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Latest Stories

July 28, 2018
Mystery Stories Roger Ley

The Wheel Fiddle

The melody drifted across the garden as she was picking fruit to make a summer pudding. She put down her basket, wiped the sweat from her forehead and walked around to the front of the cottage. The man stood waiting at her garden gate, he raised his cap. He…
July 28, 2018
Flash Fiction Rekha Viswanathan

Pills and Capsules

I wake up to a crisp, clear and sunny morning. The fresh coffee smell beside my bed tempts me. One long sip of the coffee and my senses kick in! I have a long day ahead. At least that's what the papers at the foot of my bed say. Glancing at the paper I see…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Stephen A Murray


There existed in Russia a small group of intelligence operatives left over from the KGB. They are known as Sputniks. From Wikipedia: "Sputnik was the first artificial Earth satellite. The Soviet Union launched it into an elliptical low Earth orbit on October…
July 28, 2018
General Stories Paul Anobile

A Portrait of Slam Bang City

I was hired to paint the portrait of a billionaire who founded a small city twenty years ago in a ghost town he purchased in Arizona. Danny O’Keefe, professional wrestling promoter and executive, convinced a number of investors to build a fourteen-thousand…
July 28, 2018
Science Fiction Stories Majoki

The Deadest Generation

Sergeant Taylor always checked us thoroughly before sending us in: regulation uniform, backpacks, anti-ballistic helmets, Kevlar vests, and, of course, your gun. You couldn’t go anywhere in this place and be safe without your gun. Sergeant Taylor was strict…
July 28, 2018
General Stories J.B.Stevens

Dead Camel

The improvised explosive popped off to the convoy’s left. The armored black Suburban Neil drove muffled the sound to a dull thud. The blast seemed smaller than normal. “Anyone hurt?” the medic, Luiz, called across the radio. The team members, in four matching…
July 28, 2018
Romance Stories Jerry Hogan

He'll Ask Me To Dance Again

Jay I’m Jay, and I have never been to the My Time Dance Studio before tonight. As I entered, the interior projected a garish 1930s Art Deco motif. Greenish, glow-in-the-dark, semilucent plastic tubing wrapped around the hand railings separating one sitting…
July 28, 2018
General Stories Jim Bartlett

The Comebacker

Cornstalk stretches forward, the look almost as if he’s about to fall headfirst off the mound, saved only by the slapping of his left hand to his knee. He locks eyes with his catcher, then lets his gaze wander down just below his glove for the sign. Uncle…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Susan C. Nigra

Never Kill The Author

Oh My God! What’s happening? This has never happened before. I am cornered, trapped, boxed in with no safe way out. There has always been a way out before, miraculous last minute saves. I think back to how I got here and I remember I was assigned this case as…
July 28, 2018
Crime Stories Thomas Schmidt

The Streets of Camden

Saturday night was cold and wet. Mike Joseph walked cautiously down Norris Street on his way to the Whitman Park Field, a large green space inside the depressed neighborhood. Propositioned twice by street walkers, he kept moving while shifting his head from…
July 13, 2018
Mystery Stories Rekha Viswanathan

The Enchanted Woods

The boys are on a trip. A trip into the woods. Accompanied by their family they trudge along a narrow path, a route that had obviously been traced by human footsteps, a trail that had been trodden many a time. They walk cautiously, startled by the snap of a…
July 13, 2018
Flash Fiction Carl Perrin

What Could go Wrong

If you plan every detail carefully, nothing can go wrong. I believed that when I was a teenager. Like the time Billy Long and I decided to make our own beer. Once in a while we used to steal a couple of Billy’s father’s beers, but we were always afraid we…



April 6, 1862

The vampire was so full he thought he might vomit. It had been a day of blood. When the two great armies had clashed in what would become a disorganized and costly battle, the ground he now stood on had been a meandering forest of bare trees and thick brush. Now that the day was over, the ground was something different - a virtual blanket of spilt blood and shattered bodies. Many of the smaller trees had been split in half by the cannon fire and the constant volley of musket balls, rendering the field of battle into a cursed land of death.

At times like these, the vampire wondered why the providences of nature had seen fit to allow the vampire to exist in the image of mortal humans. Despite their physical appearances, the vampire shared little similarities with the common man.He’d always thought that he was more at kin with an Amazonian snake who took its meals in one large feed, slowly digesting it over time until it was ready for the next feast. The vampire sustained itself in the same way, feeding in one massive meal that left him free from hunger for many days. It had been nearly a month since his last feed. He still felt full, and the sight of this battlefield did nothing but nauseate him.

It was approaching midnight. The fighting had stopped after dusk and a steady torrent of rain had begun to fall.

For a time, he’d found shelter under a tree while the rain fell upon him in unmerciful droves. He was a few hundred yards from the riverbank where the Union gunboats were busy shelling the Confederate line. The volley of shells from the gunboats came in fifteen-minute waves and would no doubt continue all night.

What a day it had been. The Rebels had surprised them, the vampire admitted. No one had expected an attack this day.How, he wondered, did it happen?

In late March, five Union divisions had moved down the Tennessee River and had encamped off its banks at a place called Pittsburgh Landing. From there, they were to push on to Corinth, Mississippi about twenty miles south and take control of the Confederate railroad lines. It was expected that the enemy were massed at Corinth, but on the second of April, the Confederate commander, Albert Sydney Johnston, left Corinth in force to attack the Union army at its encampment. The surprise attack began on the morning of the sixth. What followed was a day of bloody carnage as each side struggled to get possession of the field. By the end of the day, the Union line had been pushed back nearly to the river.But it wasn’t over yet, the vampire knew. There was always tomorrow.

Sitting at the tree, the constant rain soaking and uncomfortable, he thought about home and the fire that would warm him if he were there. Though he was a vampire, he was still susceptible to the discomforts of nature and still dreamed of the creature comforts of home.

Standing up, he decided to make his way to the log cabin that sat a short distance away and warm himself for a while. His ankle was swollen and painful. Two days earlier, he’d fallen off of his horse, injuring his leg. It seemed ironic to him as he hobbled through the rain that he should suffer such an irritation. He was immortal. He’d seen countless moments of history made through the eyes of a man who could not die. Yet he could still be bothered with trivial injuries such as this. Though the ankle would surely heal faster then it would if he were a mortal man, the nuisance still irritated him.

Trying to ignore the discomfort, he made his way to the cabin, and entered quickly, grateful to get a break from the constant rains.

No one paid much attention to him as he entered; the cabin had been turned into a field hospital to attend to the wounded and dying. All around him, men were lying on every available surface as busy army surgeons worked desperately to save whoever they could.

On a nearby table, two surgeons were going to work on a hysterical man whose left arm was clearly blasted to shreds and needed to be removed. They’d tied a tourniquet around the bicep and placed a stick in his mouth. The two men then held the injured one down as the surgeon began to saw through the bloody stump. The man’s howls of pain and agony were almost like a form of musical despair.

Watching, the vampire could see the fear in the man’s eyes as his arm was being cut away. He had lost a limb in battle once. It was at a place called Agincourt. A Frenchman had sliced through his right arm with a broadsword. It had grown back a few days later. But for this man, lying on a table of his own blood, there would be no other arm to replace the one he’d lost.

As he watched on, he felt a hand tugging at his wet jacket, and looked down to see another man lying at his feet on a dirty cot. The man’s eyes were wide with fright.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t let them take my leg.”

Looking down, the vampire saw the shattered remains of the man’s left leg. The musket ball had taken the bone clean apart. There would be no saving it. Saying nothing, the vampire walked away as the man continued to beg, “Please, please…”

Looking around, he saw a man he recognized. The head surgeon, Jarred Cline, was busy administering either and checking bandages.

“Mr. Cline,” he called.

The surgeon saw him and came quickly over.

“How are things, Mr. Cline?”

The man seemed exasperated and worn out. Like a butcher, he wore an apron that was smeared with blood. He had the look of a man fighting back tears.

“They keep coming in, sir,” the surgeon reported. “We can hardly keep up. We keep getting reports that there are wounded on the field. They’ll freeze to death in the rain, but we have are hands full here, don’t we?”

The vampire wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything and simply patted the man on the shoulder and turned away.

All around him, the men lay in misery, some moaning, some screaming, some pleading, and all silently praying for mercy.

Having seen enough, the vampire stepped out of the cabin and back into the rain. His ankle wasn’t bothering him so much now.

With nowhere else to go, he returned to his tree and once again sat down to endure the rain. The shells from the gunboats keep blasting away at the Confederate line, adding a manmade thunder to the rain. They’d been hit hard today, but reinforcements had arrived that evening and tomorrow they’d push on through the Rebel line and beat them back.

Sitting there, the vampire thought about the hospital he’d just visited. He’d seen that type of thing before on countless battlefields and would surely see it again for ages to come. Still, he wondered about the nature of his own being. As a vampire, he did not fear death or dismemberment. It gave him a sense of calmness during battle. Yet still, he felt bad for those who did not possess his gift. Sure, they were only humans, mere cattle that live and die in no more then a blink of an eye it seemed. But they were his men, and it was their horror that would carry with him long after this war ended.

The vampire almost regretted that, but war was the only thing he’d ever known, the only thing he’d ever been successful at.He had been with Alexander the Great when he set out to conquer the world; he had been with the Turkish army when Constantinople fell; he had been with Napoleon at Waterloo and countless other campaigns. That was his right as a vampire, to forge new lives, to see the endless sweep of history through the eyes of a soldier. Each life was lived as if he were a human, being born, living, and dying, only to pass on his seed and be reborn again into another identity, coming up through the centuries with all the knowledge of the past lives lived, feeding when needed, and finding a war. Always there was a war.

In this life, he’d been born in a place called Ohio. He’d pursued the life of a soldier. He’d chosen this side, though one would have been just the same as another. In the end, the same result would be. Men would die, time would pass, and a new war would be fought. And when he passed into a new life, he would be there for that war too.

As for now, he was here and he had to concentrate on this fight. It was a strange war, he’d decided. He hadn’t seen one like it before. Each side was very similar from the other. They shared the same history, the same lands; they were the same people, but they had different ideas of what this land should be.

Before this battle, the vampire had believed that this would be a short war, that each side would soon give up and loose stomach for the fight. But after this battle, he knew this wouldn’t be true. In fact, this war would probably be one of the worst ever. Thanks to this battle, he’d seen the determination of the enemy and the fierceness of those on his own side. They would not give up, not until one side was totally and ruthlessly conquered. That is the only way this war will end.

Looking up, the vampire was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a man’s footsteps approaching. At once, he recognized the person coming toward him. Though he was a vampire, he still made occasion to befriend those mortals who showed superior qualities as to warrant his friendship. The person approaching him was just such a man.

When Sherman finally reached him, the vampire could see the pain in his friend’s eyes. This day’s fighting had been tough, and it shown.

Though it was a military situation, the vampire and the man were on personal terms and often addressed each other by casual name.

“Well, Grant.” Sherman said. “We’ve had the devil’s own day, haven’t we?”

“Yep,” the vampire replied. “We’ll whip them tomorrow though.”


George Ebey is the author of Broken Clock; Dimensions: Tales of Suspense; The Red Bag and Widowfield. He is a graduate of The University of Akron with a bachelor's degree in History, as well as from Kent State University with a bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice and a minor in writing. George is a contributing editor to the International Thriller Writer's webzine, the Big Thrill. He lives with his wife in Northeast Ohio.

Visit George's website at www.georgeebey.com
Read some short stories, look at his books and see his
latest news. Author page: www.georgeebey.com


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