Sirens scream while lights, like fireworks of red and white, slice at twinkling skies. Engines slow, firemen race inside for the old couple.
Blanket-wrapped, on the street, they whisper: “Think they’ll figure it out?”
The Chief sadly reports: “The cause is under investigation.”
They nod, squeezing closer, bedroom sheets smoldering.
MJ is an aviator, author, and speaker on ways risk and fear can work to our advantage to dream and explore. She is preparing for suborbital space flight.
Rose Jennings opened the letter and started reading.
She wasn’t in the highest of spirits, having just come from the hospital where her sister passed away from accidental poisoning.
The unnamed author expressed their sentiments. She was touched until she noticed the date on the letter: September 1st.
Eric has been writing short stories for around a year.
Bill answered his phone; his brother Ben’s frantic whisper burst through.
“Someone’s in the house! I hear them, Bill! I’m in the attic – this battery’s almost dead! Qui-click!”
Bill regarded the phone.
He knew who to call, tapped the number.
“He’s in the attic. Take your time. But finish him.”
George Hopkin puts words and spaces together and hopes they entertain or inform. If they both entertain and inform, he thinks that’d be just fantastic, thank you very much.
The bathroom lights flickered out, my phone casting a dim glow.
“Come out! That place is haunted!”
“Oh? Well, bathroom selfie!”
I turned on the front camera and pressed the button, a flash illuminating the room before I glanced down at the picture.
An arm was wrapped around my shoulders.
Nicole Castillo is currently a senior in Cerritos High School who is planning to major in Business Administration with a focus on Marketing. She likes to write poetry and short stories in her spare time and has won awards for her work such as the PTA Reflections First Place Award of Excellence. When she isn’t writing, she likes to spend her time going out for a run or listening to a good song.
After many long years underground escaping the global nuclear war, it was time to emerge. Naked and alone, we climbed from the depths of the mine.
Nothing was the same. Lush jungle had reclaimed the entire land except for a small clearing holding a solitary tree, fruited with one apple.
Matthew is a retired computer systems analyst.
“I was down low, deep in the scorched bowels of the Earth. The swirling of the thick, greyish, mephitic air slowed my progression towards the doomed book of Alhazred.
“As I wrote those lines, I swear I saw it exhale, although I might have been deceived then.
“Read… and tell.”
Arnaud Moussart teaches English in a French University. He cannot read long books anymore. He writes songs for a rock band, LadyH, and short articles dealing with science fiction and the real world.
Blood worked in refining the ritual: I stopped aging!
However, I repent these sins.
Now the only life I take is my own, ensuring the ceremony dies with me. One virtuous short life is worth a hundred long lives of evil.
Goodbye, world I have known longer than anyone else.
Fr. Kevin Pentalow is an Orthodox Catholic priest and a published writer and poet. He contributes many articles to local papers, international blogs, and magazines. Through his writing he won the NPR short fiction award of 2002, among other accolades. Reverend Pentalow is also a high-level Scottish rite freemason and has written extensively for masonic publications. He is also a well-respected icon painter, a musician, known for his diverse music projects.
On moonless nights, Nian descends from his mountain lair to feed.
Last month, the beast took my lover.
Tonight, while the others tremble behind barricaded doors, I stand at the village gate, clutching a firecracker destined for Nian’s sensitive nose. The wind ripples my crimson dress as the monster approaches.
Just for the record, Devon R. Widmer would probably be one of the people trembling behind barricaded doors.
The scratching is constant outside my bedroom. Each swipe is stronger, pushing the door against the frame. Testing its capabilities.
I’m in the corner, waiting for the inevitable as moonlight pours in.
The door shakes now, slamming against the doorframe. I close my eyes. Accept my fate.
And say goodbye.
Stephen Reynolds is a former Journalism student currently in pursuit of his first love: fiction. His writing has appeared at What Culture and Saturday Night Reader.
Edward hasn’t gone into the basement in awhile, the stairs as old and rickety as he is. He trembles, stares at the door.
Something on the other side wants out of the basement, into the house. It knocks, politely. At first.
Edward turns to run as the door groans open.
Madeline Mora-Summonte reads, writes, and breathes fiction in all its forms. She is the author of the flash fiction collection The People We Used to Be. See more at her blog.