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Latest Stories

May 19, 2018
Fantasy Stories Jo Carroll

The Curl and Vampire

She was a pretty thing to be sure, the little girl with the curl. Her cheeks were as red as blood and her skin as smooth as porcelain. And yet there was something odd about her clear blue eyes—something empty and soulless. She sat atop her throne of building…
May 17, 2018
Mystery Stories Nicole Robb

New Frontier

Still groggy from her hibernation chamber, Stacey checked the readings once again on the ship's control panel.She had read them right. "Tom! Something's wrong." "What is it?" Tom emerged from the back where he had been checking on the twelve hundred sleeping…
May 17, 2018
Mystery Stories Laura Ellison


The smell of death hung heavy and pungent in the air. Sickness touched the skin and covered it in a dewy glow that in any other situation could have been attractive. Castellan held a scented handkerchief over her nose as she walked through the village to the…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories Dylan Thomas Nichol

Forged in Shadows

Screaming was all that could be heard through the bone chilling halls of the dungeon. This was what the supposedly great nation of Hace really was. An ugly abomination lay underneath the stunning Admor Keep, and Caelin made the long journey through it, his…
May 17, 2018
Mystery Stories Isabel Schwaak

Something Stronger

A thick grey stone wall separated the village of Telly Fenn from the wilderness. A narrow path led the way out of the village and melted into a crossroad, from which a crooked path strayed far into the dark forest. The inhabitants of Telly Fenn were content…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories Jade De-Terville

A Light Bulb Called Tink

“This is more than just a bloody mid life crisis,” Karen said clutching a tattered red book, until her knuckles started going white. She savagely threw the book onto the chequered dining cloth, and ran her hands through her untamed hair. “Oi, mind the…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories April Winters

Area Twenty Four and a Half

I, Jim Roberts, got fired today. I didn’t realize Mr. Kerr, my boss, was standing behind me when I referred to him as Kerr-mitt. He failed to see the humor, and now I have no source of income. Looks like my journalistic aspirations are out the window. I…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories Jeremy Szal

Crimson Snow

16th Day of Regon, Year 455 of the First Dawn I could feel the cold as we climbed higher, the chill reaching into my bones. The wind whispered across the grassland, flapping my black hair over my face. I wanted to lie down. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories B.J.Neblett


“Segue the next couple of records with a jingle then go into a stop set. I’m gonna get some air.” Hy Lit flashed his agreeable smile, adjusted his trade mark tinted glasses and winked. “You’re a natural, kid.” Then he disappeared out the studio door. The…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories BJ Neblett

Pockets Full Of Wishes

“Don’t put your hands in the pockets!” Jimmy looked at his sister. It was just a winter coat, a used one. It was all his parents could afford. But it was his. He picked it out. Now he stood proudly before the store mirror admiring the blue denim coat with the…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories Laura Ellison


Arlia knelt down on a silk cushion in the middle of the room. She took a deep breath and centred herself. Gramps always told her to do this, sometimes he jabbed her in the sides with his walking stick if he thought she rushed meditation. In front of her the…
May 17, 2018
Fantasy Stories Paul Magnan


I grasped the rough edges of the tombstone and pulled it from the strands of thick, yellowed grass upon which it lay. I set it in an upright position. The words “Dear Love” were carved along the top of the stone. I had carved those words. For a few seconds…



I notice her pearl nose ring and neatly cropped, short dark hair and small liver


spots on the backs of her hands. I remark, “I was a counselor at a city jail and


photocopied hundreds of forms for inmates who sought early release on their own


recognizance. The warden disapproved…”  She interrupts and says:


“You have to toe the line with prison wardens.” Yes, Clara, you allude to sex, that


base alchemy, turning words into sex.


“On the back it read, ‘GOD IS FREEDOM’.  I caused a near riot after I told the


inmates each meal cost eighteen cents.”


Clara tells me a male prisoner nearly raped her. “I screamed at him, ‘I KNOW


KARATE AND I’LL RIP YOUR DICK OFF!’ and he backed down so I knocked some


teeth out with my club.”


The lack of tension, how relaxed I feel as silence flows through me. I’m certain it


streams through her.


“I’ve got cervical spinal stenosis. My legs are heavier and clumsier every day. I didn’t


trust the neurosurgeon. Someday I’ll be in a wheelchair,” I say.


And Clara, who walks with a limp, says, “A surgeon operated on my bum knee and


performed a procedure not stipulated in the consent form and now I’m gimpy in pain.”


“With my mouth lesions, talking too much hurts. On a porn site, the tag would be


‘Pain’,” I say.


Clara continues: “Now I can’t climb the Himalayas.”


Then I say, “ ‘Abode of snow’. That’s English for Himalayas.” She assumes falsely I


know many etymologies.


I hear Jackie Wilson’s oldie, “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher,”


spin through my brain.


“I have herpes simplex,” I say. A chaste date, perhaps.


I’ll pull the largest condom ever over my head, just in case.


“How bad is it?” she asks.


I’m not yet ready for the pooper scooper to scrape me off the street.


“With treatment, more than half don’t get brain infections,” I say. “Statistics buoy me,”


She starts for the door.


“Wait. How about meeting in the park?”


She turns around, looks at the floor, raises her head slowly, and answers: “I’ll meet you


at two tomorrow in the park under the big maple tree.”


I agree. “We have lots in common.”


Clara has no limp. She lied. We sit across from each other at the picnic table.


The expanse of the park surrounds us. The sward scents the atmosphere with our




“Gene, I don’t know how to say this, the limp is fake,” she says. It’s like wearing a


monocle, a fashion statement. “Do you want to limp?” I fiddled with my cane.


“I have back spasms from dumbbell exercises.” And often want to stab a person’s eyes


out with two prongs of the cane’s four legs. Spite is a prime motivator in lieu of passion.


Time’s passage never intruded into my consciousness. Here, time rubs me the


wrong way. Becoming dead is the antidote to life’s inconclusiveness.


“You seem not the kind who lies,” she says. “I find that charming.” The heat scorches


us, opening fissures.


“That bit about working in a prison---all made up,” I say.


“I saw a movie about a female correctional officer. She had a sexual encounter with


an inmate.” Clara turns to one side as she speaks, an actor moving her head just the way


the director wants. I’m an empty vessel, scriptwriters, fill me up.


“What about K-2?” It reminds me of social climbing, employing whatever it takes to


reach higher and higher into monstrosities.


“Nope. My dead friend’s fiancée was an avid mountaineer,” she says. Thou shall have


friends be dead unto you.


Nowadays people visit libraries to hook-up sexually with others.


“I’m a physician’s assistant because I used my dead friend’s curriculum vitae.” She


blushes. “I have herpes, too.”  Clara, we’re nothings, so what.


“Welcome to the club,” I say.


For the first time I see a blank, her face disappears. Nothing exists, and that’s a


positive development.


“What happened to your head and torso?” Clara asks.


“I don’t know, probably where yours went. We’re not invisible, we’re non-existent.”


“Are you religious? I’m not,” she says. Changing subjects are clear indications of a


vanishing act. With no face, no mouth, no torso, I look down at her legs. I’m a leg man


and hers were great. It’s too late for voyeurism. We could melt out here and no one


would find the remains of our lives.


“I’m a voyeur when it comes to religion and God. It’s better to pretend than actually


believe,” I say. The flaw lies not with the stars but with our emptiness.


“I don’t believe in anything,” she says. “But where are you, lost in the sunlight?


Where’s the rest of you?”


I don’t see her pupils. I shade my head with my hand and her body diminishes to a




I can’t tell whether I speak to myself, the abyss, or to her.


“I loathed your bodily form,” I lie.


“I bet you wonder why I agreed to this non-date,” she says. It ain’t because she’s a


easy lay, sexism has been purged completely. “Sex is useless.”


Our insubstantial selves wouldn’t hold the glands, organs and fluids needed.


“How did you contract herpes ?” I say. Gagging, I refrain from barfing. “My girlfriend


tricked on the side.”


“And your herpes from her,” she says. She begins to annoy me. “Once I visited a


bisexual and she gave it to me.”


“Yes. My girlfriend was bisexual.”


“Did she have a ‘Touch Me’ green tattoo on her belly?” she asks. We’ve touched


bases, so to speak. I assent.


We’re past being ethereal; terra incognita more apt.


We’re empty spaces between tiny fonts in a dictionary or bullets and shooting




I like slow baseball games, red beans and quinoa, nightmares, fast flowing rivers,

Ravi Shankar, death metal, Tom Waits, wet mornings, nostalgia, rooming houses,

cold nights, docks, The Moby Dick Cosmic Ocean, mania, unwarranted lofty thoughts,

death metal, Dennis Cooper, depressing novels, art brut, and the odor of eucalyptus trees.


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