Cold Iron

Walking to the back of the old house, Samuel noticed the changes since last time he'd been home. There were weeds growing up from the foundation. The chicken coop had probably been empty for more than a year. But none of the of the deterioration moved him. He had no nostalgia for this place. In truth, this was no longer his home.

The smithy was the one part of the farm almost as he remembered. All the tools hanging in just the right place. Except the forge wasn't burning anymore, the anvil had long grown cold.

Dad was truly gone.

Preparing For Landing

Do we have to visit them?” the eight-year-old asked. “Grandma is weird and...”

“Grandpa is mean,” added her older brother.

Elsa observed the linear perfection of farmland below, largely ignoring her children.

At their age, she rode a tractor alongside her grandfather. They made rows into which other tractors dropped seed potatoes and covered them with soil.

By summer, when Elsa returned from the city, those fields were lush green having absorbed spring rainfalls.

As the plane prepared for landing, she knew her children would experience a different summer vacation.

The farm was no longer a property her family owned.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

Strange Sightings

HISTORICAL FICTION SUBMISSION:

Bill watched as fire tore the sky. Just as suddenly, the flame disappeared and a streak of dark smoke hit the ground. Whatever noise sounded at the impact was too distant for Bill to hear.

He hopped on his tractor and headed to the next field. He'd heard of airplanes in Albuquerque, but never actually seen one.

What Bill found at the crash site sent him running. As he drove to Roswell to inform the authorities, he was passed by a line of army trucks headed to his farm. By the time he returned home, the strange vehicle was gone.

From Guest Contributor Chris Thompson

Max And David

Max and David were inseparable. The scruffy Brittany Spaniel logged many miles around the family farm in the front passenger seat of the GMC half ton. David helped out his boys when needed, which was less and less each year. That suited David just fine. He enjoyed driving around the fields and his afternoon nap.

David did not wake up from his Monday nap. No one told Max as he spent the rest of that afternoon in the truck, waiting for David. One of the boys drove the truck to the funeral. Max sat in the cab, waiting for David.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

Corn

Toxic chemicals from a nearby factory contaminated Mr. Williams farm. Every year sixty-foot tall corn would grow. The farmhouse and barn are not affected and deemed safe.

A cornstalk opens sideways and reveals a mouth and eyes. Its husk legs can move up and down quickly but have a hard time moving forward. It extends its husk to reach for a wagon, but spots a unicycle and grabs that. The giant cornstalk rides towards the house.

Mr. Williams’s wife Ruth hears something and looks out the window, then screams.

“What is it?” her husband asks.

“It’s a unicorn,” says Ruth.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

Forever In Sunset

Seamus liked this time of day for visiting Breige. It seemed fitting.

She’d enjoyed sitting outside in her Yorkshire Fiddleback, just under the scullery window, breathing in the satisfied air of a full day’s work done as the chickens clucked down the hours to twilight.

She’d watch the sun set across the farm.

“Hell of an old gal,” Seamus sighed, manoeuvring to stand in the spot, watching his shadow sweep along the cemetery path.

The sun dipped, sending the shade of her headstone growing alongside his until it was shoulder to shoulder.

He reached out, smiling as the shadows embraced.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Cowboy

Billy had never been drunk before. That’s why he didn’t feel much pain.

The stars above were bright.

The runt of the family, he’d run off from the farm and joined the ranchers. They had gone to the saloon.

The strumpet at the bar had smiled at him. After his seventh whisky she winked.

Billy felt like a man. He was somebody.

“Move over boy,” the stranger said.

Billy stood his ground. There were words, then the challenge.

Outside, Billy got shot in the chest. Alone, he lay dying.

Tomorrow they would bury him. A nobody in a nobody’s grave.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian is originally from South Wales. He studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He currently lives in Taiwan with his family and is a high school teacher there. He has also been a freelance writer for over 12 years, writing articles for Taiwanese educational textbooks. He has had short stories published in various genres on Short-story.me, Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.

The Cash Cow

The Hendersons called her the cash cow. She ate grass and shit out money. Real American green. Tens, twenties, hundreds all came out in equal proportions, with unique serial numbers and the proper security features of United States currency. The cow became something of an attraction and people looked upon her as a miracle cow, of which many neighbors were forced to admit they were covetous.

No one understood how it worked but money being the root of all evil, the Hendersons didn't pause to consider the mechanics. They immediately slaughtered the cow and ground her up for chicken feed.

The Magic Bunny Farm

The white rabbits used by over 90% of the working magicians in Europe and North America originate from a single farm in rural Holland. The family-owned estate specializes in churning out the best rabbits in the business. In addition to being fed and groomed, they are taught the many necessary skills expected of them.

They are trained to remain motionless for long periods of time. They are taught not to fear small, confined spaces. They are even conditioned to wrinkle their nose and twinkle their eyes to the sound of applause.

But mostly, they are just expected to fuck like bunnies.

Scarecrow People

Joey always hated the scarecrow people, especially when everyone else welcomed them. They'll keep the birds away, people said, and tend to the crops. Scarecrows are made to work in the fields. It's their nature.

But Joey asked the tough questions. Where did they come from? How do they talk without a mouth? When people started dying, it was Joey who led the mob that burnt all the scarecrow people like so much dry straw.

When the truth came out, and Bill Bates turned out to be a serial killer, Joey refused to feel remorse. They were still better off.