Fiction, Volume 16 Issue 4
Allison Wallace
It's Not For Everyone PT.IV

I don’t understand why this is still a problem,” the ACS Director says, point-blank from behind the line of tiny crystal goblets filled with discreet, elegant sips of sherry. The Director’s flight, and that of every sherry-flight at the table, glistens in the muted light of the cabin. He stares on through the front windows of the yacht’s dining room into the night. The city is partially hidden on the horizon, and, up above it all, almost insignificant pin pricks of light lie scattered like fallen sequins.

It's Not For Everyone PT.IV
Volume 16 Issue 2
Sky Ford
Dreaming in a Mundane World

I am locked up in a cell. The captors are conducting medical experiments on us. They give us metal wires to stick in our necks, which I know instinctively will erase our memories.


Dreaming in a Mundane World
Volume 16 Issue 2
Jules Dubel
The Psychic Moles from Outer Space

They crawled from shallow darkness out of a crack in the sidewalk. They each stood as tall as a man and a half. Their bodies were covered in hazelnut fur and their nose tendrils writhed like skinned octopi. There were three of them, and one of me.

I fell backward onto my ass in the street, whimpering and whining, completely expecting to have my brain eaten out backward from my skull like a stew by these terrible, loathsome, horror-inspiring… Psychic Moles from Outer Space!

The Psychic Moles from Outer Space
Volume 15 Issue 5, Contest
Skye Caldwell
Jackalope

When I was in the seventh grade I found a scalpel after school. I think it belonged to my mom. There was nowhere else it could have come from. And this scalpel almost glowed. The black, black, veiny marble counter it was sitting on reflected a kind of halo around the silver knife, anything but subtle.

Contest, Volume 15 Issue 5
Albert Kerelis
Empty Cassettes

The first time I watched my dad climb up on the roof, I was 11 or 12. "You stay down there and take my phone, so if I fall and break my neck, you can call the paramedics." I think of that every time I climb up. Who's waiting at the bottom for me?

Volume 12 Issue 2

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The Cask of Dom Pérignon

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“Say no more, Marcel. Your hesitation now speaks more to me than your words ever could. You have my permission.”

The young man frowned. “Sir, there appears to be a bit of a misunderstanding. I wasn’t requesting your permission, per se, I was simply—”

“The permission has been granted, my boy! Smile, be merry! Let us celebrate! More Dom Pérignon?”

He gave a tight sigh and laid his intense gaze upon the older gentleman. Devereux appeared not to have heard his objection, for he now filled both of their crystalline flutes, spoke a hearty “To the union!” and emptied his glass.

“Sir, with the utmost possible respect, your daughter isn't going to receive any offers other than my own.”

“Why, of course not! Don’t be foolish! I've just promised you her hand, haven’t I?”

“There are, quite literally, no other bachelors left in the English countryside.”

The older man’s face darkened momentarily, a specter of remembrance haunting his expression. “I suppose that is true, isn't it. The end of civilization, and whatnot.” But the spell left him as quickly as it had come; he turned to the suitor with his flaming eyes, no less put out than the fires of Hell. “No matter! If the rest of the lot were here, I’d still pick you. A good and virtuous man. Marcel, the priest from a land far away. Yes, I’m certain of it—you are the handsome young man I'd want to depetal and deflower my young Violet.”

He choked on his drink and immediately reddened. “Monseigneur Devereux—!”

The old man laughed boisterously, clapping Marcel upon his shoulder. “A test, my dear boy! You've passed with flying colors. Another drink!”

“I haven't finished the one you poured me two minutes ago. Perhaps we should—”

“Marcel, you clever little devil, you're absolutely right! What am I thinking, getting us drunk on champagne? A red! That is what we need! A nice, dark red. I know just the sort.” A delicate beam of moonlight caught the pink in his cheeks as he stood and started for the door. 

“Sir. There is one matter of importance that I wish to resolve before I wed your lovely daughter.”

“Yes?” Devereux returned to his armchair, easily tempted in his current state. “Out with it, then!”

“Her beliefs are quite different than my own. Communion, the Last Judgement, the man called Jesus Christ… They're all quite nonsense, if you ask me. How would you propose that I—how does one put this kindly—persuade her of the correct path?”

Again, his spirits faded. “Right,” he said, donning an unusual tone of seriousness. “I suppose you might begin by confronting her about it.” The bachelor nodded but remained silent. The old man stared out the window. In the strength of Devereux’s every movement, Marcel saw what made him the undisputed leader of this community, and he burned.

He coveted what Devereux had achieved for himself in the Aftermath.

“Confronting her by saying—what, exactly?”

“I’m here to ask you about that.” 

The suitor straightened in his seat, overcome with the power of his Savior. “I will tell her, Violet, I know that you have lived your whole life believing in the God of your ancestors, and while they are entitled to believe as they will, their system of morality is utterly and entirely wrong. The only true way to Salvation is the Path of the Sun. If you permit me to guide you into Their Light, and repent as They see fit, then I’m certain that your heresy will eventually be forgiven.”

He narrowed his eyes at the young man, who appeared to not realize the treacherous ground he had tread upon. “You seem to have it all planned out. Why discuss this matter with me and not your confrères?”

Having misjudged the old man’s state of sobriety, Marcel winced and attempted to reconcile his transgression. “Well, you see, sir, it’s just that—you’re her father. I assumed that you might—”

“—might know her better than you? For Heaven’s sake, you are her fiancé! There isn’t a soul in England who should have a more intimate knowledge of Violet than you!” 

At the evocation of the Lord, Marcel stiffened, and his upper lip began to twitch. 

Before he could utter a word edgewise, the old man spoke. “Oh, my dear boy—that was absolutely not my intention. I must extend to you my sincerest apologies. I rather lost my head for a moment. You were quite right to have asked me that—it was brilliant thinking on your part.”

More at ease, Marcel settled back in his chair. “Well?”

“I will answer shortly, but if you will excuse me for one moment… I think that now would be the opportune time for the red.” With a good-natured wink, he disappeared.

Marcel threw up his hands, waiting once again for this drunkard of a step-father to return from his cellar. Devereux came back to the parlor with two ornate goblets. He offered one to the suitor, proclaiming boldly, “It’s my finest drinkware and my finest drink, I hope that you find it to your liking, bottoms up! Drink, drink, my boy! To the newest Devereux! To my daughter’s virginity! To the Lord, Jesus Christ! Amen!”

The young man would never know exactly what words were spoken. The poison seized his body as soon as the laced wine slid down his throat, and the final scene seared into his life was Devereux pouring out his goblet onto his convulsing body.

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Bone Deep Part 2

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The air is thinner up here, and hazy too, so that when you sit and kick your feet off the edge of the cliff, it’s almost impossible to see the other side of the ravine through the fog. You sit like this often because this is the only place where you and her meet, and it’s hard to find too, off the edge of Humbleton Road which turns from pavement to gravel about a half mile back. There’s a turn-off from there, and that’s where you leave mom’s truck with the squeaky brakes and cracked windshield. Then there’s the fence, cutting through the line of evergreen and fern with the sign on it, NO TRESPASSING, and the hole that’s been cut in about ten feet to the left.