“Earth to Echo.”
Electricity courses through Echo as Darbo’s deep voice prods her consciousness. She stirs, blinking out at the spaceship’s main chamber.
My jail cell.
Darbo stands by the main control panel, pressing the button that shoots shock waves across Echo’s incorporeal form. Nearby, his daughter Delilah crunches on star-puffs
Of all the underground clubs in this sodden sponge of a city, it had to be that one.
I tugged my fedora lower over my brows, but it did little to block out the damp chill of the October night. My neck prickled as I surveyed the disturbing sight splayed out on the alley’s cracked asphalt.
“Are you sure about this?” My stomach turned as I played with the sleeves of my sweater, worrying a few loose threads between my fingertips.
Eastwood paced across the cramped room where we’d been locked away. “We’re in a bit of a pickle here, Rose. I don’t see any other way.
Read it now
Nobody likes ghost hugs.
This has thus far been the biggest disappointment of my afterlife. Yes, there’s the whole being tied to the dark, dank, dismal cave where I’d met my untimely demise, but—nah, it’s mostly the hugging. Or lack thereof.
I was quite the hugger before I died.
The noise in Thomas’s head was getting louder.
Medical examinations came up empty. Doctors were stumped. It wasn’t tinnitus, they said, or brain tumors, or sinus problems, any other condition they’d diagnosed before. Nothing they attempted, from ear drops to oral meds, solved it. In the end, he just had to deal with it.
“I hate my job.” Tina scowled at the curtains that separated her from the audience. “I’d rather play bingo.”
“No, you don’t.” Tello, the stage manager, shuffled his cue cards. “And no, you wouldn’t. You hate bingo.” He tugged at her arm. “Come on, your cue’s coming any minute!”
Deep within Midre Forest, the ghosts waited. Renard clutched a box of croissants to his chest. “Food is the way to the heart,” he muttered. Hopefully the saying applied to vengeful ghosts.
Because bringing food into the Flickers’ domain, especially after how they’d died… He shuddered. If the Flickers caught him before daylight, he’d be dead.
He was invisible.
At least, that’s how they treated him.
Roman sat in the weathered rocking chair on his front porch, a light spring breeze tossing his thinning hair. The late afternoon sun raced to hide its face from the world. He sighed.
All was right when he sat in his favorite chair.
Most people thought the cemetery was haunted. I knew better. It sat right atop the divide where the veil between worlds was weakest. Moonlight spilled through the clouds above, and when a sudden chill on the breeze drew goosebumps down my arms, my heart soared.
He’s here.
Jake. My sweet Jake, walking with me
By Patrick M. Fitzgerald Merrick rapped the door’s ornate knocker. “Garrett is one of the most honorable knights of the Order of the Trinity. He retired years ago, and his reputation is impeccable.” The initiate, Derrin, showed him the list of names. Every one but Garrett’s was crossed out. “I hope you’re right, sir. He’s
Read it now
The wipers of the ’66 Corvette swept the rain from the windshield, but the downpour blurred Duncan’s view of the darkened road, and the headlights didn’t provide much help either. After the day he’d had, he just wanted to get home. Thankfully, the purr of the engine eased the tension in his back.
Read it now
My undead grandmother is my conscience.
By “undead” I don’t mean a decrepit, old woman who looks like she shouldn’t still be sucking wind. I mean a decrepit, old woman who died of a heart attack three months ago yet still manages to ruin my life.
Read it now
Recent Comments