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The Body Was Moved by Rhonda Rosenheck
(a triolet) The blood splatter suggests the body was moved,After being stabbed sixty-two, or -three, times.The deep shag rug was trampled and grooved.The blood splatter suggests the body was moved.The victim was heard by the maid to say, “It behooved…”his wife, instead of him, to admit to his financial crimes.The blood splatter suggests the body…
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Quality Assurance by Moses Sukumaran
Every Wednesday at precisely 8:17 AM, the conveyor belt bled oil for one minute and seventeen seconds. For Soma, that meant a morning spent on his knees with a bucket and a quick ratcheting of loose bolts to get it running. He would grunt and curse his machine, trace the pipes for a while, tighten…
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Ants by Robyn McIntyre
I had always felt there was something wrong with my little brother and seeing him on the kitchen floor torturing ants just confirmed it. He’s six and a half and he’s on his knees, crushing the back end of ants and smiling as he watches them try to continue moving around. I open the refrigerator…
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A Hell of a Tale by Drew Broussard
Addie hurried through the still-foggy morning streets towards the harbor, following the thick brine on the air. She’d overslept, which was rare enough in a house full of noises like hers—but today, of all days! She gritted her teeth and hustled on. Only when she turned the corner onto Dodson Street, with its falling slope…
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Rave in a Coma Ward by Harley Carnell
I heard about the raves on my first day in the coma ward. Stephanie, the ward manager, gave me the tour. She was a tough-as-nails veteran whose tenure at the ward varied depending on who you asked. I didn’t know this at the time, but Stephanie was not a joking person. I thought that she…
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The Ghost of Wilhelmine by Hannah J. Roy
Her gravestone reads: A Devoted Daughter, Cared Enough to Erect This Shrine of the Most Sweet Mother of GodAll ghost stories start with Once upon a death and end with white space. They say she was the wind in the chandeliers, a bone cold breath in the hallway. Donning a white taffeta dress, she strutted…
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The Birth of the Goatman by John Wolfgram
The basement was thick with cigarette smoke and a little weed, the kind of air that stuck to your clothes long after the night ended. An old lava lamp floated light against the basement wood paneling. River perched on stool, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Tell them, John,” she teased. “Tell them the story.”…
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Honey, Please by Kris Green
The scream shakes me from horizontal to vertical as my mind scrambles, going zero to sixty, unconsciousness to full alert. Rachel keeps screaming, not even pausing to take a breath. I try to put my arms around her when she pushes me back, shouting, “Get the fuck away from me!” I try to say something…