All Hallows Eve. The most popular haunted house in town was as dark as the inside of an uncarved pumpkin. Not one of its clockwork creatures was stirring.
Why?
The property was under new management. The penny-pinching promoter took one look at his scary electric bill and pulled the plug.
John H. Dromey has a story “Cross Genre Traffic Does Not Stop” reprinted online in Unfit Magazine.
Editor: I should have re-titled this story “Who Turned Out the Frights?”
He needed a home. I let him move in. Bought a new bed. Fed him well. Tended to his every need. Let him sit by a real coal fire.
But every time I turned my back, he sneaked off to the woman down the road.
He was just another tom.
Mary Gunn writes short stories and poetry, including Japanese-style poems. She lives on the east coast of Ireland.
My house is made of windows. I clench the rock in my hand and shove it in my pocket.
They slur words by the barbecue—the meat sings as it burns.
I jump on the trampoline and break through. My ankles begin swelling as I limp through empty beer cans.
Khalilah Okeke was raised in the Pacific Northwest and now resides in Sydney, Australia, with her husband and two children. Her work has been published in Down in the Dirt magazine, The Red Eft Review, and The Orissa Society of the Americas Journal. You can follow her blog at khalilahokeke.wordpress.com.
Soul-pain and heartache of days that are gone:
festering things fed by dread and dismay
pounding dark avalanche rolls on and on.
I am its echo, recording per se,
an hour’s background static in the green aisle
rumbling I’ve NOTHING TO DECLARE. Make way
For this humble outmoded cassette tape.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.
The story of the week for October 22 to 26 is…
Pooh Sticks by Stuart Atkinson
“Hi, honey! Welcome home. Dinner’s ready.”
“Daddy, the flying saucer’s on TV again!”
I smile. “Not hungry, but I’d love to see the saucer.”
I’m really not hungry—the human whose shape I’ve adopted was quite filling.
But I enjoy watching my ship on Earthling screens, my next meal nearby.
Maura Yzmore writes creepy fiction when she doesn’t force-feed math to college students. Find out more about her writing at maurayzmore.com or @MauraYzmore on Twitter.
When Heinrich did not die at the apex of his actuarial bell curve, he felt intense relief; blessed. He loved his world as he never had; he felt the breeze as he sat on his deck overlooking the mountains; he squeezed the hand of his spouse
for one sublime second.
T.A. Young’s short story “Stooped” was published in The First Line magazine, summer issue 2017. His poetry appears in the October 2018 issue of Anti-Heroin Chic. You can find his literary reviews on his Instagram page, #thelitreview. He lives and works in New York City.
“They grew a new veggie,” Jane announced excitedly. “It’s supposed to taste like fried chicken. Wanna go and try some?”
“And if it’s no good, we’ll get diarrhea again,” Clara replied dryly.
“Come on, that hasn’t happened since the eggplant incident. And they just didn’t boil the eggs long enough.”
Johanna B. Stumpf is a German millennial, living and working in Norway. She is fairly new to fiction writing, but she did enough academic writing to earn a PhD in Computer Science from the University of Oslo.
Leroy orders online. Two weeks later the package arrives.
It is a head that looks exactly like Leroy.
When his work robot arrives home, he removes its head and replaces it with the new one.
Leroy will wait a month and then try to talk the robot into trading places.
Denny E. Marshall has had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Night To Dawn October 2018. See more at dennymarshall.com.
Misha suddenly said: “I don’t like homophones.”
I asked her why not.
“Because they’re dangerous,” she said.
“Do you mean ‘people who are anti-gay?'” I asked.
She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Wrong word.”
I agreed with her anyway.
Then I wondered weather she wished she had rather not said that allowed.
Henry lives in Somerset in the UK. He likes jazz flute.