Runaround

For his eighteenth birthday, Lathan got magical boots from Grandpa, so nobody could catch him up.

When cyclopes attacked the village, Lathan ran into a leafless forest, where witches boiled bones in cauldrons; so he fled to the Glass Mountain, opaque crystals everywhere, and their shimmering princess offered engagement; flushed in embarrassment, Lathan roved to a roadside tavern, mocked by goblins, and a bounty placed on his head. He circled around the empire for a month but eventually ended up at home.

As cyclopes growled, Lathan finally faced his worries, selling the boots for a rusty sword at the blacksmith.

From Guest Contributor Bettina Laszlo

Bettina writes fiction to convey what is beyond expression. Her work has appeared in NUNUM, Dragonfly educational programme, and is forthcoming at 101 Words. She lives in Budapest with her fiancé.

Three Claw Marks

In a flash, a furry bundle leaps silently onto the bar counter.

Before the sailor can cover his face, sharp claws tear skin from his cheek. The glass of bourbon falls from his hands, and its contents spill over the table.

“Don’t talk behind my back—”

The sailor turns and sees a tabby with a metal peg leg glaring at him in the tavern’s gloom.

“—if you want to live long in space!”

“Aye sir.” The sailor trembles like a child.

“Sayonara, baby.” The tabby lifts his tail and vanishes. Blood drips from three claw marks on the sailor’s cheek.From Guest Contributor Umiyuri KatsuyamaTranslated by Toshiya Kamei

Umiyuri Katsuyama is a Japanese writer of fantasy and horror. In 2011, she won the Japan Fantasy Novel Award with her novel Sazanami no kuni. Her latest novel, Chuushi, ayashii nabe to tabi wo suru, was published in 2018. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous horror anthologies in Japan.

Daydreaming

Morning. Walking to the shops in a daydream, hungover. My mind wanders and takes me somewhere else....

I am sitting at the bar in the Wolf Dog Tavern with John. I ask the landlord to sub me a fifty. The landlord moans, 'go and cut some lawns and make your own money.' I tell him that I will have money next week. John was going to cut his lawn by the fish factory.

A lady snaps me out of my reverie, I must have be talking aloud and waving my hands.

'You alright?' She asks assuming that I am mad.

From Guest Contributor Declan Kelly

Declan lives in Mayo, Ireland. He is a big fan and follower of Irish heritage, culture, and beer.