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Latest Stories

December 04, 2025
Horror Stories Alizah Zaidi

The Apartment That Remembers

Elias Trent signed the lease for Apartment 4B on a damp Sunday morning in October—one of those mornings when the sky felt heavy with secrets. He had moved to Hawthorne City for a fresh start, a quieter life, and an escape from the noise of the world. The…
December 04, 2025
General Stories Ben Macnair

The Silent City

John awoke not with a jump, but with a profound, unsettling lack of noise. Usually, Tuesdays in his high-rise apartment were an orchestral assault: the insistent moan of the sanitation truck, the 7:05 a.m. argument between Mrs. Petrovich and her potted fig…
December 04, 2025
Crime Stories Ben Macnair

The Shoplifter

The city was a bruise, the sky a bruised purple at dawn, bleeding into a sickly yellow by noon. Sarah knew its various shades intimately, mostly from beneath the hoods of stolen jackets or the weak, flickering bulbs of forgotten alleyways. She was a ghost in…
December 04, 2025
General Stories Tom Kropp

Shannon's Date

Recently I testified at a murder trial. My big brown Quarter Horse named Buster snorted and stomped his hoof with clear protest at the prospect of moving farther into the forest patch. It was a cool September evening with the sun slipping over the horizon in…
December 04, 2025
Crime Stories Tom Kropp

Astral Homicide Hunter

Scot put his back to the hall wall and shifted to see all three members of the football team as they approached. All three football heroes stood over six foot tall and weighed over 200 pounds. In contrast, Scot was short and only weighed 165 pounds. His small…
December 04, 2025
Flash Fiction Ben Macnair

The Mirror

Laura stepped into the pulsating nightclub, the bass thudding through her chest like a primal heartbeat. At 29, she had seen her share of wild nights, but tonight something felt different. The air was thick with smoke and neon haze, and the crowd swirled…
December 04, 2025
Crime Stories Ben Macnair

The Shoelace

The field was a tapestry of amber and gold, the dying grass whispering secrets to the wind. It was a beautiful place, usually. But not today. Today, it was a crime scene. And among the scattered debris of a struggle, a single, mundane object held a chilling…
December 04, 2025
Poetry Markus J

When Santa Comes Downunder

when santa comes down under- he would leave behind snow and thunder. he would cross scenic beaches of golden sand- instead of crossing an ice and snow covered land. he`ll would fly over dirt river beds dry- while constantly swatting away a fly. would he swap…
December 04, 2025
Romance Stories Anthony L

Mr Big

Scotty Biggs lived his life like most people. He lived in New York, in a small apartment above a little bodega that one of his friends still owns. His routine was familiar: wake up too early, make breakfast, hit the gym, work, go home, repeat. His friends…
December 04, 2025
General Stories Ben Macnair

Subjects

The air crackled with a synthetic euphoria, a blinding kaleidoscope of LED lights and projected confetti. Rex Sterling, a man carved from polished charisma and a thousand-watt smile, strutted across the stage of "The Gauntlet of Fortune." His voice, a booming…
December 04, 2025
Romance Stories Alizah Zaidi

Love In The Letters

There was something about the writing cabin at the edge of Windmere Lake that felt suspended in time. The locals said that the cabin had heard more confessions than the village chapel and held more secrets than the town library. It sat halfway into the woods,…
December 04, 2025
Crime Stories Ben Macnair

The Photograph

The air in the abandoned Jones house tasted of fine dust and forgotten dreams. Detective Miles Corbin pushed open a warped door, the groan of protesting wood echoing through the desolate silence. Sunlight, fractured by grimy windows, painted stripes across a…

My cousin Bettina turned to Baxter and said, “Why don’t you get us a couple of beers. And some cheese and crackers would be nice too.” As Baxter moved toward the kitchen, she added, “And don’t forget to get me a glass for my beer.”

Once Baxter was out of sight, she turned to me. “You shouldn’t have done the dishes after lunch.”

“It just seemed right,” I said. “After all, Baxter made the lunch.”

She sighed. “For God’s sake, Jimmy,” she said. “Baxter is a robot. He’s supposed to be doing things like that.”

“It doesn’t seem fair for him to have to do all the work.”

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, you’re letting that robot take advantage of you. I noticed you ate all your brussels sprouts without complaining. I know you always hated brussels sprouts.”

“Baxter says they’re good for me.”

Bettina put her hand on my cheek. “Jimmy, you’re a sweet guy, but you’ve got to grow some balls and stop letting that robot tell you what to do.”

“He’s almost like family. He’s been with me for almost twenty years.”

Bettina snorted and looked out the window at the light rain falling on the lawn.

“I noticed about six boxes of Pop-Tarts in the cabinet. When did you start eating them?”

“I don’t eat them.”

“But Baxter bought them, and you can’t say ‘no’ to him.”

“I don’t want to hurt Baxter’s feelings.”

“He’s a robot, Jimmy.”

At that point Baxter came back into the living room with the beer and cheese.

Bettina picked up one of the beers and twirled it in her hand. “My glass, Baxter,” she said.

When he went back to the kitchen, Bettina said, “And the time he bought you all those pastel shirts.”

“I admit they weren’t the kind of shirts I usually wear.”

“I guess to hell they weren’t. You looked liked a nance. I bet you still have them someplace.”

“Yes, I’d throw them out, but I don’t want…”

“I know. You don’t want to hurt Baxter’s feelings.”

It probably sounds silly to worry about a robot’s feelings, but I had had Baxter for a long time and had done a lot of maintenance over time. I had had his SSD replaced at one time and even his CPU. Every few years a new operating system came out, and I had always updated to the newest system. About five years ago the new system had a big increase in artificial intelligence. After that Baxter was smarter than I was. I didn’t mind listening to his advice and letting him make decisions for me once in a while.

The latest operating system had come with a factor that made the robots more empathetic to human beings. That factor was still experimental and needed some work, but I figured, no one is perfect. In truth, I didn’t think of Baxter as a machine or even as a servant, but as a friend or companion, and that’s the way I treated him.

I remember one time, however, when he went too far.  I had been unhappy with my job and complaining about my boss for several weeks. Baxter took it on himself to email my boss to say that the company should be treating me better. When I went to work the next day, my boss confronted me with the email. “Well, you won’t have to worry about being mistreated here anymore. You’re fired.”

I was furious with Baxter, but he reassured me that with my ability, I would be able to get a much better job in no time. In fact he helped me find a new job which is much better than the old one.  So it turned out all right in the end.

After Bettina left, I went to the kitchen to see what was for dinner. Baxter was sitting at the kitchen table working a crossword puzzle. He looked me and said, “You  better change your clothes. You’re taking Marybeth Whitney out to dinner at the Tip Top.”

Marybeth was a neighbor about my age. She was single and a nice enough person, but I had no interest in dating her.

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “How come I’m taking her out to dinner?”

“I arranged it for you. You’re 37 years old. It’s about time you got married. Married men live longer than single men. Besides, I’ve noticed that she has eyes for you.”

“You can call her and tell her anything you want, but I am not going to go on a date with her.”

I wondered if I would be able to get one of the old operating systems for Baxter, one of the ones made before the robots got so smart.

 

End

 

My stories have appeared in Mountain Laurel, Northern New England Review, Short-Story.Me, Commuter lit, and Kennebec among others.

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