroom to wash up before we eat our lunch,” one of the brothers said. He looked over at me and Wilson and grinned a bully’s grin. Before my mother could answer my father pulled up to the house and began to turn into the driveway. Blocked by the bikes, he honked his horn and looked over at the picnickers who waved and motioned him over,

 

Dad did that and tattoo guy stood towering over dad by a few inches and lots of pounds and they shook hands. They talked for a few minutes and Mr. Tattoo yelled for his boys to move their bikes which they did leaving ruts in dad’s pride and joy yard. Dad put his arm around Mr. Tattoo and spoke into his ear.

 

Next thing you know dad walks into our garage and returns with a sledge hammer and we know that those bikes are history. Instead he walks over to this tricked out pickup with racing stripes, 4 doors, extended bed and beautiful wheel hubs and starts to beat the shit out of it. He knocks out all the windows, lights and dents every surface he can. The Tattoo guy is standing and watching.

 

Dad calls us over and hands us the sledgehammer and points to the bikes and we look at him and he nods and we go and beat the shit out of the bikes. Mom is outside watching and Dad takes the sledgehammer and reaches it out to Mom and points at the van.

There are now neighbors out watching this scene play out and Dad takes back the sledgehammer and walks over to Mr. Tattoo and swings it down on his foot as hard as he can. The neighbors murmur and then applaud which is unusual because my folks really don’t know the neighbors.

 

Mr. Tattoo calls his moving driver over and they talk and then the moving driver gets in his truck and drives off. Mrs. Tattoo gathers the food from our lawn and gathers everyone into the van and they drive off just as they came—in a squeal of rubber. An hour later two tow trucks pick up the truck and motorcycles and haul them away while dad is outside on his lawn raking the ruts.

 

That night we sit around the table after dinner and dad explains why we have different names and can’t talk about our past. He says that the tattoo guy is also in the Government Witness Protection Program and they made a mistake moving him next to us and that all he had to do was explain it to the man and get his attention and everything would be alright.

 

Two months later Dad gave us our new names and we moved in the middle of the night from Tempe to Pasadena. We only took some clothes and toys and left all of the furniture.

 

When we got to our new house it was furnished and on a lake and very private. Dad said that he was no longer a manager at McDonalds but that his new job was selling life insurance which he was obviously very good at.

 

Bio: Paul Beckman has had over two hundred stories published in print and online in the following magazines amongst others: Connecticut Review, Raleigh Review, Litro, Playboy, Pank, Literary Orphans, Blue Fifth Review, Flash Frontier, Metazen, Boston Literary Magazine and The Brooklyner. He's had a novella and three collections published; the newest, "Peek" by Big Table Publishing in Feb. of this year. His published story website is www.paulbeckmanstories.com

 

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