Judy Whittaker poured herself a serious brandy. All right, she knew she probably shouldn’t, but this case had aroused some old demons. Outside, the night shone with the images of the reclaimed Hague, its spires and skyscrapers, a familiar sight for sore eyes and an acheing heart.

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Her skin stretched perversely, as though the abomination tried to free itself from her womb. Two tiny hands attempted to breach the mother’s distended stomach. Pallid flesh whitened to a point near translucence. Awareness of the grotesque happenings inside her belly seemed fractional as she went on muttering incomprehensible gibberish. Torrents of sweat rolled off her brow. An occasional groan was my only indication some part of her mind remained lucid. Veins had become rapidly more visible throughout her withered frame. My mind clotted with doubt this woman might survive the birthing. Any virtuous principle I once may have relished fell to its knees praying for some hope this child might escape unscathed by the plague gripping its progenitor. (more…)

I downed my third whiskey for the night and gazed across the valley, toward the Hydra Houses with the mythical kraken emblazoned on their frontages, and not for the first time, a lump came to my throat.

Damn it, she’s gone. Gone for good. Why can’t I forget her? Do I even want to? I loved her so much, ever since that day in the Andamans when I saw her for the first time, slashing and ripping and tearing apart the zeds on the distant shore. Yet, when she came to my bed the first time that night, we were soon lost in each others eyes and bodies. (more…)

The day before the dead came, Ani torched every slip of our sheet music and flooded Hart Street in smoke. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, reaching out and trailing five elegant fingers through the haze. “My life’s work, literally gone up in smoke.”

Ani was a singer–songwriter, too, and quick on guitar–with a voice like cigarette fire and ripped silk. (more…)

The chiaroscuro images flickered on the aged television set, as Walter Neff looked up at the spectacle of Phyllis Diedrichson, her shapely leg and the anklet bracelet on it. Nearby, Alicia gasped at the spectacle: “Oh wow. This is it, isn’t it? Double Indemnity, the film noir classic they told us about at film school this week? Where did you get it from, Karl?” (more…)

Please note that there has been a minor change to the submission guidelines, and has been noted on the main “submit” page. Please bear these changes in mind when sending us your work. (more…)

I saw Joe Reed sitting in a booth in the back of Dugan’s Bar & Grill, sipping a beer, staring forward, minding his business. Problem was – Joe Reed was dead. Killed by a heart attack six months ago at the age of forty-eight. My age. I had attended his funeral.

After squinting back there for a time, I shrugged it off. I waved the bartender over for another beer and tried watching a ball game on the small color TV on a shelf above the bar. But every now and then, I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder at the Joe Reed look-a-like. (more…)

Raphael Diego sat trembling in the small dark room. A single light bulb swung gently on a long cord. The bulb itself had blown some weeks ago, but Raphael still hadn’t noticed. The small beams of sunlight that would have otherwise seeped in through the tightly drawn shades were completely suffocated by thick dark blue comforters the man had tacked to the walls above the windows. The faint stench of mildew wafted from the walls, and the carpet under Raphael’s knees was damp, as if dew had somehow found its way into the drab little room. An ugly tan spot dotted with greenish-blue mold that sat lazily on the ceiling; the remnants of an old leak (Raphael often thought the mark resembled a chili pepper). (more…)

I think I’m seven bor maybe I’m six and a half still. I know my birthday is January 6^th, 2006. But I forgot which day is today.  Mommy forgot to put a calendar in the room when she locked the door. Yesterday it was September 9^th, 2012 when she locked the door. I remember because Mommy says I have a special brain.  I have High-Flying Autism and no one remembers like I do. Not even Indigo bor Daddy bor Maple bor even Mommy. (more…)

My wife Lilly walked out on the front porch and waved to me while I was trimming the hedges. Sweat from the warm summer evening was trickling down the side of my face, matting my unkempt blond hair to my head. I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm and walked over to meet her, dropping the hedge clippers at my feet. Lilly was a rare woman indeed. Her skin was the color of milkweed fluff and her eyes were a mirror for the sunlit maple leaves surrounding the house. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a long braid down her back; a few loose strands dangled in her face. (more…)

It started with a light, the end of a tunnel. A flash, intense and blinding, then everything changed for me.  Forever.

I open my eyes; all I see is blurred and deformed. What could have been images of reality seem to have melted, always out of focus. And that smell. Decayed flesh, dried blood and bones. I leave, the room so cold. Rise… (more…)