Once They Cross The Brambly Bridge Far Too Far From Town

The man in the black coat turns around, long ears dangling, striped vest pink-and-white, smiling. The children have followed him into the woods against their parents’ warnings, but just for a minute, not very far they say, as he pulls the golden ivory box from inside his pocket’s silk lining, lifts the top and their eyes grow wide for they are each inside, two inches tall, ceramic dolls he’s carved on a carousel winding round-and-round the emerald mound on tiny white ponies they’re riding, cymbals in their hair, penny whistles singing, ‘til they no longer hear the dinner bells ringing.

From Guest Contributor Kathy Miller

Kathy is a writer of poems, stories, songs, and screenplays. She lives in Michigan and has a B.F.A and an M.F.A. in Writing. Her publications include HarperCollins’ It Books, Universal Music Publishing Group, and The Aviator.

The Anniversary

The mirror was unkind. Struggling to zip the reclaimed wedding gown, she closed fading blue eyes. The scent of fresh roses mingled fern, the coolness of pearl against deep furrowed neck. Weathered, shaking hands smoothed vintage satin. Gently opening the floral hat box, once belonging to grandmother. Keepsakes of that day hidden for decades welcomed light. The tea length veil distorted graying hair, a pair of ivory gloves, stained by spilled wine from an over zealous toast. "Somewhere My Love" played in her head, lifting her gown she twirled. Singing softly. He watched without her knowing, not wanting to interrupt.

From Guest Contributor Christy Schuld

The Setup

Purple marks stained the ivory flesh of the young victim's neck. DNA forensic technicians hustled around her with their swabs and evidence bottles.

My partner Isobel raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"DNA will confirm it, but it's him."

Isobel sucked in a breath. "Adam Knowles. Been killing ten years, but not a hint of where he is."

I knew where he was. Twelve years since I killed him and placed a sample of my DNA labelled with his name in the database.

The victim's final screams played in my memory as I, Detective Richard Morrison, guided the investigation.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement