Meat Monster

The fleshy carcass emerges from the oven with ill intent in its heart. What was once a peaceful, feeling, sentient creature is now sliced and glazed in a glass casserole dish. The gluttonous desire of the would-be cannibals turns to terror upon seeing the monster they have crafted. The violent nature of their death at the hands of their once victim will pale in comparison to the guilt that will weigh down their souls as they pass on to whatever eternity they might have waiting for them on the other side.

At least that's how a vegan imagines it.

TV

The trick or treaters are finally done for the night. Time for some soothing TV. Must be somehorror movie, some ghastly looking character is staring at the camera emoting “You’ll be deadbefore the night is over.”

I’ll check the news. I’ve had enough of scares tonight. Channel 8 has my favorite broadcaster,but he’s decked out for Halloween, I guess. Another monster. This one reads “Sorry, but you’ll bedead before tomorrow.”

Wow, those guys are going all out for the season. I’d say a little overboard.

Must have a really late tricker, someone’s at the door now.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

So It Goes

A brave man killed a monster. He became a hero and was celebrated. He married a princess and eventually became a king. He had many children. Then he died.

An unlucky man was born poor. He made an unfortunate bargain and was cursed. He turned into a horrible monster, was shunned by society. Eventually a man came along and killed the unlucky man.

A unremarkable man lived an unremarkable life. He had good times. He had bad times. He died an unremarkable death.

A thoughtful man spent his entire life trying to make sense of it all. Then he died.

Traitor

The streets were eerily quiet, and I knew Nazis were lurking around. I stood in the woods and listened to the animals’ noises until I heard footsteps. It was the contact. He said the code word and I handed him the papers. He was gone as quickly as he came.

I was about to make my way back to the resistance when I heard another set of footsteps. I braced myself and reached for my weapon, but it was gone. Traitorous monster, I thought. He swiped my knife.

A Nazi appeared pointing a barrel of a gun to my head.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

My Death

This is a country you only hear about when there is a failed coup or a 7.2 magnitude earthquake or all the whales have syphilis. Most days I feel as if hundreds of tiny worms with razor teeth are whittling my bones. People who have seen me grab onto a wall to keep from falling down in pain sometimes suggest I try heat or special creams. I thank them just to be polite. Meanwhile, a figure in a long black coat lurking nearby sucks on a cigarette, then expels a mouthful of smoke like the monster in a fairy tale.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's chapbook Famous Long Ago is forthcoming from Laughing Ronin Press.

Lay, Kitten

The desirable and exquisite souls always come at night—when the crescent moon shapes a bent halo around their stiff, floating bodies illuminated by the stars. Beautiful people are tough to kill, yet so impossible to resist. Their calm spirit invites the monster to the forest. Mothers hiding from their tormenting infants; lovers exploring their wild, rupturing hormones; broken people just seeking a place to sing along with the birds and dance to the tune of the wind—Everything leads to when the monster crawls out of the dim and spiny bush to say, “Do you want to play, Kitten?”

From Guest Contributor Annabelle Torkwase Ulaka

Annabelle lives with her mother and two siblings at a little town, north of Nasarawa state, Nigeria. She believes in the magical bond of family. Her days are spent reading anthologies, watching movies and writing stories and essays. She's a final year student in Benue State University, studying for a bachelor’s degree in Biology. Writing comes naturally to her, and her greatest aspirations have always been to become a respected writer, own three black cats, and finally learn how to dance. You can always find her on Twitter with the handle @Annyball1.

Bare Ruined Choirs

An ex-beauty queen has been found in her bedroom decapitated, limbless, a chainsaw nearby. On the wall, a decorative wooden sign says, “Breathe deeply and calmly.” How do you do that? We need a plan, an intervention, something. In Hiroshima after the bomb, they piled the bodies in the swimming pool at the college and cremated them with scrap wood. Last night when my mother finally managed to fall asleep, she dreamed she was walking through a ruined city in a hospital gown left behind from her cancer surgery, while, in the distance, sirens screamed. Assume the monster is everywhere. From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of The Death Row Shuffle, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

The Needle's Tip Is Not Sharp Enough to Cut Me Out

I see the demons you dance with; chanting in your ear, ripping you apart, gnawing upon your flesh—consuming you. Your nightmare has peeled my eyelids open. You say, “I’m a monster that can’t be revived. My carcass is a puppet to the demons that infect my soul: A hollow shell filled with darkness and decay.” I realize the words tangle on your tongue like the English Ivy on the stone walls that trap you inside. I know you’re shackled behind your sapphire orbs that peer upon my face.

I am not scarred...

I am in control,

Of my fate!

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Outside The Box

Annie is missing. “Not in her room,” Mom said. “Can’t find her outdoorshoes,” noted Dad. “Maybe she fell into a humongous puddle,” quippedyounger brother. Older brother was silent. Two guinea pigs madlythreaded wheels. Crows lined the backyard fence squawking at thehouse. “Bet she’s at a friend’s,” said Dad. “Maybe a monster snatchedher,” younger brother grinned. “That’s enough young man,” assertedMom. “We need to think OUTSIDE the box,” Dad stated. “Maybe someoneput her INSIDE a box,” giggled younger brother. “Hush!” yelled Mom.Older brother emerged: “Annie’s in my bedroom closet with an imaginaryfriend.”From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.

The Origin Of Myth

As far back as anyone can remember, Lulumak stole. When he was young, the elders told Lulumak’s parents that this was a sign of intelligence but once he matured into warriorhood, the elders warned Lulumak that he would be punished if he stole again. A day after Lulumak was warned, Chinoon caught him stealing fish from Yellow Hair’s net. The next day a few elders told Lulumak they discovered a rich fishing area and invited him to fish with them. When the elders returned without Lulumak, they told the tribe that Nanal, the monster, had eaten Lulumak for his sin.

From Guest Contributor Dave Harper

Dave, a recovering software developer, now finds himself addicted to writing fiction.