Dear Kenny,
I know I said I wouldn’t go back, but I had to, all right? I’m alive, obviously, and I know why you told me to stay away. But I couldn’t—so let’s leave it at that and move on.
I think things were a little different for me. When we were…
I found the body at dawn.
The sailor was slumped against the wrecked stern in a bloody pulp. He clung to the humble fishing boat’s planking as the chilled waters of Lake Erie lapped the crumpled hull.
Poor soul.
Bart, my beagle, set his paws on the top rail of our small fishing vessel.
It was a balmy spring morning and Mr. Robert Washington was trundling down a dirt road in a beaten-up Ford F-Series. Around him, the corn grew tall and lush and the surrounding windbreaks teamed with life. Passerines sang, corvids squawked, crickets chirped, bees hummed, cicadas droned. And then, without warning or reason, they all
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“Perhaps the necromancer’s asleep?” asked One-Legged Val.
From a distance, the necromancer’s ship looked abandoned, dark except for the giant glowing diamond shining from the masthead like a full moon. The crew of Nevermore floated in deep water off the coast of Dogshead Isle, their lanterns doused and sails tied down, transfixed
“Welcome back to the afternoon session,” Conference Chair Toke Tuilaepa greeted, his floral print button down shirt and suit jacket straining to contain a barrel chest and broad shoulders. “The first panel after lunch is always a challenge, but Explaining the Pacific Islander Wanderlust is not one to miss.” He turned to the two
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“Remind me again why we’re not calling the police.”
“We will. I just want to confirm whatever killed Jeff isn’t also on a koala massacre.” I flicked my torch beam into a nearby eucalyptus tree. The beady-eyed silver face that peered back looked innocent enough. I kept walking.
Carol followed suit…
Desire. Need. Hunger. It gnaws at the creature like sand in a gale, consuming every thought of its bestial mind.
Even the gaping wound in its side is forgotten by the needs of its stomach. Hunger.
A thin sliver of motion catches the creature’s eye, and it lashes out with crystalline fangs
Liam entered the Mountain of Death at dusk.
He adjusted his headphones, checked the volume unit—or VU—dial on the mixer strapped to his belt, and reasserted his grip on a boom pole carrying a shotgun microphone. With his headlamp’s yellow beam piercing the darkness, he pointed the mic’s windscreen into…
“I can see it now. ‘Come to a romantic getaway to Japan’s Suicide Forest. Book now—reservations are selling like hotcakes!’” Starr held out his hands like he was gesturing to a marquee.
“Yeah, because who doesn’t want to be stabbed, bitten, or possessed again on their anniversary?” his fiancé, Annie, grumbled.
The resort’s lookout tower reached above the tree line, simmering under the South African sun. Dave peered through his binoculars into the distance. From this vantage point, he had a great view of the savanna grasslands and wild foliage. A quick movement caught his eye, but he was too slow, only peeking a tail.
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Merit flicked his tail in frustration. His best servant—Pharaoh something or other—was dead. He knew this because when he’d arrived for his morning scratch, the human had just lain there, eyes open but unseeing. The body had also been cold. Not good for curling up next to.
Still, to be sure…
A dozen people tread through the corn. Insects fall and writhe against their careful hands as they part the stalks. They curse under their breath for not sowing the seeds in tidy, even rows. Instead, the plants grew nestled close together, their rows zigzagging, mazelike across the miles of flat land.
She is missing.
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