“Excuse me. Mind if I smoke?” “Not at all.” “Thanks, I — oh. I didn’t realize.” “Realize?” “That you’re — never mind.” A spark, a catch, sulfur, smoke. “Funny place to see one of you.” “Is that so?” “Well, outside… Continue Reading
In the forest, where the stones are jagged as teeth and the moss hangs wet off the peeling tree branches, there lived a witch. She loved children, meaning she found them cute, and occasionally interesting to talk to, but mostly… Continue Reading
Shelly was cutting loose. Packing both a lightweight and midweight sweater for layering against the chill. Swigging her protein smoothie in three gulps, setting the tumbler in the dishwasher — without rinsing. “The manual says no-rinse,” Maxwell had said, “but… Continue Reading
They were seventeen, sunburned and tipsy on lukewarm cider, sprawled in long grass above Selsley Common. Below them, rooftops caught the last gold light. It smelled of warm earth and crushed cow parsley. Lina flicked a stolen lighter under a… Continue Reading
Arthur sometimes hated the house. As a widower of 17 years, to him the place still felt empty without Janene, and in the dark even a bit creepy. He had become familiar with the nail pops, creaks, wind whistles, and… Continue Reading
I’d been up on the high shelf for a month, luring gullible punters in for five quid a pop. We’d travel with different carnivals, into different villages, parks, run-down towns — but everywhere felt the same. Us big ones rarely… Continue Reading
No one could say when the town started coming apart. First the mill cut shifts. Then pay. Bread got a little higher every month until people stopped pretending not to notice. Jobs vanished quietly; older workers still kept showing up… Continue Reading
Corwin was the one who found the nest, high up in the split crown of a dead sycamore, and Corwin was the one who said they should eat. They hadn’t eaten since the morning before. Their grandfather’s dog had barked… Continue Reading
No matter how many people I met here, none of them had faces. Probably I should have listened to my mom, who always told me to draw them. I never did. She said, “Jimmy, if you don’t draw their faces,… Continue Reading
Brooklyn, 2002. The air smelled like radiator steam and pan-fried American failure. The July sun bleached every brick of Crown Heights into the color of singed flesh, and the sidewalks pulsated and vibrated, as if some bastard angel beneath the… Continue Reading