GHOST WRITER Jim saw the sign tacked to the telephone pole on the corner, and put on the directional. He turned onto the street, and spotted a sedan pulling away from a parking spot in front of the house. “Oh look, they’re leaving.” “Yep, I see it…I’ll grab the spot.” Jim slipped the SUV into…
The cell phone rang. Brittany did not move off the raft. She looked to where the phone sat and gingerly paddled across the green water, trying not to get more than her fingertips wet. Avoiding the water as much as possible, she slid off the raft and grabbed the phone. There was silence,…
Amelinda and Jurian sat by the hearth in silence. He looked at her, searching for a glimpse of the fräulein he had courted and married twenty years ago. Tightly braided, blonde hair, fading to white, crowned her head. Dull, grey eyes glared at him. Her lips were tightly pursed. “If you believe that Perchta…
The gravel is unforgiving on your bruised, shoeless foot. The sneaker was a small price to pay for escape from the metal that had twisted around your right leg. Luckily, your undamaged left leg carries your weight for the hobble into town. Another small blessing: the accident happened close to someplace, and not in…
They knocked on his door at ten of ten. He’d been told by the clergyman yesterday, at mid-day mass, the time intended to give the small group of volunteers a few hours to achieve their purpose before the witching hours of the night. Indeed the monsters—if any certainly existed—were said to come out then,…
The Barrow-wright ByClint Wastling It reminds me of one of those wartime films with search lights arcing across the night sky. There must be four security guards up on the ridge, each idly searching the undergrowth for me. They’ll give up long before reaching the rig. I’ve seen it happen before, they’d rather wait until…
They Don’t know By Donna J. W. Munro “That’s the thing. They don’t know they are dead.” “Ghosts?” “Yeah, they’re clueless. Reenacting the motions of their minutes days, trying to find the groove of their life only to slide with a shriek along the ridges of reality.” “They know something’s wrong though, right?” “Maybe. Or…
Clean Sweep The catnip spray made her naked form easy to find. Her ectoplasmic hands clutched at the back of a sofa. Gaunt and wrinkly. Would be nice to extract an attractive ghost for a change. Ralph lumbered over to her, activated the acetone spray, set the wetvac nozzle against her hands, and broke her…
By Graham Bowlin Dear Blonde Camper from Bunk Ten, First of all, I’d like to apologize for startling you. When I kicked open the door of your bunkhouse and stormed in, wildly hacking the place up (how foolish I must have looked to you then!), I thought that your friend, that nubile redhead, had been…