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Latest Stories

July 10, 2019
Romance Stories John L.Yelavich

Saccharine Smiles and Sandpaper Personalities

What is the most powerful force in the universe? Is it atomic fusion, military might, volcanoes, tsunamis or any other natural disaster? No, they are not. None of them can create havoc and paranoia in man any more than love can. Yes, love is the force that is…
July 10, 2019
Crime Stories J.B.Stevens

A Good Man

Jimmy hated feeling the delicate orbital bones splinter, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to be free. It was unfortunate. Just the wrong place, wrong time. If he was out he could send money to Sarah. That’s what all this was all about, helping his…
July 10, 2019
Fantasy Stories Roger Ley

Turing Test

Mr Riley liked to start his day in the library. It was a short walk from his house and conveniently situated at the top of the main street in the Suffolk market town that he and his wife had retired to. When they’d first arrived, he’d joined the local writing…
July 10, 2019
Romance Stories Patric Quinn

Where or When

The front doorbell sounded its gentle Westminster Chimes and the thumping on the door started before Hazel even put her pen down on the papers she was working on intently. More curious than annoyed, she stopped writing, shrugged and started for the door.…
July 10, 2019
Flash Fiction Sheila Ash

Working Christmas Again

I always draw the short straw to a chorus of ‘Bad luck’. A reiteration of last year and the year before, and the year before that. Throughout the day, my ‘C’est la vie’ chimes on a constant playback loop. My expressionist shrugs repeat themselves as a…
March 18, 2019
Mystery Stories JD Plummer


“Gelb wants you to call him.” I looked at Frankie, opened my mouth, began to slowly shake my head. My reply delayed by the image of Gelb, monocle in eye, brow raised, lips tight, grimacing. I cringed at the thought. “I ain’t calling that prick,” I finally…
March 18, 2019
Fantasy Stories Lucia Balbuena

A Different Story

Her breathing was deep and steady when she run through the dense forest holding her grandmother’s kitchen knife in her hand. Her red cape was torn up, also her legs, hands and her face were cut by the tree brunches. Stop you are the victim, said the forest…
March 17, 2019
Crime Stories Wally Smith


Luigi Andante’s small apartment sat on the fourth floor of a block in the West Bronx at the corner of 18th and Davidson. It was adequate as a living space, but Luigi craved more than this. “A penthouse overlooking Central Park would suit me just fine”, he had…
March 17, 2019
Crime Stories Walter Giersbach

Fifty Ways to Leave Your Loser

Lorraine Vanderzanden had the thankless task being Lindstrom’s police chief. Her husband didn’t appreciate the risks she took. Her brother didn’t thank her for using her degree for something useful instead of helping on the family farm. Heck, she thought,…
March 17, 2019
Mystery Stories Jenny Webster

"Communicate with me, please."

I have been blind for so long, I didn’t even attempt to imagine what it would be like if I could see. I don’t know any different, all I know is darkness, and I base everything that I can experience mostly through sound. You see, I can’t walk either. I’m not…
March 16, 2019
Flash Fiction Michael Fredrick

Secondhand Santa

The late model sedan sputtered, coughed and dutifully careened forward on a cold December evening. Fred hit the gas pedal & ruminated as he always did, wondering again why life had dealt him this hand? Christmas Eve, foraging for returnable bottles to make…
March 16, 2019
General Stories Darrell Case

Trig's Smokin' Wheels

There were a lot of things Trig Nelson could do, many he wanted to do, and more things he couldn’t do. Trig couldn’t run, he’d never climb stairs or hills or mountains. He couldn’t play football or basketball. Being stuck in a wheelchair that would always be…



Scrape, thump.

Part of my half-asleep mind tried to identify the sound.  The other part resolutely kept my eyes closed and tried to shut out the sound.  That part of me knew it was way too early.

Scrape, thump.

I turned over and buried myself in the covers, still denying the part of my mind that wanted to know what the sound was.

Scrape, thump.

It finally got my attention by suggesting that someone was in my house.  Before the sleepy side could argue, my blood was spiked with adrenaline and I was on my feet.  My .45 was in my right hand, and the safety had already been thumbed off.  My senses sharper now, I listened.

Scrape, thump.

The sound was not in the house.  Dammit.  Has my training failed me?  Am I hyper-vigilant now? An image, a mountain man shooting at everything that moved, bloomed in my mind.  I banished the thought.  No way.  I love sleep too much to become one of those jerks.

Scrape, thump.

The sound was coming from the yard.  So far, my vigilance was still appropriate.  Wait, I know that sound.  It’s someone digging.  Why the hell is the gardener here at 3 am? I lowered the .45 and peeked out the window.  Out in the yard, between the two giant cottonwoods, someone (not the gardener) was digging.

Scrape, thump.  This seems familiar.

I thumbed the safety back on and laid the .45 down on the end table.  I seemed to recall this guy couldn’t hurt me.  I opened the back door and strolled outside.

The figure was fuzzy, and seemed to shimmer slightly with each step I took.  The whole area between the cottonwoods was shimmering, like a wormhole in space or a portal to an alternate universe.  Too many sci-fi shows, I thought.  But it still seemed familiar.

The figure didn’t notice me until I was about 20 feet away.  When he did, he reacted so quickly I only saw the quick blur of his arm as an afterimage.  Two shots rang out before the shovel handle hit the ground.  When I didn’t fall, two more shots followed in rapid succession.  The pattern of sounds finally called up the old memory that had been trying to poke out of its filing cabinet in my brain.

“Put that away,” I snapped.  The memory of the words echoed in my head.  The figure just stared at me from behind the gun.  It was still too dark to see, but I knew who the man was.

“Who are you?” he demanded, and the words echoed in my head again.  It was strange to be playing it out on the other side.

“I’m you.  Now stop digging there.  It’s one of the first places they’ll look.  Dump that fool in the river.  He’ll be in Mexico by the time anyone misses him.”




Jonathan is an accounting consultant who daydreams a lot, and enjoys writing dystopian fiction and horror.  He currently lives in Albuquerque with his truck and computer.



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