Mother

Around nine O’clock at night, mother returned from work. She was exhausted. She had been working all day. She had brought doughnuts with her for her son. She put the bag of doughnuts in the kitchen and went upstairs to see him. The door of his room was cracked open. She opened the door carefully not to wake him up. She saw him sleeping. He was looking like an angel while sleeping. She went inside and stood there near the bedside for a while looking at his son. She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead and left the room.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

Haunting

Molly opened the door to her new antique shop and breathed in the freshly painted room. She sold everything from refurbished wood furniture, candles and lotions among other products. Family and friends begged her not to buy the building that was a torture chamber in the early 1800s. Rumor had it that past owners heard screams and footsteps, but she didn’t believe it.

One year later, Molly foreclosed. Customers were too frightened of the rumors.

On her last day, Molly locked the door for the final time. When she turned for one last look, a figure waved from the window.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Past Life As A Goldfish

You don't believe me, Doctor!

It's not what I believe, you believe it.

Our apartment number is 911.

Joe, really, it means nothing.

You think it is a coincidence?

Coincidences happen, Joe.

I'm starving! I can't breathe!

Dr. Adams knew that he should do something. Even though he was a psychiatrist he never could stand seeing a grown man cry. He texted his admitting orders to the hospital.

Then he texted Joe's wife. He needed her to hold off serving Joe with divorce papers.

He looked it up... "googled" they used to say... left alone for days, many pets died.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

Life, A Very Short Story

You talk to family photos, suffer from migraines, play Chopin with unshowy facility on the parlor piano. Strangers often comment on your eyes – gull’s eyes, someone called them. The sea heaves just outside your door, and from the back window, you can see the cemetery where your father is buried. Weeds have sprouted up overnight among the headstones. You aren’t interested in stories of success, only failure. “Sunshine,” you say, “is an overrated virtue.” The words echo. There’s a feeling that something terrible is about to happen. You watch for a while and then shrug. Maybe because it’s all disappearing.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press and Spooky Action at a Distance from Analog Submission Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Return To The Primitive

A hunk of meat sizzled on the broken fireguard atop a rusty oil drum which served as a brazier-cum-barbeque.

Badger’s friends gathered round for warmth. He didn’t know why they called him that and, being relatively new to a sub-society which had welcomed him with open arms, he hadn’t pushed the issue.

The subway tunnel reeked of smoke, sweat, and human waste, but it was home to the evictees.

Tonight they shared their good fortune with any who followed the aroma, irrespective of rivalries.

Badger’s landlord had barged in, demanding the spare keys.

Long pig had never been so descriptive.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

God, The Eagles

God how I loved “Hotel California.” Which was more than a song. The rooms had feather beds and cozy quilts you’d think came from the Amish people. Those people, straight and true. Me, I’m a scotch on the rocks girl, down at the hotel bar most nights singing along with those guys. “Desperado” comes to mind. My kids weren’t half as much trouble as I let on. All of them stellar now. So stellar I don’t know what to say to them anymore. And the way they don’t call, I figure they don’t know what to say to me either.

Linda Lowe's poems and stories have appeared in Outlook Springs, Gone Lawn, Dogzplot, Right Hand Pointing, New Verse News and others.

Afraid

He just wanted to get rid of that man so he killed him. He had always wanted to do that. He saw him dying. He smiled and laughed. He had no fear of God and he didn’t care for the aftermath. Days passed. One day, on his way home he felt someone was following him, someone who was large and dark. He walked faster. The dark figure kept chasing him. He started running but wherever he went the dark figure chased him. He hurriedly reached home and shut the door behind him. Now, he was afraid of his own shadow.

From Guest Contributor Sergio Nicolas

Innocence Lost

Robyn watched the memorial for an hour before shutting the television. The numerous innocent casualties grieved her. Eighteen-years-later and September 11th, 2001 remained visible. The screams and falling debris echoed, and the blackened sky that had been full of abundant sunshine before the tragedy, frightened her.

She took a deep breath and poured herself a steaming cup of herbal tea. The warmth soothed her stomach.

Robyn had left her 911 operator job that very evening. The towers collapsing had brought her over the edge and the voices of people pleading for help still haunted her.

Tears formed and tea spilled.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Death

I opened my eyes and spoke with the angel at the foot of my bed.

He didn’t have wings or look like Brad Pitt. His name was Derek; originally from Basildon.

“What happened to me, Derek?”

“You’re dead,” he replied.

“How?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

“Car crash.”

“When?”

“An hour ago. They tried reviving you. Your time of death was six-thirty.”

“So, I was on my way home from work then?”

“I suppose so,” Derek replied, not seeming to care one way or the other.

“Did they say what caused it?”

“You were texting someone, apparently.”

From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey

The Stuttering Fool

"She sells sea shells by the seashore."

I practiced 'til my eighteenth birthday. My last day of stuttering.

"I will ask Betty Montgomery on a date," I told myself.

When I walked onto the beach behind her sea shell stand, I heard her say to her friend, Jill: "He's such a stuttering fool." She was talking about me. I couldn't ask her but I stayed stutter free.

I bumped into her at the grocery store yesterday.

"Damn, you look good!" Time had been good to her too but I couldn't tell her.

"Who was that, Pa-Pa?" My grandson asked.

"Nobody."

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes