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Latest Stories

February 03, 2023
General Stories Darrell Case

The Legend of White Owl Creek

I heard it from an old Indian who said his grandfather told him just before he died who heard it from his grandfather. White Feather raised a bony, wrinkled finger. “If you go to White Owl Creek after the sun is down on the twelfth of the month and if you see…
January 27, 2023
Flash Fiction Marina Krasavtseva

Je t’aime… Moi non plus

Her first tear was a pleasure. Now, her eyes red and puffy, he felt somewhat disgusted but still satisfied with what he had done. Her sobbing was pleasing, but when she would open her mouth…He just wanted to punch her, stifle her or whatever it would take to…
January 27, 2023
Crime Stories Peter Greenhall

The Bank Robbery

Dev, a second generation Indian male, arrived early to work. He was the branch manager and responsible for the transferring of cash to a security van that arrived every Wednesday. Every week Dev arrived for work, alone, to meet the private company. On getting…
January 27, 2023
General Stories Emanuel Diaz

Oh Rats !

Francoch Ratta, a 27-year-old New Yorker of Irish-Italian descent, woke up one morning to find he had a peculiar sensation. It was as if someone, or something, was watching him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was a feeling that wouldn't go…
January 27, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

Broken Hearted

Didn't take a knife, A gun, Or Strangulation, From anyone. No weapons of mass destruction, Powerfully, No cloak and dagger stuff, Sneakily. What you did, When you left me, What you did, Utterly destroyed me. Don't love me anymore, What am I to do? Didn't see…
January 24, 2023
Flash Fiction Greg Crow

The god Of Time And Space

There was a young man named Greg. He was an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, but he had a secret that he kept hidden from the world. He had the power to control time and space. Greg had discovered his power when he was just a teenager. He had been…
January 24, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

My First Therapist

Imploding, Exploding, Fighting, And Hurting. Some of things I want to do, Cause much pain, To myself, And to others too. In my early 20's, Life's meant to be free, In my early 20's, Felt trapped within me. Raging inside, Volcanic activity, Some part of me…
January 24, 2023
Mystery Stories Emanuel Diaz

Let Me Protect You

It was a normal day for Arabella Barlow. She was working in her garden growing some of her vegetables to sell in her stall inside the Borough Market in London. She was at peace and content by doing this while she waited for her beloved husband Cenric Barlow.…
January 18, 2023
Flash Fiction Reen

Cold Chaos

An expected delay, the blue line will arrive in 8 minutes now. A smell of burning fire fills the startled air from the act of defrosting the CTA rail. While I take deep breaths, tiny droplets of liquid water and ice are seen in the air as a cloud. On this…
January 16, 2023
Poetry Paweł Markiewicz

The New Celtic Ode To The Dreamed Mother Nature

ABABACACA You are an enjoyable juniper! You are a pleasurable bush! You are an agreeable poplar! You are a delightful spruce! You are a gratifying cedar! You are an amusing birch! You are a diverting corn! You are a bonny pine! You are a lovely palm! Your…
January 16, 2023
Fantasy Stories Rafique Shabbir

The Return To Malneant

Almeric had not slept ever since the death of his wife whose murder was committed by his hands. He could not imagine what madness had impelled him to spill the blood of someone so pure and innocent. Nevertheless, the guilt manifested itself in his dreams as…
January 16, 2023
Poetry Peter Greenhall

Undercover Copper

I used to wear a uniform, Wore it brand new, Proud to be wearing that uniform, Happily arresting the scum amongst you. Football violence, Scuffles and domestics, Car crashes and possession, Total Mayhem. Undercover work, Is calling me, A bit cloak and dagger,…

We never slept in here without Grandma, and since she died we did not want to sleep in here now, but Mama said the bed in the other room is too little for me and Richard to sleep in. She is sleeping in that bed, and Daddy is sleeping on the couch in the living room. We had to come down here because of Grandma’s funeral. She was Daddy’s mama, but Aunt Chloe who lives in Chicago with us raised him.

Aunt Chloe didn’t come down here with us. She said road trips were way behind her. Me and Richard like road trips because of the snacks and seeing cows and horses and other stuff out of the car windows. Daddy calls Aunt Chloe ‘Mama’ instead of calling Grandma ‘Mama.’ He called Grandma Ma’am.

Aunt Chloe is me and Richard’s favorite aunt, and that includes both sides of the family. Aunt Chloe is the best. She lives downtown, and we get to go over her house for all the free concerts and stuff in the park. Mama says Aunt Chloe can live downtown because she’s rich and has more money than Oprah Winfrey.

“Do you hear that?” my little brother asks.

“Yeah, I hear it.”

I heard it a while ago, but I was hoping he didn’t hear it because one strange sound in Grandma’s house leads my scary cat little brother to a hundred questions especially with the funeral and stuff. Everything is scaring him. He is five years old, and he thinks that dying is like catching a cold, and he wants to make sure him, me, Daddy, and Mama do not do anything that causes us to die like Grandma. I keep telling him Grandma died because she was sick for so long not because she did something, but he is just a little kid so he does not understand.

“What do you think that is?”

“The wind,” I say knowing he won’t believe me.

“The wind doesn’t scratch.”

“It does if it’s blowing a tree branch against the window.”

There are no trees outside of Grandma’s bedroom window, but maybe Richard will not remember that. He scoots closer to me and puts his big head on my pillow. There was only one pillow on Grandma’s bed, and since I got in first, I grabbed it.  But because Richard is scared of the dark, noises in the dark, and the funeral stuff I don’t push him away from me.

“But it sounds so close.”

I can smell the last Reese’s Cup on his breath. Mama gave it to him because he whined for it like a baby. The scratching sound is close. It’s right behind the headboard down at the bottom.

“Go cut on the light Malcolm.”

I say, “Nope, Daddy said go to sleep. If he sees the lights on he’ll get mad.”

“If you don’t go cut the light on, I’m going to scream, and he will get mad anyway.”

“And beat your butt.”

Our butts.”

He’s right. If he screams, Daddy will come in the room and get us both because he will think we are playing, and he will spank me the hardest because I am seven years old and the oldest. I snatch the pillow from under his head and push him away. He makes me sick thinking he’s smart.

“Are you going to cut the light on?” he asks. When I look over to him, I don’t see him because it’s so dark in here.

I throw back the blanket and sheet and swing my legs around and my feet down to the carpet because I do want the lights on, and I want to see what’s making that noise.

Grandma’s room is dark dark. I can’t even see my feet. Daddy cut the hall light out, so even the little light that comes in under the door is gone. When we slept in here with Grandma, she always had a prayer candle burning, so it was not black dark like it is now. They don’t have street lights in the country. Where we live it never gets this dark. We have street lights that shine through our windows all the time.

“I can’t see.” I tell my brother.

“There is nothing to see, just stand up and swing your arms around until you feel the string then pull it.”

He is too short and too big of a scary cat to help me, but he has a mouth full of ideas. I start swinging my arms around and take a couple of steps. Instead of feeling something with my fingers, I feel something with my toes, and it doesn’t feel right because whatever it is feels like its feeling me, so I start dancing around and jump back in bed.

“What? What’s wrong with you?”

“I think it’s bugs in the carpet.”


He’s almost screaming.

“Shhh, you know Grandma got bugs around here,” I tell him.

“On the back porch and a little in the kitchen but not in here.”

We are both sitting up in the middle of the bed.

“This the country, bugs are everywhere.”

The scratching sound is getting louder.

“Go cut on the light Malcolm, please. The bugs won’t hurt your feet.”

“Spiders will.”

Could bugs be climbing up the headboard and making that scratching sound? Are we surrounded by bugs? The scratching sound is moving up getting closer to us. What is it?

I tell my brother, “Go on and scream. When Daddy comes in he will cut on the lights and see whatever it is making the noise.”

“I don’t want a whipping.”

“He’s not going to whip us if he sees the bugs.”

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daaaddyy!”

“That’s enough, dang.”

We are both listening hard, but all we hear is the scratching.

“Scream again.”

“Daddy! It’s bugs in here. Daddy!”

The scratching noise is half way up the headboard.

“They are behind the bed, Malcolm. Daddy!”

“No they’re not, it just sounds like that because it’s so quiet.”

“Are you scared?”


“Then go cut on the light.”

“Nope, call him again.”

“Daddy! Daddy!”

The door opens, but the light that comes in is only around the person who opened the door. No, the light is not around her but coming from her, out of her. She is a light, like a Santa Clause with a light-bulb in the middle.

“That’s Grandma,” Richard whispers. “That’s not right . . . is it? The cemetery people put her in the ground. Why is she here with us? Daddy said she was dead.”

I feel my brother digging his stubby fingernails into my arm.

“No, it just looks like her,” I say.

“It is her.” He’s crying.

Grandma moves from the door towards us bringing light with her, “You’d better not pee in my bed Richard Wellington Brown III. That’s a new mattress. It cost me $375 dollars.”

It is Grandma. She’s at the side of the bed, glowing, glowing like . . . like her prayer candles. She told Richard not to pee, but it is me that has to hold my water with all my might.

“I got a kitten under my bed. She was the runt of the litter, real sickly, and hasn’t meowed yet. You boys are going to take care of her. If you don’t . . . I will be back to see you, and you won’t like me when I come back.”

I don’t think we like her now.

She bends down and comes up with a kitten and throws it in the bed with us, “I named her Chloe after my sister, call her anything else and I will come back to see you.”

The door slams shut and the Grandma light is gone. I have the baby cat in my arms against my chest. Richard stops digging into my arm.

The door opens again, and this time the light from the hall shows us Daddy.

“Why aren’t you boys sleeping?”

“Grandma, dead Grandma was here, and she gave us a kitten.” Richard says reaching to pet the cat.

“What did you say?”

“He’s not lying Daddy. She was here, and she gave us this cat, and she said we have to keep her, and she named her Chloe.”

“You two ate some of those crab apples didn’t you?”

We did eat some crab apples. I ate four, and Richard ate three, but what does that have to do Grandma being here? Daddy walks in the room and pulls the string cutting on the light.

The baby cat is snow white with one little black spot between her eyes.

“You lucky she’s cute. Your Mama will probably let you keep her, but keep the Grandma story to yourselves. If she thinks you are lying, no kitten. Now go to sleep.” Daddy pulls the string, but when he leaves he lets the door stay half way open, so the light stays in with us.

“Do you think Mama will still let us get a puppy since we have a kitten now?”

“I hope so because you can’t play fetch with a baby cat.”

“Give her to me. I want to hold her.”

“Here take her.” I toss the kitten in his lap. “I want a puppy not a stupid cat.”

The room turns black dark, “I am not playing with you Malcolm James Mercer Brown. You better take care of my kitten.”

I don’t see her, but I hear her.

The light comes back, and my brother is sitting in the middle of the bed petting the white cat with the black spot and laughing at me.

“And don’t forget, her name is Chloe,” he says grinning.


Tony Lindsay has written three short story collections:  Pieces of the Hole (Third World Press), Fat from Papa’s Head, and Emotional Drippings (Pen Knife Press). He has published book critiques and reviews for Black Issue’s Book Review. He was a contributor to the anthologies Don't Hate the Game, Lucious, and Fire and Desire, the on-line encyclopedia Identity.com, and Mosiac.com. He has been published by to the African American literary web-site ‘Timbooktu.com’, as well as the young adult magazine Cicada. He writes bimonthly articles for the magazine Conversations, and he writes non-fiction reviews for Hartman Publishing.


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