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The Thief of Souls

Vincent L. Scarsella Crime Short Stories

Hmmmmmmm....

The Thief of Souls

by Vincent L. Scarsella

What has been so far done by electricity is nothing
as compared with what the future has in store.

- Nikola Tesla

When Nancy Lane entered my office that Tuesday afternoon, the first thing I noticed was her red, swollen eyes. An attractive, slim blonde in her mid-thirties, she had been referred by her divorce lawyer, Tom Bridge, who regularly used my services to spy on cheating spouses.

“Tom said your divorce became final last week,” I began after Mrs. Lane sat down on the chair facing my desk. “That begs the question why you need my services in the first place.” I gave her a kindly smile. “Perhaps my fee would be better spent on a vacation, a Caribbean cruise perhaps?”

“I don’t need a vacation,” she said. “What I need to know is why Paul, my ex-husband, left me.”

In the next moment, Mrs. Lane was sobbing into her hands. I said nothing, letting her grieve. After a time, she drew in a breath, composed herself.

Reboot

James Bloomer Science Fiction Short Stories

A man after my own heart - Editor

Reboot

by James Bloomer

A quantum worm uncoiled itself out of the machine being restored, suddenly collapsing into a specific state and wreaking havoc within the operating system. Alarms sounded and the graphs scrolling across Tom's screen spiked wildly. His laptop was plugged into a large black box of qubits, the liquid hydrogen coolant vented slowly in quietly dissipating clouds. Inside, beneath the desperately stylish matt black metallic exterior, beneath the ultra-cooled chamber, inside the electron traps, sat a countless number of electrons, reduced to acting as quantum bits. The qubit box was plugged into the local network, copying its state carefully in a safe, isolated, two-phase restore of the destroyed machines.

Tom sat in the data-centre, a vast room, full of server racks and devoid of people. His laptop prompted him to instigate the isolation of the worm and to acknowledge the test conditions for the newly discovered dormant state. It would repeat the trigger actions in the next scan. The system learned case by case, trying to unearth worms.

Tom's hands hovered over the keys. His head spun in a dizzy fuzz that dredged up memories of static, the static that the screams had turned into after the explosion. He felt an aching loneliness and only prevented himself from vomiting with deliberate concentration. He cancelled the quarantine, negating the find. Another flurry of keystrokes and the network lowered its defences. Another alarm. The remote traffic graph shot upwards as the machine connected to the network.

Saying Goodbye to Grandfather

M.J. Waller Horror Short Stories

Stop that! - Editor

Saying Goodbye to Grandfather

by M. J. Waller

We shuffled out of the alley, took a right turn and bore down slowly upon Avonlea Care Home for Elderly Zombies. When we reached the cast iron gates, my father buzzed the intercom to gain access and they swung open ponderously in front of us. My father made to step inside the grounds but I held back, suddenly fearful and not so keen to see my grandfather any longer.

“Come on, Calum,” my father urged. “It'll be fine, really.”

I still hung back, not particularly convinced. The care home was nothing like I imagined it would be. Thin grass speckled the vast grounds and, here and there, dotted about mostly in areas closer to the cracked pathway, the odd flower grew, sometimes even in bunches of five or six. A single tree stood a short distance from the gate and not only did it look alive and healthy, but my eyes caught movement high up of a squirrel darting between the branches. . .no of two squirrels racing each other to the tree's crown. . .of three, of four! A bird burst from out of the upper foliage.

“Come on.”

Shake, Rattle and Troll

Zoe Zygmunt Fantasy Short Stories

Who's the cute liitle baby...?

Shake, Rattle and Troll

by Zoe Zygmunt

A frantic call about an hour ago summoned me from my office. The park ranger said something about Elvis, and Mike's strong dislike of him. It was no use trying to decipher it, his panicked voice was enough to convey the meaning "we need you here, now."

I spotted my client sitting on the grassy river bank. The troll was about seven feet from ears to toes, a typical young male. I usually visited this troll two or three times a month. He was friendly, established and doing well, or, at least he had been.

This afternoon Mike was naked. We’d talked about clothing and how the humans would prefer he threw on some pants. Mike didn’t care much for human sensibilities when he was being, well, a troll.

Something crunched under my feet. Small tassels and rhinestones were sprinkled on the ground. No one could have predicted the agitation Mike would experience surrounded by thirty similarly dressed men. All Mike’s experiences with men dressed the same had involved law enforcement or park security. No wonder he had freaked during an Elvis impersonator picnic.

“Hey, Mike.” I called. He didn’t turn around.

Starving

Kelly Barnhill Horror Short Stories

Vampires are people, too - Editor

Starving

by Kelly Barnhill

The people gathered in the rain - black hair and black clothing all clinging to spare frames like damp feathers. Crows, Randall Kinney thought as he stationed himself in front of the large black door. A murder of crows. He liked the sound of it, and felt the corners of his wide mouth twitch slightly, itching the contours of his stubbled cheeks. He forced his face into that look of stern detachment, which he had perfected in front of the mirror before his first day, five years earlier. He had never smiled on the job. A smile could be dangerous.

He leaned back on the dented steel and waited for the knock telling him that he could let everyone in. The line stretched along the length of the low building, its black face painted over with the white lettering of bands that had played there in previous years. Some of the shows he had seen as a teenager, back when hanging out with your friends on Hennepin or First Avenues was cool, before the bodies, half frozen and drained of life, blood, and everything else that once flowed under their skin, started showing up in dumpsters or abandoned cars or the quiet doorways to abandoned restaurants.

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