fiction
The Collection of Sunlight
BETTY STANTON
I was hired to collect what was left of the light.
At first it was too fragile. I didn’t understand the way it clung to shards of old glass and drifted through dust like lost scriptures. Eventually I learned how to handle it, and now I keep it in jars labelled with years that no longer mean anything.
When the others sleep, I open them. The light moves, restless, as if it remembers the fields and faces it is meant for. I’m the only one of us who can hear the way it hums, who can understand it. It sings that bodies still want to be seen in the light.
I send my findings into the dark.
Results may vary
IAN STEWART
“Hang on!” I shouted. Joey was still in the other room and making an absolute mess of it. I winced as something shattered.
My fingers stuck to the pages of the user guide and I had to pry them off as I flipped through, leaving behind smudgy fingerprints. It wasn’t my blood, but that didn’t make me feel much better.
“‘Welcome to your new life of adventure,’” I read aloud. “‘Getting Started, Lunar Calendars, Jewelry to Avoid…’” I heard Joey scream, inhuman and not a bit reassuring. “Yeah, I hear you buddy—ah! Found it! ‘Troubleshooting: We hope you are satisfied.” Another crash shook the walls. It sounded like a door falling off its hinges. “‘However, shapeshifting can be unsettling and results may vary. If you are unsatisfied with your decision, you have options.’ Great! Hear that, Joey? Options!”
Something crashed down the hallway, slamming from wall to wall like the world’s scariest game of Pong.
“‘You may consider relocating to a planet with a different or smaller moon.’ What?” I flipped to the last page, which was blank aside from the company’s mocking, toothy logo. “Well. That’s not helpful at all.” Something heavy slammed against the door. “Wait wait wait—there’s a number! It says to call if we’re still unsatisfied. We’re unsatisfied, right?” Another sickening thud and a splintered crack. “Let’s call.” The door exploded inward, replaced with a grotesque mass of bloodied fur and sharp ends. “Hey Joey,” I whimpered. “Haven’t seen my phone, have you?”
Odd
DAVID M. BRADDOCK
‘Odd,’ he thought, as the particle disintegrator split his body into a million atoms and spread them irretrievable across the known universe…
Ratter
MAR OVSHEID
Clearing my mind reveals a dirty floor full of holes. Some old dog still lives in the basement and keeps the rats out.
“I should put you down,” I tell the animal, “doubt you’re catching rats, anymore.”
“You see any?” It asks. “You’re ungrateful as ever.” It chews an old shoe. “You could retire me upstairs. Let me enjoy the sun.”
Broken pillars of light project through the cracks above.
“You’ll wreck the place,” I shake my head, “and I haven’t found your replacement.”
The dog hacks up a shoelace.
“Real valuable landscape you’ve got, with your piles of trash and peeling walls.” I stomp a foot. The dog growls and bares it teeth.
“Rats might improve the place,” it laughs.
I leave my maze and return to half-hectic existence. Headaches start coming on.
“Shit’s probably falling back onto the floor,” I figure, without stopping to investigate. Sleep heals for a while. “Quit chasing your tail,” I yell to the ratter. It doesn’t reply. The knives don’t take long to return and two gnawing spots behind my eyes force me into a dark room. Wine makes the situation worse and I drop into my head.
Everything is knocked over and chewed through, magazines are sawdust, photos reduced to colorful ribbons. I descend to the basement to find the dog. It’s gone, replaced by a churning mass of rats. Luckily, before they can eat me, the floor caves in and my mind gives out completely.
Fear Nothing
STEVE CALVERT
Samuel Oliver Sullivan was a most unusual man, who diligently followed the concept of taking the bull by the horns.
Since his childhood, Samuel suffered from an innate fear of spiders. They terrified him; so, when he was just 16 years old, he bought his first tarantula. For the next three years, Samuel’s daily routine included precisely 10 minutes of “spider time”, in which he sat with his hands over his lap and watched the spider walk from one hand to the other.
Heights were another thing that terrified Samuel, so, when he was 20, he took a job with a scaffolding company. The first week was the hardest, but sheer determination and force of will got him through, and it was not long before he was climbing the scaffolding like an expert and had earned himself the nickname Monkey Boy.
Of all his phobias, Samuel the Monkey Boy Sullivan considered his fear of water to be the most ridiculous. Again, he took the bull by the horns, and, by the time he was 21, he had amassed an impressive collection of swimming medals.
When he was 24, Samuel killed himself.
Cook-off
E. FLORIAN GLUDOVACZ
I swear, I am going to win the competition this year after having been runner-up in the Annual Cannibal Cook-off Competition three years running.
Admittedly, the booth to my left has some delicious chick tenders. Those women walking in to be butchered looked very succulent and juicy.
The cooks to my right have some literal baby-back ribs on offer. Those are always a favourite with the judges.
But I have a special dish this year. My shanks are smoked with applewood before braising. And they are very unique and absolutely limited long pig, because I am cooking my own legs!
Nightmares
KRISTEN ALLEN
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia ran.
Chased by horses, she nearly got trampled before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, looking out at the moon and the stars. If I see them again, I’m not going to run.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia turned and threw rocks.
Surrounded by horses, she nearly got smothered before she woke herself up.
Nightmares, she whispered, hugging her knees under her silk bedspread. If I see them again, I’m not standing still.
Lucia walked into the mountains.
Horses stared out from the shadows up high.
Mares with long legs. Mares dark like smoke.
At a fork in the path, Lucia laid down strawberries.
Watching for horses, she hid in the pines.
They came, bent their heads, munched softly in the moonlight.
Nightmares, she whispered, peering out as they whinnied and tossed their heads.
Bravely, she stepped forward.
As she moved towards them, the horses began to shimmer, then blossomed into wildflower crowns.
If I see them again, I’ll thank them, she thought as she placed a crown on her head.
Lucia walked out of the mountains.
In the land of the night
mares, kindness reigns, like in all
the rest of the world.
Awakening
NATALIA PLOS
I felt weakness in my body, and then a crazy cold reached the depths of my bones. With a heaviness, the doors of the cryo chamber opened in front of me. Warm air rushed in and blew on my face, helping me regain my senses. I remembered where I was.
Two men in white robes watched my awakening.
“How many years have passed?” I asked them slowly.
“348 years. It is now 2373.”
“You woke me up. So you have found a cure for my illness?”
“We are sorry. Your account has run out of funds to support your body.”