Always Everywhere

She's haunting him everywhere he goes.

She's reflected in the mirror when the lights go black. She's in the storm clouds chasing him through the day. She's the hum of the air conditioner cranked ten degrees too cold. She's the wetness soaking through his clothes in the rain.

He doesn't mind. Ghosts lose the power to terrify when you're addicted to the jump scare. She promised him she'd never leave and if nothing else, knowing that she's true to her vow is enough for him to hold on to.

He never would have imagined himself living in a romantic fantasy.

What's In Store

The best way to describe the sensation was like a super vivid acid trip where all his thoughts were crystal clear and jumbled together at the same time. He'd never actually tried acid, being too afraid of losing his mind, but he imagined it was like this.

His therapist prescribed him antipsychotics, but he refused. He decided instead that he no longer needed a therapist. What was the point when he could experience his entire future laid out before him at once? Like he was everywhere and everywhen at the same time.

If that made him crazy, so be it.

The Lost Notebook

I looked for it everywhere I could think to look. Under chairs and beds. In the clutter on the kitchen counter. Behind cushions. No luck. I’ve lost my notebook or had it stolen. The notebook is nothing fancy, a simple assignment pad like the ones we used in school. But I might as well have lost my soul. The notebook contains notes for poems and explosions. I’ve been unable to proceed without it. Words won’t obey like they once did. I’m a mirror without glass, a rocket ship without blastoff, a donor heart without a box to put it in.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry collection, True Crime, is scheduled to be published by Sacred Parasite in early 2026.

The Story Of An Artist

Troubled childhood, searching for escape. Persecuted for a vision of the world the world found uncomfortable.

One person called him a genius. Everyone called him a genius. His genius defined the zeitgeist of the moment. His genius transcended the moment and stood the test of time.

His paintings sold for millions. His paintings captured the hearts of millions. His paintings were copied by millions.

His influence was everywhere. His reputation cast a shadow over all the artists who followed. His fame is eternal.

Every person who knew him knew him to be an asshole. He was especially cruel to women.

Crossing The Threshold

The greatroom was full to bursting, ghosts everywhere: playing charades, talking, resting, dancing, darting between clusters of spirits engaged in various means of whiling away time.

A newly-born ghost appeared at the doorway and paused at the chaos. The chaos paused in return, all eyes upon the newcomer.

“Come in, Dearie, and welcome,” Eve, the oldest of them all, beckoned.

The new arrival apprehensively crossed the threshold. The others returned to their various activities.

Eve helped the new ghost settle in. Did she have any questions?

Just one, the young ghost said, voice wavering: “When do they notice you’re gone?”

From Guest Contributor Melissa Ridley Elmes

Melissa is a Virginia native currently living in Missouri in an apartment that delightfully approximates a hobbit-hole. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Reunion; The Dallas Review Online, Eye to the Telescope, Star*Line, Gyroscope, In Parentheses, and other print and web venues, and her first book of poetry, Arthurian Things: A Collection of Poems, was published by Dark Myth Publications in 2020. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MRidleyElmes