QB
Staff of QB
The couple in the cabin are dreaming.
For many days the beast outside has waited, still as silence in the woods, watching as the elderly woman rocks in her chair. Such tranquility is alluring. The temptation is strong.
So on this night, the shy creature arises to approach, step by step, onto the old porch, and sits.
The antique chair creaks and strains under the creature’s bulk, allowing one fleeting rocking motion, before splintering into pieces.
The lights flash on, a man’s voice says, “Martha, get my gun.”
Into the forest the creature vanishes, leaving only two giant footprints behind.
Moira writes weird stories and pretends to be a rat on the internet. Find here at @moirariom.bsky.social and www.ohmoira.com
I beckon towards the oak flask’s ornate aperture. “Fernando, please get in. The truck’s waiting outside.”
I knew moving out would be stressful, but never imagined it would be this bad. Then again, I never imagined I’d be best friends with the ghost of a 16th-century Spanish pirate.
Fernando whooshes past me towards the foldout table in the middle of what used to be our living room. The ashtray resting on top begins sliding towards the edge.
“Don’t you dare—”
Glass and ash litter the floor.
“For fuck’s sake, Fernando, that was antique! Ok, fine, I’ll leave you here for the next occupant to deal with.”
A trail of dust flies up as Fernando slinks to the corner.
“Sorry I lost my temper, buddy.” I kneel beside him. “This job in Seattle’s a big deal. You want me to be happy, right?”
The ash on the ground swirls until it forms the word SÍ.
“You don’t want to go?”
The ash dances again. NO.
“Or stay here alone?”
NO.
“You’re…scared?”
SÍ.
I pat the air tenderly. “You’ve battled armadas and sea beasts. This move’s nothing by comparison. You’ll have new neighbors to scare the shit out of, new cats to terrorize, plus your favorite telenovelas will still be on TV.”
Fernando musses up my hair before sweeping the glass and ash into a neat pile. The flask wobbles as he flies inside.
“Alright Capitán, time to…set sail!”
Even from inside the flask, I can feel him rolling his good eye.
Ben Daggers is a close-up magician, escape room creator and light sleeper based in Osaka, Japan.
“Mom, is ‘war’ good?”
Nova nearly choked—did the question have to come this early in the morning?
“Depends on which war.”
The answer clearly wasn’t accepted within Celeste’s whirring thought-processor.
“Why?”
“I have to write an essay about our war against Earth. Is it still going?”
Nova opened a portal—the gateway led to the frontal window of the spaceship. Celeste observed her mother set up the telescope.
“See that? That’s Earth.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Because it’s without Humans.”
Celeste’s magnified sight made her jump backwards.
“But I just saw one!”
“Really? Well, let’s hope they do better this time.”
Megan Diedericks is a very normal writer (probably not a vampire) whose latest book, The Coffin Chronicles, is about vampires.
the mechanisms of the world don't work like they did before.
the floor trembles like bone beneath skin too thin
as my soles fail to seek solace in my ephemeral being.
so i hover,
bloated,
a balloon tied to nothing
waiting for the ceiling to accept me.
Teesta is a student, science enthusiast, and writer. She has a passion for biology and the arts, and creates zines in her spare time.
my wife
asks me
where
they come
from.
truth
be told,
i don’t
know.
they appear
like
mouse droppings
in
the garage.
or startle
you
like wind
on a
still night.
they attack
like wolves
at a
carcass.
when you’re
alone
and
nobody’s
home
they
sneak up
on you
like a shiver
down
your spine
and squirm:
jot down
every line!
Ken Kakareka is an American writer nominated twice for Best of the Net.
Nicholas De Marino is a neurodivergent rhyparographer. More at nicholasdemarino.blogspot.com.
You clench your fists as you examine the numbers. One more ambitious scheme has backfired. Another wild attempt to get rich has gone bust.
You bite your lip, blinking fast, trying not to cry, not to react. You’ll get that money back somehow, some way. You’ll raise more. You always do. You look up from your phone, forcing a grin, convincing your buddies all is well. The next round’s on you.
You sign up for more shifts. Overtime. Flipping things on Craigslist. Crumpled twenties, sweaty palms. Grind. Growth. Greatness. Glory.
You double down on uppers and cut down on sleep. You’ll rest when you die, and death is a lie. To hell with it. Try harder. More crypto tips. More ideas. You write them down in the bespoke Moleskin you carry around. Swag.
On the way to the gym, you spot some grime-covered kids, playing with castoff toys, wasting time. No ambition. Make some lemonade, open a stand, franchise, LLC, IPO, boom – victory! You shake your head. Slackers.
That night, a rare glimmer of REM sleep. Old toys of your own. Parents fighting. You escape. You always escape. You survive and thrive and prevail and you goddamn triumph.
Another weekend, another attempt. Trends, charts, tips, rumors. You clench your fists as you prepare to examine numbers. You take a deep breath…
Lily Lachance is an award-winning filmmaker, author, ally, vagabond, and adventurer based in Montreal.
Boothby hoped Slyvak Prime would offer what he was longing for.
He landed his ancient starcraft and fired up its antiquated sensors. The scans reported an alphabet soup of harmful gases in the atmosphere. Boothby smiled. At last! Months of searching were finally over.
He opened the ship’s hatch and shuffled down its exit ramp to the planet’s boggy surface. He left the starcraft behind as a gift to whoever found it.
The atmosphere’s gases quickly entered his lungs. Boothby swooned and collapsed. In mere minutes, they had taken his life—and his agonizing cancer—away, just as he wanted.
Mike has had over 150 audio plays dramatized, won many awards, and had two short film scripts produced.