Short Stories
This isn?t a bad story, just a short story about what happened in Oregon. My folks had divorced the year before and Dad flew the coop to Astoria to work on a fishing boat. I rode with my sister on the bus out to spend the summer with him, a twenty-hour trip from Big Timber, Montana. Well, we were on the same bus anyway. She was one of those geeks who wanted to sit in the front and all, and did.
Continue readingThe bed is the biggest problem. It smells like him. Even after stripping it to wash the sheets, as I lay down on the bare mattress waiting for the dryer to finish working its magic, cleansing me of him, I can smell him. It?s a slightly sweet, powdery smell, laced with a hint of something masculine
Continue readingI was aware of the spluttering of the air conditioner, the heat from his body draped over the sheet, the hall light caressing his pale skin sneakily like the elderly neighbour he once told me about, the empty bed next door and my body lying prone as if caught in that moment I heard his foot on the stairs.
Continue readingThe heaviness of the shoebox reminded me that it no longer housed its original contents; the fine sheet of dust, evidence of its solitude.
Continue readingLike the end of an autumn harvest when the ripened crops have been gathered and the gleanings are scattered along the corners of the fields for the poor, the shrouded dead lay cold before the creeping shade of the old cemetery gate. Its crumbling stone walls await the new arrivals as the tolling of the bells and the low agonizing wails of hungry dogs forewarn the survivors.
Continue reading“Gimme all your Halloween candy, twerp,” the teenager growled as he stepped out of the shrubbery by the cemetery, blocking the path of a boy dressed in a ghost costume.
Continue readingA skeleton and Chucky the killer doll paused on their trek, pillow cases weighed down with candy, sweat dripping down their bodies despite the brittle chill hovering in the air. They were on their last house.
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I’m not as forgetful as I seem, you know. I never lose things by accident, not really, just accidentally on purpose. I ‘lose’ them on buses, in shops, on park benches, even
Continue readingI catch his eye and nod. He turns back to his newspaper. Christ! I only want the newspaper, not him. The waitress comes by with the coffee pot, tops off my mug, and walks over to his table.
Continue readingFor this Halloween we thought we would run an old, oldy but a goodie (long in the public domain). We hope you enjoy the Brother’s Grimm Hansel and Grethel.
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When I arrived at work I was immediately called into Mr. Roberts?s office. I had never been called into his office before. When I walked in he sat behind his huge desk and Mrs. Berman sat to his right. There was a new man I did not know sitting between them and Mrs. Berman started.
Continue readingI’m in the kitchen, squeezing a teabag against the inside of my mug with a spoon when the kitchen door slams shut. I turn, shaking off the hot brown liquid that has spilt on the back of my hand. When I touch the handle of the door it feels icy cold and rigid as I try in vain to push it down.
Continue readingThe chair barely fit him anymore. The trail, which led from the cabin to the lake tempted him, but he waited until he heard the screen door to the cabin slap behind her. Across the lake, a fisherman’s small trolling motor sputtered and coughed. He steadied himself on his cane, and pried himself up. She came alongside and took his hand. She was ready but he was not so sure.
Continue reading“Quit staring at her, Lou. Just say something.”
“I’m not staring, Rob.”
Rob rolls his eyes.
Continue readingThe table is covered with crisp linen on which are set well-chosen wines. Spills will occur, devilish as blood. Salt is an effective remedy in cold soaking before dawn. No-one sees the under world. Tired and hungry maids, no more than children, work by lamplight. It is dark and cool for the wines.
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