Category Webzine

HANDLEBAR by Monica Louzon Nothing terrifies you more than your dog freaking out at a parked pickup truck with a covered bed. It’s minding its own business, nothing weird about it. No trails of blood, no hiding cat. Just you,…

CRUMBS by Serena Edwards It couldn’t be her? How could it?  Today was meant to be happy. Scarlett and her family had loved my idea of having a daytime engagement party. John, Scarlet’s dad, had kicked out the barbeque, and…

GIVE CHASE by Brady Golden The first time, he doesn’t think much of it. He’s new to the building, after all, and unused to its various sounds. It could have been someone else’s door he heard, or maybe not even…

THE BLOOD GROVEby Tom Gordon Horseshoe, Montana, 1870. The slashing and whipping blizzard-wind of the Montana mountains blustered with a ferocity akin to that of a starving scavenger, nipping and biting at any and all exposed flesh, with each rupturing…

STORM SURGEby Guy Riessen Howling wind blasted the old man’s yellow slicker as bruised, bloated clouds churned overhead. Rain slashed, and Sam Baylee cut the video as Sarah Jennings, “Channel 7 News,” jabbed her mic under her arm. Head down,…

GEARSHIFT by Patrick R. Wilson The older gas-powered Lincoln rolled up smoothly, making no splash in the curbside puddle. Driver’s face (human, of course, the Others could operate few Earth machines) stared impassively behind the wipers clicking in the drizzle.…

BOOMER TRAP by Dale L. Sproule Jacket weather finally settled in after our long, sputtering summer. My wife, Wendy, used to come on these walks with me until her wonky knees turned me into a lone wolf on my weekly…

THE TEMPLE OF THE BODY by Eric Netterlund I drift through the high desert alone, and the foothills bow at my heels. I have slept through centuries, but now awake my stomach complains at its own emptiness. The distant lights…

LATE FEBRUARY HUNT by W. H. Hackel IV I hunt, not for a living, not for sport, but due to a sense of tradition. I hunt in order to keep the archaic remembrance of my family relevant. I remember my…

FROM THE REMAINS OF THE AIRSHIP INTREPID by Maxwell Marais April 21st, 1883 Perhaps it is suspicion that has driven me to create this journal. Perhaps it is paranoia that I may not be seen again. But if that is…

BLANK  by Richard S. Crawford “You won’t remember this,” the hitchhiker said. He delivered the statement with a yawn, as if were old news. Jack Parker jumped, startled, splashing cold coffee from his travel mug onto his leg. He’d driven…

THE BONK HOUSE by LH Michael The thing started with a letter from my father, an unwelcomed letter left unopened for three weeks. We hadn’t spoken in two years.   I opened it; more chicken scratch. The man’s handwriting had become…