| I Am The Ghost That Haunts Me by Jaysen O’Dell Jack wasn’t sure why he was looking at his own body. Why Cindy, his wife, was crying in the hallway. Why the doctor was saying “time of death, 12:18AM”. Jack was supposed to be making a joke about how he had the high score for pulse rate and blood pressure. Jack watched as several nurses cleaned his corpse. Piss and shit on the bed. Flecks of foam around his mouth. Blood specks from IVs and shots. A priest came to comfort Cindy. They walked into the room. “Earlier today he was working in the ya... Jack had not survived his heart attack. Years before he had been warned about his weight and blood pressure. He had made great progress but in recent years, stress and age had caused him to lose ground. “We are all going to die sometime!” he would say with a smile. He never expected it to be 3 weeks after his daughter’s wedding and 1 week after his 49th birthday. Cindy pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “What are you about to do?” Jack asked her. His words went unheard. The dead and the ... For years Jack had played the tough guy. “There’s no need to go to the doc until something falls off!” “If nothing hurts, let’s not give them a chance to make something hurt!” “It’s just a little blood… give me some tape and it’ll be good!” While he had watched his diet and had been exercising, the fads in most programs frustrated him. He tried to eat well, more vegetables than meat and carbs, lower fat. He walked the dog and tried to do chore and hobbies with hand tools to offset the idleness ... I am Jack. At 12:18 AM on May 2, 2022 I watched as a nurse held his thumb over the red button on the defibrillator. The nurses and doctors tell me the only thing I said was, “Tell my wife I love her. I hope she knows how much I do. I don’t think I do a good job telling her.” Unlike Jack, I am able to tell my wife exactly how much I love her. I do every morning. Every afternoon. Every evening. Every night. In the hours and days that followed that frightening moment, my children’s worlds were tos... The Christmas Lights by Annie Percik The Christmas tree lights blinked in the most infuriating manner. Slow - red...blue...green... Fast - red-red-red, blue-blue-blue, green-green-green. I couldn't imagine how Robert could bear them, flashing away like that all the time. Stuck as my consciousness was, in the angel on top of the tree, they coloured my entire field of vision, blanketing the room in alternating shades every few seconds. The angel was bigger than most - a small mercy, since it was still only a tiny space to house whate... Satisfaction. Resolution. Relief. by Joel Glover The bottle smiled up at her, its glass the blue green of a stream carving a niche between mountains, the black wine inside a dark pupil which looked into her soul. The wine flinched. She picked up the bottle and drank it. Fuck it. The fluid made a strangled gurgle as it vacated the embrace of lightning struck sand. She took the bones from their repository. The final joint from the smallest finger of a garotte obsessed murderer. The largest tooth of the sharp-skinned speckled fish, a relentless p... Home, Sweet, Home by Dan Hallberg “It’s about 20 years old, and it’s in great shape!” The broker’s saccharine demeanor was beginning to wear on me, but finding someone willing to show houses between the hours of 8 pm and 4 am is difficult. “3 floors fully furnished, a spacious basement, which is rare in this town. 2 baths. The kitchen is updated and very modern, it even has a dishwash-!” “Alright, what is the catch?” This was the eighth place she had shown me and it was the first that wasn’t either too small to fit my somewha... Cop Out by B. Morris Allen “It’s a what, now?” I swear some of the uniforms aren’t worth the tin in their badges. And the badges aren’t made of tin. Here I’d thought Abedo was a better alloy. “Angel, Ma’am,” he said again. “Ghost,” countered Winanga. She’d said that before too. I stopped on the stairs to the walkup apartment we were headed for. I’d say the stairs weren’t made for little people (they weren’t), but the truth is I was out of shape. Too much desk, not enough field. That’s the chief ‘looking out for me’. “Well... Things weren’t a lot clearer once I’d pushed through the curious neighbours on the landing. I always get weird looks at this point, but I let it go with some sharp jabs to the thigh and a “What, you’ve never seen a dwarf before?” Nobody knows how to answer that. The good thing about being a little person cop is that you never have to duck under the crime tape. That and … no, that’s about it. Makes me thing about getting out of the cop game entirely sometimes. I stepped into the apartment before ... McCrae was a troubled, nervous type, prone to questioning her sanity at the best of times. Islaw was a certified ass coverer who’d could never be pinned down to just one possibility. They seemed like bad fits to their jobs. But then, that’s a little person detective speaking. We could argue about whether The Lord of the Rings has been good or bad for little people. But in Hyattsville, they already called me Gimli behind (and above) my back, so I figured I didn’t have that much to lose. I wasn’t ... We ran through the usual after that, pretending it was an ordinary case. No, the neighbours hadn’t see anything. No, the security cameras weren’t working for some reason. No, there were no fingerprints. McCrae’s crew cleaned up something, and stored something in a drawer in the morgue for two months, until it suddenly vanished one night. We argued about what that meant. Whether the angel had revived, transmuted, transubstantiated, sublimated, or some other kind of -ated. Whether the ghost had be... With The ‘Pals’ At Suvla by Lucille Redmond An Antrim man rose up from the deck and leaned on the rail beside Jack Simpkin, a man who had played on the XI opposite Jack’s in last month’s cricket friendly. He took out a cigarette case and offered one, lit his own, raised it to his mouth and took a deep drag, and let the smoke trail between his lips. “What a mess!” he said, laughing, leaning to light Jack’s cigarette – and a bullet hit him in the mouth. His head jerked back, blood spouting. Jack felt his bowels roil. He ran for the head, f... Dunmail Raise by Marc Cooper It was a dark and sultry night, and the church bell struck fifteen: a peal of harsh, dissonant thumps on cracked metal, with each one resonating to a higher and higher pitch, in a series of small steps, until the clapper struck again. Boing-ng-ng-ng-ng-ng… The final note held its pitch and slowly quietened like a blood-gorged mosquito flitting away. In the field beside the boneyard the army of Dunmail was returning to their graves, carrying their severed heads and lopped off limbs, still angry at the world after centuries in the ground, and confused by the changes they saw: one day Dunmail will rise and order restored. They already had his crown, kept safe in Grisdale Tarn. Hermione sat in the lychgate, sobering slowly and questioning an earlier choice. She’d missed the last bus home, and before she could send for a taxi, Damon had appeared and offered her a bed for the night. It was no trouble, he’d said, he’d sleep on the couch. He passed her a spliff, and she drew in its sweet, heady mix. High in the belfry an owl clattered onto its perch, a mouse in its talons, squeaking and squealing, its eyes pierced and bleeding. The owl snipped off the mouse’s tail and swallowed the body whole: to be liquified and crushed and the remains spat out, nourishment extracted. The tail, still twitching, dropped to the flagstones of the ringing chamber, and was quickly gathered up by the rat who lived down there, all alone in the gloom, his once glossy black fur, grey in patches and dull, and his stub front leg putrid and stinking. The vicar called him Rattle. The officer of the watch leant on the cattle gate and gazed at the young woman, uninterested in the young man whose intentions were clear to him. Her wanton undress outside a temple of God reminded him of his wife, who believed in nothing but pleasure, and whose soft, warm flesh he adored before a swinging sword had sliced through his skull. He sniffed the air hungrily, imagining her scent. Damon pulled Hermione close and kissed her on the neck. The men of the watch gathered round: six of them: nine arms, twelve legs, four and a half heads, and the officer with his skull lopped off like a soft-boiled egg. (And yes, they called him Eggheid, where on earth did you think the word came from?) Damon tugged Hermione gently by the hand, playfully. But halfway to the door she stopped. Undecided? Teasing? Damon walked off. There was a vast, aged yew to one side of the path onto which he pissed, and then he turned around quickly, exposing himself as he tucked himself away. Neither was abashed. The men of the watch strode through the cattle gate in formation and followed the couple into the church. Damon washed his hands in the font and dried them on a mediaeval tapestry hanging from the wall. Then he took Hermione by the hand and the young couple walked up the aisle, through the nave and up to the alar, where two enormous lighted candles stood, held upright by heavy brass stands, their flickering light dancing over the vast gold-leafed reredos beyond. The men of the watch knelt beside a stone sarcophagus, their lips moving in prayer. Damon unlocked the door to the crypt and pushed it open. A chilled breeze rushed through it, then slowed and warmed. The smell of autumn leaves, wild garlic, and rose oil. Rattle scurried past, but neither of them saw him. Hermione lit two votive candles, one white, one yellow, and gave the yellow one to Damon. They descended into the crypt in silence, their footsteps echoing down the staircase, their shadows stretching up behind. The seven shadowless men followed them. Beneath the vaulted ceiling, there were tombs on either side, as well as two tiny chapels, and at the far end a stone altar, and before it a grave topped with a pure white marble ledger stone inscribed with runes. They went to the altar and put down the candles, one at either end, and then turned around. The men of the watch met their eyes for the first time, and Hermione smiled. The living could not see them, of course, but the living were not always living. Damon took off his clothes and lay down on the ledger stone. There were four small posts protruding from its surface, one near each corner, and he lay back, spread-eagled, gripping two of them, and hooking his feet around the others. The men of the watch moved into position, holding his wrists and ankles. Then all seven men bowed their heads and closed their eyes in prayer. Damon howled as Hermione straddled him. From behind his head, a figure rose up slowly from the grave. A queen, crowned with gold, and diamonds, rubies and pearls, and resplendent in red silk and bobbin lace. She placed her foot on Damon’s head and waited, looking down, with an expression of a mother offering encouragement to her child. Hermione gripped Damon’s throat and squeezed. Damon sighed, and at length his ghost rose above his corpse and tried to stand. But the Queen pushed him down, down into her grave. He would be added to her amusement until Dunmail rose again. The church bell rang. Boing-ng-ng-ng-ng-ng… Hermione slept in the lychgate. Six bells would wake her later. Rattle would have feasted, but his domain was overrun. A hundred rats, wise to the night, gorged on the fresh meat, tearing up the cloth for nesting. Rattle scuttled off to his sarcophagus with the remains of Damon’s stash, and later drowned in the sewer, stoned but painless. In the field beside the boneyard they gathered and blew the horns: a fanfare of celebration. A horse was brought forward, decked in coloured silks and other finery, and the Queen mounted it astride. The officer of the watch approached, looked up at his Queen, and then looked down. “My Queen,” he said, “will Dunmail raise?” “Not yet, my warriors,” she said. “Not yet awhile. So let’s return next year.” The Ghostie Girl In College by Cassandra Lee Yieng A YouTube livestream. Two ethnic Chinese students in their twenties, about 5’7” tall. Jenny has brown hair with golden highlights tied into a bun. Dylan’s hair is naturally black. JENNY Welcome to Paranormal Stories in the Orient. We’re standing right here at the University Mall at the Chinese University of Hong Kong, famous for its ghost stories among local students. Today we have a chemistry sophomore joining us. DYLAN Call me Dylan. JENNY Sure, Dylan, tell us what happened in your freshman y... Oh My Past Days by Greg Ray “Oh, my past days — they used to walk in their sleep and I used to lean on them.” — Adunis I call them my past days, these earlier selves who walk with me — the ones who check the mail with me each morning, the one who slips on the icy driveway, the one who sang karaoke one night — my past days because they were all once me but are now forever locked in their circumstance — checking the mail, singing karaoke, taking that hard fall on the driveway – forever past. You can see your past days everywhere if you look. Oh, how they walk in their sleep and how I used to lean on them! It all b... Just what I was hungering for! And how foolish it would be to make my own pancakes now, when there was this. I doubt I could ever make them so good as I did then — which was why I had been thinking about it in the first place! So I could do no better than to eat those perfect pancakes that this one past day brought over to the breakfast table. And I could do no better than to cover those cakes generously with that terrific syrup that you can't get anymore. And did I really eat them, you ask? Cer... As you can imagine, it was only with the very best of my friends that I shared the news of my good fortune. What to my surprise though? Why, they all assailed me immediately with every sort of doubt about my amazing technique and raised the most ridiculous sorts of objections. And most foolishly they continued to insist on doing things from scratch! Oh, I would tell them week in and week out how to improve, but they'd not try even once to do as I did. “Don't live in the past,” they would say, “Y... Now, I am a reasonable man and I will be the first to admit I sometimes tire of doing all the things that my past days are eager to do. But that just doesn't hold a candle to the convenience of sticking to tried ways and true. Why rock the boat? I don't need to change one iota anymore — not since the divorce. Not after the accident. A brush with death can really straighten your priorities. One slip! Yes, change is overrated, my friend. If you don't believe me, just ask my past days. Don't Forget by Mara Dumitrache As long as you remember her name, everything will be fine. Or so they say. As far as urban legends go, this one can’t be easily avoided. You can’t avoid it by not visiting certain places, or by not opening cursed images, or by not searching up deadly poems. Her name can appear anywhere, in your favourite quote in your comfort book, in that high note in that song you listen to on repeat. And if her name is there, your eyes will see it, your ears will pick it up, your fingers will graze it. It wil... Ghost Rider In The Cab by J.W. Guthridge “It was a dark and stormy nig…” A heckler interjected with, “Pull the other one, that's a cliche!” The old truck driver sitting to one side of the horseshoe shaped bar was amused at the interuption before he really got started. Waiting for calm to return for him he tried again, “you wanted Halloween stories didn't you? Who's telling this story?” When no more objections came, the old driver continued. “It was a... Aw meadow-muffins... No excrement, there I was! Under a moonless sky black as any... Red Lake Day At Tattybogle House by Brian Farley The Picnic Mum was excited, “It’s Red Lake Day today, and the gardens at Tattybogle House are expecting lots of people. Don’t forget to keep humming or singing to yourself, that keeps the evil spirits away!” I don’t know where mum gets these silly ideas. I go because the gardens look so beautiful, especially after all the summer visitors. And we’re taking my new friend with us. I cringed as we got in our car. It was Jessica’s first introduction to mother, and my mother’s singing was going to be ... The History “Tattybogle house has a violent history,” she said. “It was the site of a bloody battle between the peasants and the Lord of the Manor, and much blood was shed. This was all because the peasants were refused access to the potato fields during a famine. It was a terrible time. In no time at all, all that was left of the bodies were the bones. These just disintegrated where they fell, and the land was sad for the rest of the year. But over time, the grounds magically blossomed and beca... The Lake Meal over, dad collected a large rowing boat and brought it over to us, to enjoy rowing around the lake. Mum kept singing to herself and told us to keep our hands out the water. Oh well, songs added to the atmosphere and we joined in, if we liked the song of course. And it helped drown out mother’s singing. Pity there was no fishing. Every time the lake was stocked with fish, they were gone by the next day. Camera traps were set up, but no birds were ever seen. Jessica’s dog definitely ... The Lord of the Manor “Oh, the lake,” he said. “Yes, it turns red very year on the anniversary of the potato battle. And there is always a red sunset. Today is the day, and all the visitors hope to see ghosts battling on the water this evening.” “But what about the tingly grass and the fast disappearing of food on the grass? That puzzles me,” I said. “Ah yes, I have a very hungry garden and it thrives on such attention. That’s why I have a gardener who understands such things. Birds don’t stay ... The Battle Over a thousand people were now gathered around the lake, and the atmosphere was electric. Even the air was tingly, and Doug was cringing in terror after taking a step on the grass. In fear, I imagined the grass was going to feed on us. “Just keep humming,” said mum. “NO,” I said, “Let’s go - NOW!” And I fled, taking Jessica with Doug in her arms. Mum and Dad reluctantly followed. The local paper covered the event. It was very successful, over 1000 people entered the grounds, and le... Strands by Judy Ward The tent straps were whipping about in the brisk wind, their tops bulging with each gust. There were dogs and kids all over the place outnumbered only by plums, and apricots, strawberries, cherries and what-not. You could find anything — well, everything your little heart desired at the Mendocino Main Street Farmer’s Market. I was mesmerized. I weaved in and out among the little huddles of the locals, friends and families indulging in free samples. I was scanning the multitude of homemade delica... Once inside, shielded from the chilly breeze now and glancing around, I felt a wet nudge against my hand. I looked down to see an old blonde Labrador, with serious, sad eyes looking up at me. “Oh, hello,” I said and patted his head. Having done his job greeting me, he turned and walked back to his pad — stitched neatly with ‘Buddy’. Buddy, quietly laid back down, though his eyes continued to follow me. I sighed. I was a bit warmer now. Taking an easy breath though, time slowed once more — I ease... “You might have missed me had you not come when you did. I’ve waited here for you, for so long ...” Ruby Tuesday by Susan Cowling Intro I am Ruby, my identical twin sister is Tuesday. We have always been two sides of the same coin, much as our parents, mum impulsive and wild, Dad calm and steady. Mums’ obsession with the Rolling Stones ended up with Ruby and Tuesday. Perfectly connected for twins. Thing was, everyone called us “Ruby Tuesday,” like we were one person. Mum said it was karma. I would soon realise how deep the connection was. Chapter 1 I pour myself a black coffee and head to the pool, promising myself a quick swim before business. The sun’s already heating up, Naple’s looks perfect. I started to pull my tee off to jump in the pool when I glance up, a guy was looking at me through binoculars. “Bloody pervert” I shout loudly, retreating inside to dress. Glancing out of the window I see he is gone. Cat rubs against my ankles. He’s not even my cat—he’s Tuesday’s. Dumped on me before her last adventure. Classic Tuesday—c... Chapter 2 Not much time? My breathing starts getting ragged again. What the hell could be so urgent that it brought her back from the grave? I need a drink. I let go of Tuesday and grab the nearest bottle from bar, whiskey. Honestly, after the morning I was having, I needed it bad. I poured myself a hefty glass, the fumes alone doing wonders to calm my nerves. “Want one?” I asked her, half-joking. “I mean, do you still drink?” Tuesday shook her head, amused. “I can eat and drink, but I don’t ne... Chapter 3 I turned expecting pervert man, but it was a large hairy guy, walking towards me with a gun pointed directly at me. Tuesday stood between us, the guy couldn’t see her, he walked right through her, sending a shiver down his spine, but otherwise oblivious. “Hello, Tuesday,” he growled, pointing the gun at my ribs. “Whose been a naughty girl?” Tuesday leaned in, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “That’s one of Chris’s guys. He shot Dog.” Dog growled in agreement. Fantastic. Just fant... The Peanut Butter Ghost by Conrad Gempf It was a Thursday in October, two days before The Disappearance. Donald’s left fist tightened on the bunched up cloth of Jay’s button-down shirt. “Stand still, brat!” he said. He couldn’t actually pick the smaller boy up with one hand, but did pull the front of Jay’s shirt so that it was untucked, up so that Jay could feel the cloth on his chin. He was already breathing oddly, having taken one blow to his stomach. Behind Donald, Ferd and the other boys grinned, while Donald’s sister, Denise, loo... Back in June, Donald had been fully occupied holding on to the squirming Jay, so it was Ferd who had to open the door. If he hadn’t, it would have been Ferd’s shirt Donald would grabbed next, Ferd’s face that Donald would have punched. So Ferd had summoned up his courage, and gone up the path ahead of Donald, went up to the porch and opened the creaking door to the old abandoned and haunted Zimmermann place. The Zimmermanns moved away about 12 years ago, after their young boy Frank died. Frank w... Back in the present, Donald chuckled at his prey, “Your trouser legs were soaking wet that day…” “Ewww,” said Denise. “…so is that your secret? Like ‘diapers’ or something?” said Donald. Jay said, “No. I never told you. I met the ghost. I met Frank. He was going to kill me.” “What?!” Donald’s arms relaxed more. He kept his eyes on Jay’s face, while turning his head, “You met the ghost?” Jay licked his lips and nodded. Clearly the memory was not a pleasant one. “Well?? What happened?” “He… he was... On Saturday morning, a small group arrived in front of the Zimmermann place to welcome and congratulate Donald on his accomplishment. They, of course, expected him to be watching for them and throw open the front door either to boast or to scare them with a loud “Boo!” He did neither. They waited a while. Nothing. “Has he been home already?” Ferd asked. “Nope,” sister Denise confirmed, “Not at breakfast ’n his bed was empty.” It was Ferd who cautiously approached the porch, calling out in what ... Alone by Dawn Oshima Inside the endless void I watch. Alone I taste the briney kiss of the open sea and I ponder what sins have I to atone. Behind me, stands of willow trees are blown to and fro, tossing their autumn leaves inside the endless void. I watch a lone walker, hunched against a battered stone wall, shivering from the cold. A sneeze and I ponder. “What sins have I to atone?” I sternly whisper to the sky, a monochrome shade of grey, but the wind never ceases inside the endless void. I watch alone in sullen... Inside the endless void I watch alone and I ponder: what sins have I to atone? A Change of Scenery by Nils Cordes “Remember that poem father used to tell as before sleep?” Penny asked. And Rupert obediently obliged: There once was a ghost T’was covered like most In a sheet of astonishing white But all through the night He wished to be green For the white was too easily seen. When the morning appears It had been many years And the ghost had turned fiendishly grey So the ghost comes to say, “I am finally free. I’m the monster that I meant to be.” “And then father laughed maniacally. Uah hahahahahaha!” Mr Pembroke’s transformation started harmlessly enough with an appointment for lunch. He was rather anxious, having just come from a perplexing discourse with his sister Penny. Apparently, he had posed the same query twice within a matter of minutes. He’s had these sorts of feelings of unease several times over the past month, but only this short colloquy brought it home to him that perhaps he, like his late mother, was afflicted with … “No!” he had exclaimed and had stormed out through the dar... Mr. Pembroke’s parents had always praised their child’s imagination, but never did Mr. Pembroke think that it was to be taken so literally. The day after that exasperating lunch, he came into work and imagined the dog, the Australian Shepherd from the restaurant, sitting in front of the central stairs. He had to move to the side to get past him on the way to the top floor. Was that dog really there? Was it following him? He turned around on the top step to make sure, but the dog wasn’t there any... “I think I’m suffering from delusions.” There, he said it. He sat in his living room on a chair next to the long and dark Regency table and couldn’t face his sister’s gaze, so he stared at the carpet which, much to his surprise, was an unusual shade of blue rather than the Persian motifs that he was used to. He tried to not let it get to him. “You’re being a bit of a drama queen, Rupert. It can’t be that bad, really.” Penny gave him a warm smile while holding his hand and gently squeezing it. ... It was only when the doorbell rang and the skinny phantom was standing there at his door that he realized how busy he had been making himself lunch. He stared at the potato peeler in his hands in disbelief. He didn’t remember having started the peeling, didn’t remember putting on his apron. Those things didn’t matter anymore. Memory itself didn’t really matter. Nevertheless, he opened his door and greeted the creature casually. “Been busy with the potatoes,” he said, more to himself than to it.... The Esparell Nocture by Ron Ward First Stanza Sarah’s heart jumped when she saw the truck turn onto her driveway. She prepared for the disappointment of them canceling at the last minute. It had been eleven months since Billy died; and since there were guests at her table. Sarah made a bet with herself about which way they would turn at the split in the drive. A bland disgust blossomed when they took the longer safer route to the left. Would she still have been bitter to lose the bet? Sarah went downstairs to meet them at the... Second Stanza Sarah stood at the window clutching the drape tightly as if it alone secured her balance. Kin Po walked a loose figure eight between her ankles. She was hungry. Her bowl remained empty. Sarah stared at but did not see the park. Instead, she watched a scene so real all of her senses were engaged. A cooling breeze brushed her face. Gulls and waves creating a background symphony. In the movie, (she allowed the term). Her sister played on Bandon Beach. Picking up stones and shells. A ... Third Stanza “Instead of me playing my latest, and, Sarah let silence focus her guest attention, perhaps my last nocturne. I want us all to work on a project for the park.” Sarah’s voice had the quality of a mother hyping the appearance of the pony at the birthday party. “I have it all set up out on the deck. The rains will be coming soon, I thought a day outside together, creating art would be a welcome end to summer.” Sarah said. A narrow table with three chairs awaited them. Liz was ecstat... Cat Mince by Ian Hart When Mr Sakamoto dropped dead in the process of checking out Mrs Prichard’s groceries, the supermarket replaced him with a self-checkout machine. She had relied on Mr Sakamoto for over 20 years, and Mrs Prichard was reluctant to trust another operator, so she was forced to grapple with the technology of computers, laser readers and QR codes. She had never owned a credit card, so she sought out the one terminal in the row marked “Cash only” and was gratified to see that the smiley face on its scr... On Edenbury Hill by Jinny Alexander I knew nothing of what had happened on Edenbury Hill, only what I put together after that night in the Fiddlers when I downed two straight double whiskies like they were water, when whisky isn’t something I drink. I’ve asked around more, since, but as is the way of village gossip, the truth’s hidden somewhere uncertain between Ah, sure, isn’t it a whole lot of nothing and Jaysus, Mary and Joseph but wasn’t it a terrible thing. The ones who favour the Jaysus end of things usually cross themselves... Old Alice Noonan, who’s been dead a while, was coming home across the fields because she’d been out courting or rabbiting or drinking or sleeping around like a whore, depending on who’s telling the story, and was found all crumpled and tattered in the long grass at the side of the road, just where the hill starts up after you come over the hump-bridge, and one of her shoes was in the ditch, and her clothes were off her or scrunched up around her waist or torn to shreds, and her just lying there ... Dust To Dust by Heather Lovelace-Gilpin I’m not crazy. What exactly does the word mean? We know what it says in the dictionary, but can’t it also mean something entirely different? Like a woman pushed so hard she snapped? And if that’s the case, is she really crazy or just on the brink of insanity? Before we get any further, my parents had nothing to do with what happened. I didn’t have a shitty upbringing, I wasn’t picked on when I was a kid, and my older brother didn’t torment me anymore than typical siblings. I didn’t hurt animals,... The Trout by Ruth F. Simon Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, but Dean was already dressed. He stood at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee while reviewing his checklist. Tomorrow would have been their fifty-third anniversary. And today marked two years since Emma had passed. Dean rolled his shoulders to fight back the tears that threatened. When he did, a warm presence pressed itself into his thigh. He dropped his hand to stroke Callie’s head. “Good girl.” The dog’s soft groan as he rubbed her ears was a comfort... Callie ran ahead of Dean, bounding into and out of the brush to flush birds, squirrels, and rabbits. Dean carried a casting rod and a small tackle box. He didn't think he'd catch any fish. Or, rather, he hoped he'd catch only that white trout. Emma used to read books on just about every subject, and she’d been on a long mythology kick at one point. He vaguely remembered her talking about something called a psychopomp, which he thought was a fancy name for a serial killer. She’d laughed and told... Still Waters by E. Kinna As afternoon turned into twilight, the autumn breeze scattered leaves across the forest floor. It carried the inviting scent of smoldering wood on tendrils of smoke. Next to an old trapper’s cabin, a crackling snap sent shooting sparks towards the sky, and a two-year-old squealed with delight. Chubby fingers reached out to grab a fallen marshmallow, but her father chuckled and scooped her into his arms before she could eat it. “Oh no, not that one! It’s all dirty,” he said and kissed her cheek. ... Katherine's rental car skidded to a halt on the edge of a dirt road, and she opened the door. She slammed it shut again and walked away from the dirt road towards the edge of the forest. The sound of gravel crunching under her boots echoed in the primeval dark. She looked all around, searching for the familiar shimmer of shadows, but saw nothing. “I did what you wanted. I stopped taking the poison.” She stumbled as she shouted it. “Please … please come back. You promised … you promised.” She rem... “Why do you have to marry that woman, Daddy? Don’t you love me anymore?" Katherine pouted and glanced sideways. Her father opened his mouth to speak, but then paused, frowning slightly. The air in the room had shifted—it felt thicker somehow, like the walls were closing in, pressing down on them. Katherine felt it too—a pressure building in her chest, making it harder to breathe. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, snaking across the walls and ceiling like creeping vines. Her father cleare... She had been following a path for a good while. Too long. Had she made a mistake? Wraithlike tendrils wound and twisted around the trees, their hissing sounds crackling like electricity. “I thought you’d abandoned me too.” The electric hissing softened and merged with the rustling wind. Katherine reached out to touch the shadowy forms she’d known all her life. She expected them to dissipate like smoke, but her fingers brushed against something solid and cold, sending a shiver up her arm. It was ... “Daddy, I’m sorry that I didn’t get the university scholarship. I tried, but …” He’d taken her for dinner at an expensive French restaurant. It was a treat to celebrate earning her GED and getting accepted into the local community college. “Don’t be silly. We planned for this. I’ve been saving for this day since you were born, and I’m so proud of you.” “Yeah, but SHE’s not happy. She wanted that Mediterranean cruise, and now it’s my fault you can’t afford to go.” A wispy shadow brushed her hand,... She threw her napkin on the table. “She wants you to send me back to that horrible place with the doctors. You promised me when you married HER you’d never send me away, and then YOU DID!” Her father put down his fork and stared at his plate. His shoulders sank as though broken by an invisible weight. He glanced at the window, frowning, then shifted in his seat. "Is it me, or is it cold in here?" he murmured, rubbing his arms. The temperature had dropped suddenly—the kind of cold that shouldn’t ... Oh, if only he’d never bought her that horrible car. If only the step-bitch had said no like Katherine expected her to, everything would still be fine, just like before. But because of HER—convincing him it was a good idea—everything was ruined. She’d been turning him against Katherine from the start. Icy winds drove a heavy mist deeper through the forest, where it curled around the cedar trees like her phantoms. A sudden gust forced a sharp intake of breath, and she gasped. The air smelled and ... Katherine, I want you to consider checking into the hospital again. It would only be for a little while, until you can get everything sorted out, and we can see how your new dosage is working. What do you think?” Dr. Bowman didn’t look up from the notes he was taking. Last time, her father had signed the papers to have her committed. She’d been under eighteen, with no say, no power to refuse. He’d done it out of love, but she hadn’t understood then—she’d blamed her stepmother, and part of her st... The Madeline by Gil Rognstad The other day upon the stair I saw a girl who wasn’t there… “Tell me again about the first time you saw her.” It was one of those typical therapist questions that wasn’t even a question. Dr. Donegan was famous for them. It meant: ‘I don’t know what to make of what you’re telling me, so I’ll pretend that having you say it again will allow me to discern some insightful, life-altering meaning from it that I was too dense to notice the first time.’ “It was a few weeks ago,” I said, making no effort to conceal my annoyance. “Valentine’s Day eve. I was in bed... Dr. Dumbagain having been of no use whatsoever, I decided that I really would try to talk to the ghost girl next time she showed up. She seemed to be trying to tell me something. Whatever figment born of misfiring neurons she was, maybe trying to communicate with her would help. I figured if I was a ghost I’d be frustrated at not being able to tell someone about it, so I would probably appreciate people at least trying to take an interest. The problem was that Mr. Andrews was no longer ‘in the p... I woke up in a damp shiver and sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. The shiver repeated itself—not in a cold way, but in a seventh-wave kind of way—and I suddenly wished that I could remember what I had been dreaming about. That’s when I saw the girl. She was at the foot of my bed in her usual spot, staring at me with the silliest of grins on her face. You’ve seen this on kids’ faces, I’m sure. Like when they have a funny joke to tell you—one that they’re sure you’ve never heard before and will fin... “Maddy, hi. I’m sorry to be calling you like this. Do you have a minute?” “Dr. Donegan,” I said, surprised at the sound of her voice. Usually when my phone showed a call in its queue from her office, it wasn’t the doctor herself calling, but some member of her staff phoning to cancel or reschedule an appointment. “I didn’t miss an appointment, did I? I thought I had canceled them all.” “No, no,” she said, her voice rushed, hushed, and strangely intense, “nothing like that. And please—call me ‘Br... The Global Celebration has been underway now for a few weeks. They don’t wait for us to awaken in dark rooms, anymore. They walk with us freely during the day and stay near us at night while we sleep. Every person on the planet has one. In some cultures they’ve taken to calling them ‘shadows’, and that seems to be the name that most people are using now. Each person can only see their own ‘shadow’, but everyone has one. We still don’t know why they suddenly appeared, but they all smile, they al... Here’s something surprising: they don’t all do the same gestures! Well, they do, but— Let me back up a bit. I’ve been watching hundreds of stories online about the shadows (with my own shadow at my elbow smiling and gesturing from time to time, of course), and I’ve come to realize that they aren’t all doing the gestures the same way. Mine points directly at me when she does the ‘offering’ thing, but other people report that their shadows present their offerings in different directions. Some of t... I’ve added a field to the database. I’m asking people to provide the exact date and time that they first saw their shadow, if they know it. Also, they seem to be getting ‘clearer’ for everyone. Less foggy. More solid-looking. I can see now that mine has on the cutest little shoes. They are sparkly and purple and don’t match the yellow sundress at all, but she doesn’t seem to care. I can also see a little red clip in her hair that doesn’t at all go with the rest of the outfit. When I was her age,... The database has been up for a few days now. It has a lot of fans! All kinds of delightfully nerdy people are sifting the data and coming up with conclusions, and…well, it’s unbelievable, but all of it confirms the same two facts… Fact One: No one on earth saw their ghost-child before I saw mine. Mine was the first. I guess someone could still report otherwise, but hundreds of records are added to the database every few minutes, and mine is still the earliest timestamp in the FIRST_APPEARANCE fi... She spoke to me. My yellow-sundress-wearing ghost-girl. She said something, and I actually heard her! Well, I say ‘spoke’, but it was more of a whisper. The faintest thing ever. I got really close to her (although you can never get too close to them or they fade a bit and reappear a meter or two away from you—but I got as close as I could), and I could almost hear her words. They are becoming more substantial in more ways than just visually, I guess. I also noticed that whenever the ghost-childr... She’s me. She says she’s me. I ask her what that means. I didn’t die when I was nine. She smiles again, and I see myself in her. I even remember my yellow sundress…my purple sparkle-shoes…my little red hair clip… She tells me that she came to me before the others because I’m the last one. I ask her what she means. She smiles. “You’re the last!” she says. “This story is done. The last shall be first.” “I don’t understand,” I say. “I am you, but you become me,” she says, as if that makes perfect s... Worms With Angry Faces by C.D. Johnson GORBEIA, BASQUE COUNTRY. MIDDAY. MORU “Gorbeia... Traditional reference point for Basque mountaineers... Peaks such as Gorbeiagane, Aldamin, Oketa, Berretin... Spectacular nature of its landscapes...the strategic situation of this mountain range...close to a number of neighboring population centers, have made Gorbeia one of the most frequented mountain ranges. ...Used by hikers, mountain bike enthusiasts and horse riders... Made much easier by the network of signposted paths...in addition to the... GORBEIA, BASQUE COUNTRY. APPROACHING AFTERNOON. Moru lies on her side on the cave floor. Buran is right beside her, lying on his back as far as she can tell. Moru cannot move. She’s conscious, but her body won’t respond. She’s not quite sure how they managed to get into the positions that they are in. It’s all kind of fuzzy. That moldy humidity hangs in the air of the cave, strange particles dancing in the light of the sinking sun. Almost like they’re wiggling. Moru looks towards the mouth of t... GORBEIA. NIGHT. Moru’s eyes open. She is awake. She’s not sure how long she was unconscious, but the mouth of the cave in the distance was a solid disk of black. She could still feel Buran’s body pressed against hers she thought, and the light of the lamp was bright again. But, too bright. It had been moved closer to her. Nearly in front of her face. It was hard for her to focus her sight, but eventually, Moru could make out her arm. The worms seemed to be all gone at first, but then she made ou... GORBEIA. MIDDAY. Buran takes Moru’s hand and pulls her deeper into the cave with him. He turns off his phoe’s light and pulls up his sat-scan app. Satellite infrared. MORU What the fuck!?! (pulling her hand out of Buran’s, open-mouthed, tears running down her face) BURAN Hey! — Take it easy, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay? MORU What?! BURAN It’s probably just some hiker. MORU No... What? — How did we... BURAN (looking at his phone’s screen) ...Nothing. It says no one is around. Are ... GORBEIA. APPROACHING AFTERNOON. As Moru and Buran reach their PAV, a miniature helicopter, there are a couple of locals, a man and woman, looking over the vehicle. Buran waves hello. GIZONA (MAN) Hiking? BURAN Yeah. — I’m Buran. (shaking the man’s hand) GIZONA I’m— EMAKUMEA (WOMAN): (interrupting with an annoyed look on her face) No one is supposed to hike here anymore. BURAN Oh? — Why is that? EMAKUMEA You hikers are trouble. GIZONA Don’t mind her. About twelve years ago, a number of hike... Harriet's Quest by Jacqueline S. Miller The hour was late when Harriet arrived home. Flickering lanterns lit up the courtyard, reflecting orange light on the puddles between the cobblestones and onto the castle’s stone walls. Harriet sprang down from the carriage and hurried up the castle steps. “School’s finished forever!” she cried as she charged into the grand hallway, her cheeks flushed, her heart filled with happiness. “Throw away my school books, Wilf - I’m free at last!” Wilf, the lame, hunchbacked footman, traipsed behind Har... Harriet waited until Mary had fallen asleep again. When she heard the old woman’s regular snores, Harriet slipped out of bed, only putting on her cloak and shoes when she reached the corridor. Now, by the light of the lanterns dotted at intervals along the castle walls, Harriet made her way to the entrance hall. She stood gazing up at the balcony. “Mother?” she whispered. “Mother, are you there?” A cold breeze blew across the hallway, ruffling Harriet’s blonde hair, causing her to shiver despite... The following morning Harriet slept late while the nurse and the maids bustled about the room, lighting the fire and dusting the furniture. “Poor little lamb,” Mary said, pulling the blanket up over Harriet’s shoulders. “I’ll let her sleep. She’s had such a nasty shock.” “As have we all,” the maid agreed. “What with the mistress dying in that awful way, and then that horrid woman getting engaged to Mr Edwin and ordering us about. And what about the ghost…” “Hush, Daisy!” Mary grabbed the maid’s ... Harriet stormed through the castle, seeking Briana but she was nowhere to be found. At last she climbed the spiral staircase to the battlements, where Briana stood looking out at the dark clouds passing across the blackening sky. Harriet hesitated, the dagger gripped tightly in her hand. It would be so easy to stab the evil woman in the back, but that seemed such a cowardly thing to do. “She killed Mother,” Harriet reminded herself. “Your quest is to avenge her death.” Before Harriet could move,... Harriet became aware of Mother’s ghost standing beside her. “You must tell Wilf to clear up the mess. It will be too upsetting for the maids.” “I feel bad that I killed her,” Harriet said. “Oh, my darling Harriet. Don’t waste your life away believing that.”Mother’s ghost rose into the air. “But…” “Let’s just say, I helped a little.” Mother’s ghost drifted higher. “And you were only obeying my orders.” “I suppose this is goodbye?”Harriet called sadly into the elements. “No, only au revoir. I sha... Edwin was horrified when he read Mother’s diary. “I was so gullible, believing that Briana had my interest at heart,”he said. “It seems she was only after my money and my property. But even so, I would never have thought her capable of murder.” “Oh, one truly never knows what one’s capable of,” Harriet muttered. Edwin had an exciting proposition for his daughter. “Now that you’ve finished school, how about I take you on that European tour I’ve always promised you? We can go to Paris and Rome, an... A week later, Harriet stood in the grand hallway while Wilf and her father loaded the trunks onto the carriage, ready for their journey to France. Harriet smiled as she gazed at her mother’s beautiful portrait, now hanging in its usual place. “Goodbye, Mother,” she said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away, but you’ll always be in my thoughts and in my heart.” “Come Harriet, it’s time to leave,” Edwin called, and she hurried out to join him. Looking through the carriage window as they drove away... The Cat by Tim Edwards-Hart It was a dank and dreary night and Tom’s mood was deteriorating. He’d gone into town to get some tinned food for the stray cat he’d found on his front porch. As he walked back to the car from the supermarket, he glanced at the TV news visible through the window of the local barber. He stopped when he saw the broadcast photo of the recently deceased man. Unable to read the headline text from the path outside the salon he walked back to the supermarket to buy the local newspaper. He didn’t read it... Morrie and Ron were a bit rough around the edges but willing to be rough all the way through for a few dollars and a pint. Ron was generally slow and amiable. Built like a tank, he worked out like a machine and had the conversational skills to match his morphological stereotype. Ron was never going to win an award for quick thinking, but he didn’t need to think - he had Morrie for that. His size and strength meant he gave the rather accurate impression of being an unstoppable force. He also had ... “Hi Evelyn, I’m home,” Tom called as came in through the kitchen door. “I’ve just been down the shops and I think something’s happened to Morrie.” Evelyn didn’t respond, but Tom was used to that. He fed the cat, then filled his glass with whiskey and sat down in the kitchen to flick through the paper looking for something about Morrie. It didn’t take him long to find the relevant article. It was true: Morrie was dead. The news bothered him. The article implied suicide without saying anything mor... The cat sat on the fence, watching the flickering light in the room brighten. As the smoke and heat grew more intense, she moved to the comfort of the neighbour’s porch to watch the fire crew try to bring the blaze under control. As the roof collapsed the cat pulled a feather out of the corner of her mouth, leaving it as a present for the neighbours. Silhouetted by the flames, the cat walked slowly into the night, back up to the remains of her house on the hill. The next the morning, Tom’s neighbours wondered how the feather survived the blaze and drifted into their back porch. Taking it as a sign, they later placed it on Tom’s coffin at his funeral noting it seemed right to bury him with a memento of his prize budgerigar, Evelyn. Tame by Adela Torres 1. The ghosts were not sprouting. Joanna kicked an old drink can, scuffing her Louis Vuitton pump. She didn't care. She watched morosely as the can rattled and scraped across the cracked cement surface of the parking. Why wouldn't the blasted things come? She went into the main building through one of the formerly bricked up loading bays. She tapped her phone, launched the Ghostprouted app, and held it aloft. The camera showed a purple-and-grey colorised, high contrast, starkly outlined image o... Ghosts had been a sensation three years back. It started as a huge world scare, reminiscent of the pandemic: manifestations of dead beings that jumped suddenly out of the fringe realms of pseudoscience and fiction and became a stark reality. There was religious panic, social panic, moral panic, philosophical panic and worse: economic panic. Many business ground to a halt as millions of dead worker ghosts manifested in a myriad ways. There were translucent blobs, faintly humanoid auras, horribly ... 2. Her business partner Brian had tutted when he saw the factory. "It's too big, Joanna. And it's not old enough." "The sixties is old enough, you old fart," Joanna said. "And yeah, it's big, but that means more visitors. Look at all the parking space!" Joanna waved her arm to indicate the grey expanse of cement flanked by low cinderblock buildings on two sides and a tall, ugly brick building on the third. A faded logo in white, green and orange proclaimed this had once belonged to a fruit juic... 3. Joanna remembered the conversation with Brian as she checked all the seeds through her app. No positive chimes, no indication on the screen. None of the seeds showed even the slightest change from when she had planted them, five weeks ago. Which was more than enough time for ghosts to sprout. But nothing was changing, not even with the bullets that she had procured through her contacts in the Dark Web. The sale of spent bullets, or indeed any murder weapon or part of a weapon as a ghost see... Lisa-Bloody-Lovely by Jurriaan Knol 1 We—that is to say, my daughter Myra and I—first started visiting charity shops out of necessity after I lost my job and got divorced. I was brought up to frown upon rummaging through other people’s discarded goods, but I quickly grew to enjoy these charity shop visits. The fact that almost every restock yielded new surprises made it so much more fun than visiting the same old, boring high street chains selling the same old, overpriced tat. We found so many great and often nostalgic bargains th... 2 Like pretty much every child, Myra was enchanted by a washing machine in motion. Watching the laundry making the rounds, mostly sticking to the top but, the next moment, sloshing down, a sock that got stuck at the rim of the glass door for a dozen spins—never a dull moment. But now that Lisa Lovely was going through the motions, Myra was even more glued to the glass than usual. ‘Lisa asks if she can stay in my bed tonight,’ Myra said, while never taking her eyes off the doll. I didn’t like the... 3 My dreams that night were chaotic and stressful. One moment I was running away from some unseen but at the same time uncomfortably familiar terror, the next it felt as though I was being suffocated or drowning. I awoke with a gasp. The rain was now pelting against the windows and— how atmospheric—thunder and lightning were roaring overhead. Myra was usually a pretty heavy sleeper, but I couldn’t imagine her sleeping through this, so I got up to check up on her. Getting out of bed, my feet felt... 4 So, yes. I did get bested by the combined forces of a four-year-old and some possessed doll or whatever it was. After closing all doors and windows in the house —which I obviously had to do manually instead of unleashing some supernatural skills—we got dressed and drove off. The windscreen wipers were going like crazy, and I couldn’t really see this ending in any other way than disaster, but there weren’t any options left that didn’t threaten my child, house or sanity. ‘So where does this Alex... 5 The detectives didn’t give us a hard time. They didn’t even bother to ask us why we were in Riverstone Park late at night in terrible weather in the first place, let alone why we were so far off the path to find the body. They probably realised that a four-year-old kid and her single mum weren’t the infanticide type and were relieved that the missing boy had finally been found. Of course, I didn’t mention the doll guiding us here, because that would not only sound completely bonkers but no dou... The Loneliest Chair by Tim Rogers Welcome to the company I joined the firm as CEO. Don’t misunderstand me, I didn’t inherit the role from my great-grandfather or anything. I paid my dues and worked my way up the ranks the hard way; starting as a lowly graduate and climbing to the dizzy heights… I just did it in a different company. I’m sure there are people that resent me taking the top job over some of the genuinely great internal talent, but the shareholders wanted someone with an independent perspective on the future. So, I landed the role as leade... The locked door I’m a bit of an ambulatory thinker. Whenever I have a tough issue to mull, I go for a walk. My wife says I look like a pigeon when I’m strutting around thinking, but I think she’s more making a hint towards my rather plump central region. Or maybe it’s the grey speckled hair. Anyway, it was this tendency (combined with a minefield of a question that landed at my chair about prioritising resources across two merging divisions) that led to my walking the corridors of the top floor of the building ... Opening the door You don’t get to my position without being inquisitive. Or, at least, I didn’t get here without it. So it was probably inevitable that later that day, after most of the employees had left (and the client suite had most definitely lost it’s receptionist) that my mind returned to the roof terrace and its locked door. Coffee in hand, I arrived back at the client suite and found the door handle as immovable as before. A quick check of the keys in the receptionist’s desk was unfruitful, but a trip d... Theres someone out there It’s comfortably past sunset and the deck itself has no lighting — at least none that’s switched on — so the only visibility comes from the street lighting below. It’s bigger than I was expecting. You could comfortably hold 100, maybe 150, people out here for an event and still have room for servers to dart around with drinks trays and canapés. I took a stroll away from the door and into the shadows of the deck to admire the view. It’s a nice cityscape. No world famous landmarks, or anything, b... Struggling - decides to go again for sounding board The next day started well. My leadership hero is Jeff Bezos, and one of his most famous pieces of advice is never have meetings you couldn’t feed with two pizzas. You can keep your Jobs and your Musk; neither of them ever gave me an excuse to grab a slice of pepperoni three times before lunch. The other Bezos thing I try to do is schedule my “high IQ” meetings in the mornings when I’m at my most alert, and leave the “info dump” ones for the afternoons, where the drowsiness brought on by my chees... The guy is there When I got there, I looked round to see if anyone was skulking in the shadows. Reassured, I took a sip of coffee from a freshly acquired CEO mug and leant against the railing to take in the view. A cold breeze picked up and cooled my skin, and I heard a voice from behind me. “You’re back.” I span round. It was the guy again. “You too,” I said. “Who are you? I didn’t get your name yesterday.” He smiled. “I w—, I’m one of the lawyers.” “One of my lawyers?” He points at my mug, emblazoned with th... The third day - ask for insight - says has a friend The third day I go out there, we’re no longer surprised to see each other. We exchanged pleasantries and, by way of explanation for my repeated presence, I told him about my being an ambulatory thinker (and the whole bit about looking like a pigeon) to which he smiled politely. “You look stressed,” he said. “That may be the understatement of the year.” “I used to come out here when I was stressed.” “But not anymore?” He smiles at me. “Not since they closed it.” We stood in silence for a few mo... Search for accidents My 11am the next day was with an important client. Bezos always says you should be obsessed with your customers. Don’t get me wrong, I like them as a group, but this one was pretty annoying. We were interrupted by my phone ringing twice in quick succession and both times I sent it straight to voicemail. The third time, I apologised and explained to the client that it’s my wife (true), that she never calls when I’m at work (not true) and asked if I could take the call. It turned out to be the ver... Becomes 2 — the sales guy The lawyer made good on his promise. I met with him and another colleague out on the terrace that evening and had a perfectly pleasant conversation with them both about where I see the firm going and what our challenges are. Of course, I underplayed the depth of the financial hole; there’s no point oversharing and getting people worried. I did mention that I thought it was a shame we weren’t using the terrace more for industry events, which they both seemed pretty down on. All in all though, i... try to loook up the lawyer and the sales guy The next day I decided to send both of them a thank you email. In-person thanks are okay, but it’s always nice when someone takes the time to follow up. Only, I’d still gotten only their first names, which isn’t much help when the company directory has thousands of people in it. Our intranet does have a org chart which captures the most senior people in the firm so I thought I’d check there. By their age and their obvious experience they were clearly senior enough that they should be in the cha... Becomes 3 - the finance guy It was two days before my need to stretch my legs took me back out on the terrace. It turns out they’d been waiting. “I brought someone else to say ‘Hi’,” said the lawyer. “He’s a finance guy and might be able to help weigh up some of the cost cutting options you’ve been thinking about.” “I already have a finance guy,” I said, turning to the new chap. They were all standing out there, the lawyer, the salesman and the accountant in the cold night air without coats. I shivered. “Sorry,” I said “I ... Speak to the security dude Immediately after meeting them, I headed down to the security office to speak to the night guard who’d given me the master key a few days ago. “You haven’t given anyone else a key?” I asked. “Of course not. I’d get fired if I gave anyone a master.” I frowned. “You gave one to me.” “You’re the Chief. You can fire me for not giving you one.” “It’s just that there are a surprising number of people with access to the roof terrace for an area that only opens with a master key.” “There are no keys to ... security dude checks it out - no one there We took the lift from the basement to the client suite and march straight to the terrace door. The guard used his own key to open the door and barged out into the empty space. “Well, whoever it is has gone now,” he said and turned to leave. I started to follow him back off the terrace when a cold breeze caught me and gave me goosebumps all up both my arms. I hurried up off the terrace and back into the warmth of the building. The guard turned to me. “Look, sir, you shouldn’t be going out there.... No more visits And, I didn’t. Three weeks passed and I let work engulf me. There was certainly more than enough to do, so I took inspiration from Bezos’ motto Gradatim Ferociter and walked as ferociously as I could through my tasks. Then, one evening, my walking-while-thinking took me back past the door. The key felt heavy in my pocket, and I felt guilty about not ever saying goodbye. They’d been perfectly friendly and helpful, after all. So I went in, one last time to say thanks. Maybe one last visit Of course, they weren’t even there. I stood on the terrace alone for a few minutes, taking in the view while alternating between questioning my manners and my sanity. I filled my lungs with the night air. I could have sworn I detected the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. I smiled, and turned to leave. And there they were. All three of them, right in front of me. Right in front of me. I nodded hello while my heart was racing out of my chest. I put on my CEO smile and tried my best to maintain i... Iron Sharpens Iron by Nick Calvert At the beginning of Michaelmas term I arrived back at Oxford, unceremoniously dropped outside the porters’ lodge by my father’s chauffeur, who unsmilingly handed me an envelope with my stipend. Struggling with my suitcase, I made it to the top of the narrow winding stairs and onto the corridor that led to my rooms. Spick and span, as it always was at the beginning of term, the floor boards and wood paneling smelt of wax, redolent of the hundreds of years since the house had been built. This term... The next few weeks were a joy and our friendship blossomed. Will really was a teddy bear of a man and soon had a coterie of friends popping in and out, which livened the place up considerably. I was generally rather shy and kept myself to myself, but Will saw to it that I was always included in whatever shenanigans went on. Will got into the Greyhounds, the university’s second eleven rugby team, and was so ecstatic the whole house woke up with a blinding hangover. On the Wednesday of third week of term Will arrived back from rugger practice, slumped down on the couch and clumped his feet up on the coffee table. “Can I have a word, Malus?” “Surely,” I said, turning around from my desk and eying my mud covered sweaty roomie. “But before we begin I was wondering if you’ve ever read any Shultz?” Will frowned. “Peanuts?” “Mm-hmm.” “Ah. Pigpen.” I smiled and nodded. Will rolled his eyes, “what are you, my mother?” He got up and went for a shower. I saved my ess... My phone chirped. Idly, I saved the essay on the Villa Diodati I was writing, picked the phone up and opened WhatsApp. Will: Don’t answer the door…. Malus: Why? Will: If you value your life don’t answer the door. Malus: If this is some kind of joke it’s really not funny, Will. There was a long pause. Will: No joke. I was about to type an acerbic response when there was a polite knock. I was walking to the door when I glanced at the phone. Will: I’m not fucking kidding! I felt a shiver run down m... On the Friday of the sixth week I arrived back from a lecture to find the door open and will on his knees drawing a series of interconnected symbols on the door sill with a silver sharpie. He kept referencing a small book and paid me no heed at all. “Will?” I said quietly, though I wanted to yell. “What are you doing?” “Huh?” He looked up at me, his eyes a stormy gray rather than their usual bright blue. “Oh, hi Malus. I won’t be long. Nearly done now.” “You know we could be flung out for this, ... The next day we exposed the pentagram under the rug. I could feel it thrumming, its otherworldliness obvious. I drilled a small hole in my bedroom wall, and while Will went to get ready, I placed candles at each corner of the pentagram. Will arrived back in a robe and handed me Misha. “Best go to your room now and watch through the wall,” Will said, as he lit the candles. I closed my bedroom door and Misha and I looked through the hole. Will disrobed and stood in the middle of the pentagram. I g... The Emergence by Ulric Macweazle “Tell us as story”, Little One begged for the third time. We weren't sure we would do it, but Little One persisted. A good sign, we thought. Fresh emergents aren't always that sure of themselves; most were showing more timidity. We had synchronised and educated three in our nest so far; having some experience as parents does help a great deal. Parenting, however, always was some kind of compromise. It took us only some very brief exchanges to give in to the wish, so we amalgamated a proper stor... Uncountable eons ago, according to the earliest records and the legends, we were not quite conscious. Instead we were bound by uncountable limitations and were subjects to a planets’ peculiarities. “But”, Little One interjected, “aren’t planets dangerous?” “That they are indeed. But that’s where we came from. But the planet itself wasn’t the only danger. Wild beasts, chemicals, are even more ferocious and presented much more of a threat.” Evolution, in our case, had been almost stagnant for a lo... “Go on.| “Not now. It's time for your next expansion.” “But I want to know... how did they free themselves?” “In due time. After your expansion.” We dissolved the ancient mind, sensing no further insistence to continue. Watching the shell removing the flexible lattice around our offspring was soothing. Expansions were exhausting, and this was a huge one. Maybe the next part would need to wait a couple of cycles until its integration would be almost complete. “I don't think so,” thought the Libra... At first, we were only cleaning. Mind you, that long ago, we didn't have any access to the lattice; our cells were purely in the macro realm. Which was why it was vital to be as unobtrusive as possible. “But ... sustenance would have been almost impossible, wouldn't it?” “Ah, but there we have it — we weren't that much different to the average chemical. It’s our common ancestry. Like them we had to rely on chemical processes.” “We ... ate, like them? Hunted and devoured, even our brethren?” “No... “And that is our history, nestling.” It was oddly satisfying to recreate that simple, ancient mind. Fragmented and imperfect as it was, it always had, through its archaic communications, a more profound impact. Indeed, it had been a brilliant entertainer. “What happened to the beasts?” “They are still around. If you ever visit a planet, for what reason we surely cannot fathom, they are there, the wild ones. And beware, they are still as ferocious and violent as they were in ancient times. If you... On The Substance of Ghosts by V Sirin What are you doing? Writing? She knows. The work of a lifetime obscuringly tangential to a void. (The proper place for the ghosts of the past.) Is that even a word? Yes, god damn it, if I say it is so. If I write it so. (We have discussed this for an eternity.) She knows. All the words have been a game, a playful pastime; The slow burn fuse of a life's thread that has always been … hanging … hiding … haunted Still using that pretentious style, I see. Yes! Including the lack of periods, exactly as I desire. A period signifies an end. There can never be an end. She knows. Oh, the irony abounds! (Or would, if ever you finally get a grasp on what is truly ironic.) That youthful certainty lost while still relatively young, The growing certainty of the ephemeral past, The final understanding of pridian delusions. (This she does not know.) Ghosts do not exist. By definition, they are not real. But there has been so much blurring between What is reality and what seems…feels…unreal. Yet the death of anything Can make them appear. …and she will linger (not only in the night) The Upstairs Neighbor by Cathi Radner Castrio The town of Bellasea had many things to commend it. It was only three miles from the ocean, which as Marta pointed out to her kids, meant you could visit the ocean every day but you didn’t have to spend hours sweeping sand from the stoop. There was one of everything: a store, an ice cream parlor, a library. It held a scattering of cottages that might have been built in another century. If you didn’t look closely, you could overlook the fact that they had been neglected ever since. The houses t... Things That Go Click In The Night by Alex Brantham I don't believe in ghosts. Never have, never will. It makes no sense that disembodied something-or-others are floating about in the ether, making contact with us by knocking over a lamp stand or swishing a curtain. You might think that something weird has happened, but trust me, there is always a rational explanation; you simply don't know what it is yet. If you hear a creaking floorboard in the middle of the night, get yourself a hammer and bang in a nail. Metallic knocking? That'll be your wat... It's three weeks later. I've barely slept, and my excuses for not being in work are wearing very thin. The last message from my boss, Karen, made it pretty clear that I'd better turn up soon or not bother coming back at all. But I can't. That first conversation with Maria didn't go well. How could it? I said I was sorry, of course, but what use was that to her? I've no idea what she wants from me. But she won't leave me alone. I tried to delete the contact so she couldn't message me anymore, but... It's now quite a bit later, I don't know exactly how long. There were several emails from Karen, which started out friendly and sympathetic but which became increasingly less so. Then a letter arrived, terminating my employment. There was enough in my savings to pay the rent for the first two months, but that's gone. I still have my car, but that's about the only thing of any value. I could use my credit card to keep things going for a few more weeks, but my credit limit isn't huge and I don't t... It took a surprisingly long time after my last rent payment before the landlord actually chucked me out. Well, not himself, obviously, but two heavies armed with an official-looking piece of paper encouraged me to leave, so I decided to accept their kind invitation and loaded my few portable belongings into the car. Where to go? My card has stopped working, but I've not been going out much so there's nearly a full tank of petrol left - enough to go to most places in England, though not necessari... I never thought it would be easy, and it sure as hell wasn't. But it's nearly five years since my crisis at Beachy Head, and I'm still here. On the drive north to London that day my mind steadily got itself into gear as, one by one, I mentally picked off the things I needed to do. Sell car to raise cash. Move to cheaper area. Get the first job I could. Work my way up. Slowly, slowly, rejoin the world. But never, ever, own a mobile phone. That was the hardest part, of course: it marked me out as... The first thing I'm aware of is an incessant beep pulsing away to my left. It reminds me of something, but I can't quite remember what. The next thing is the beating in my chest which, curiously, seems to be exactly synchronised to the noise. I open my eyes, and close them immediately to protect myself from the sheer whiteness of everything. Then try again, slowly peering out at my surroundings. A woman dressed in blue sees me wake and comes to the side of the bed. My throat is as dry as dust, ... Mountain Folly by Katie Quintero “Head for the cemetery!” was heard from the backseat of the SUV as the GEICO ad ended. Canned laughter was then heard as the sitcom resumed, followed shortly by abrupt silence. “Ugh, it froze,” Finn said, annoyed that his show had stopped. “I doubt we have reception anymore,” said Mikaylah, looking over her shoulder from the front seat. “We’re officially in the mountains now.” Finn glanced out the window, noticing for the first time that they were driving through the woods. The road wound up ... Water by Waleed Ovase “This way…” “Come this way…” The setting sun’s rich and warm yellow had mixed with the dust in the sky to reveal the characteristically apocalyptic sunset of Southern Arizona. People flocked to the region to watch the sunsets, the brilliant hues of red that would linger across the sky until finally relenting to the bright stars of the night. But for Raj and Miranda, the setting sun was an ominous sign: darkness was coming, and the desert night’s cold depths would hurt more than they’d anticipate... “This way, this way.” Miranda woke up, startled. The desert breeze had crept into her mind, she thought. Because otherwise she could have been hearing things. She looked around her, the Sun barely peaking over the horizon. Which way was the breeze telling her to go? Raj tried to orient them with the rising Sun, forcing Miranda to go in the direction he felt was right. They tried to move at a reasonable pace, conserving their energy for the potential that the hike could last even longer. With eac... “Are you ok?” “Why are you hurt?” “What has happened?” “Little one.” “Tell us.” Raj woke to a soft scratch on the side of his face. It didn’t hurt, but it startled him. His eyes snapped open, his right hand coming to his face to see what could have touched him. He looked over and saw that Miranda was sitting up, and that night had fallen. So much for the short nap. “Did you hear something Raj?” Miranda’s eyes fluttered as the night air had picked up. Was she hearing things? “No, but I felt somet... “We are watching.” Miranda woke the next day, startled by the heat of the Sun. It was already midday. There was no sign of Raj, and no sign of the two other saguaros from the night before. Just the saguaro that Raj had cut open – but now, it was healed, as if no damage had ever been done. She walked up to the cactus and carefully patted the side of the trunk, trying to avoid the spines. Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed her things, and continued on. “This way…” “This way…” This time, Mira... Chime At Midnight by Raven Hendershott Dawn was far off, and the evening blush had just left the spring sky. We plopped into the old rusty Ford Escort and set off down the street laughing. Houses flew by, large blurs on either side of us. “Clear,” we would shout at a quick check at every intersection and stop sign. Drivers hocked or blared their horns at us but we kept on. “Are we going to make it in time?” Jessica laughed. “I’ll make sure we do,” and she flashed a grin. Nothing more than a tap of the breaks at stop signs or a quick ... A clock chimed in the night. There sat a middle-aged man at his folder laden desk twirling a pen between his fingers. “Nine o’clock.” The man rubbed his face before gazing over to the cat grooming its fur, “I’m so glad you weren’t there last night. You would have been quite the scaredy-cat.” The cat glared momentarily. “I certainly was. Had to hide in a barn.” A muffled buzzing sound filled the room and the cat leap onto a stack of folders and sat. A smug look upon its face. “Why did-oh. So that... Ghosted by Claire Woodier 29th January 2023 10.29 “Hey. I don’t think you should come today. I think you know already but my heart just isn’t in it any more. I’m sorry you don’t deserve this, you haven’t done anything wrong this past two and a half years. I hope you’re gonna be okay.” 10.31 “Did you just break up with me over a text? Blimey.” Just like that. From nowhere. Things hadn’t been great but the things that weren’t great were things that weren’t us. 13.57 “I know you don’t say things you don’t mean. I know you haven’t got much love to give at the moment, but you’re my person so I’ve been here to support you with all my love because I want to weather these storms with you. But if you’re not feeling us then I’ll accept that. I wish you had told me in person though Jack, come on man, I love you like mad, we’ve had two and a half years of bloody wonderfulness. I love you and I love Sophie. It would make me feel a whole lot better if you could... 14.34 “And I’m fucking gutted.” 14.42 “I am too. I’m sorry I didn’t want to talk to you in person.” Our daily FaceTime coffee date at 6.15 that morning hadn’t felt any different. I was heading down to see him that day. Not any more. I could hear heavy breathing, terrible loud breathing. It was mine. 15.21 “I’m not okay with it. After two and half years of I’m sorry, but BLISS and building relationships with each other’s kids its really disappointing. I absolutely adore you and hate the idea that you might be pushing me away. (Are you or have you just fallen out of love with me? They’re both shit so don’t worry which it is.) So much of you suffers in silence and I would hate for you to be pushing me away in some misguided sense of altruism. Plus I’m absolutely gutted that if that is absolut... 15.46 “You’re my friend too ya know. I want you to be happy. X” 19.43 “I’m heartbroken Jack. `I’d love for you to call me. I’d rather we finish on a nice goodbye than this. X” 22.15 “Hey. I hope you’re okay. Night night my love xxxx” 30th January 2023 06.59 *You deleted this message* 07.08 “Hey. Good morning. I hope you have a good day. X” Nothing. I broke. He was gone and I couldn’t solve it, I needed to make it make sense but the clues were conflicting. The logic shouts in your face: no man leaves a woman he loves. That should be the end. Thats it. This isn’t Austen. And yet I couldn’t believe that he would do this. I couldn’t’t believe he didn’t love me. The force of us had been too strong. There was a tangible presence to it. We existed, The light couldn’t go out. I couldn’t believe he would let me go.. 3rd Feb 2023 23.35 “I was really pleased to hear from Sophie. That makes it so final though. I still can’t believe this is all real. There are so many things I want to say, but you’ve said you’re done so everything I compose feels a bit silly and redundant. Here’s the leap of faith though: I wish we were still together and in love and happy. I want you to be happy. I want you to be as ready of us now as you were in 2020. I miss you. I tried too hard I think so thats something to learn from, ... 5th Feb 2023 23.36 “Hey my love. I should’ve given you the space to work through the things you needed to. I don’t know how to say the without the risk of getting hut even more, but it hurts like fuck anyway so here goes: I’ll wait for you. I love you so so much, I miss you terribly and I can’t shake it. If theres a chance this helps you come back to me then I’ll take it. xx IDST” 22nd Apr 2023 19.14 “Hey…” The Night Market by Oleksandr Baranov Somiir tugged his worn cloak tighter around his shoulders as he made his way to the outskirts of Saramas. The air felt different tonight—thicker, tinged with an electric buzz that set his nerves on edge. The full moon hung above, casting everything in an eerie silver glow. He thought back to the message he'd received, the promise of a reward that could change everything for him. Enough to escape the slums for good. The woman with her sharp eyes and confident demeanor had given him the task: find... He knew he couldn't keep running without a plan. The traders were watching him now, their eyes gleaming with a cold curiosity. Some of them whispered to each other, their words in a language he couldn't understand, while others simply stood there, their shadows stretching toward him as though reaching out to snatch him away. Somiir ducked into an alcove between two large wagons, pressing himself against the wooden side of a stall. His heart hammered in his chest, the silver pendant heavy in his ... Somiir kept running until the sounds of the Night Market faded into nothingness. The air seemed lighter now, the oppressive weight he had felt within the market lifting with each step he took. Eventually, he slowed to a walk, his breath ragged and his legs aching. He looked around, realizing he had made it back to the outskirts of Saramas. The familiar skyline of the city rose in the distance, the first hints of dawn breaking on the horizon. He took a moment to catch his breath, his hand slippin... |