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Latest Stories

June 17, 2018
Poetry Marty Kay

Hand of God

Then there you were. Calling through the din of war, you beckoned, and I obeyed. I make amends. The muzzle of my gun muted, I mask my military might and squat to greet your greatness. Give me your hand. For I am more than war. A mother; my name is Mary. Call…
June 17, 2018
Crime Stories Scott Sinclair

Saturday Night at Fort Apache

Saturday February 8, 1973 I never thought I’d be a cop on the take. Hell, I never planned on being a cop period. My goal was to follow in the footsteps of my older brother Scotty and join the fire department. Succumbing to family pressure to not follow Scotty…
June 17, 2018
Romance Stories Alicia Aitken

The Lemon Sherbet Cafe

Emily Chambers stood on the wooden decking that surrounded her cafe watching the tide slowly come in. Just over a year ago, she would have chuckled bitterly at anyone who dared to tell her that this is where she’d be. At that time, she was at her weekly…
June 17, 2018
Crime Stories David De Santo

As Good As It Gets

The detective proceeded cautiously. It wasn't comfortable driving on a dark country road at night. The long narrow stretch of highway faded in the distance. The barren land looked like one of those places that had been declared dead but refused to die. There…
June 17, 2018
Horror Stories Patric Quinn

When It's Time To Go

(Harold and Vlad are a pair of aging monsters. Harold is a werewolf who no longer fully transforms during a full moon. Vlad is a vampire with dental problems.) The night was beautiful in the cemetery, especially one as old as this one. The full moon on the…
June 10, 2018
Poetry BR Giga

The Fix

Cool steel penetrates consciousness, piercing the ravenous flesh. slowly the Momentary agony is Dispelled by the plunging rush of toxic euphoria. the elated quest for Weightless tranquility begins to Transcend the mortality of mindless despair. mercifully,…
June 10, 2018
Horror Stories Grace Treutel

Braised Heart

When I saw him for the first time, I knew I had to have him for dinner. It was in the ripe red of his mouth, the plush of his lower lip. The hollows of his cheeks were little inlets for his amusement, surprise dusting his high cheekbones from the shadows of…
June 10, 2018
Science Fiction Stories R.Scott Venegas

The Bottom Line

 Motivated by the odium of self-aggrandizing butt-hurt under the guise compassion for the surplus population, perceived slight of the day, those who were productive, hatred for anyone not in agreement with her views and hunger, Duhlia Abzoog wormed through…
June 10, 2018
Horror Stories Elin Ridge

Vengeance

The rust-coloured blood flakes off my hands and falls to the ground like snow. Grime is caked underneath my fingernails and twigs nest in my hair. My shirt is torn, boots covered in mud. My throat is closing with my heart beating out of my chest. Sweat drips…
June 10, 2018
Mystery Stories Jerry Hogan

The Flopping Arm Burial

When I was fifteen, Mom told me that we were going to the funeral of her Great Aunt Mildred. I never heard of Great Aunt Mildred. “Who? Are you kidding me?” I said. “Jay, don’t give me a hard time,” Mom scolded. “We are going to pay homage to my grandmother’s…
June 09, 2018
Romance Stories Brian Glass

She Needs To Go

She had to get away. The timing wasn't ideal, but when was it ever? Her boyfriend of six years proposed last month and she had said yes. They met at one of the Marist College dining halls. He was a junior, she a sophomore. There might have been a slight…
June 09, 2018
General Stories E.Louise Jolly

The Doctor and the Pear Tree Switch

"Robert! I will not speak to you again. I want you to quit teasing your little sister.” "But Mama, she kicks my marbles every time she goes by!” "If you two can't play together without quarreling I will have to punish you both. Remember, my overshoe is out…

 

 

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.”

 

End

Bio:

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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