Strange Stories, By Strange Authors, for Strange Listeners
“I’m going to cut to the chase,” Zephyr said. “You’ll never make it as a magician. You just don’t have the moustache for it…”
Ig Awards
Josh Roseman
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“The lock,” she said, loud enough to cut me off. “The lock is sort of why I’m thinking about leaving you.” She stalked toward me, drink in hand, and I stood up, edging around the table to the far side, closer to the basement door. I wanted to keep the table between us. “You scamper down there after dinner every night. Lock your door and work on the mystery machine, right, Morris, the one that’s going to change everything and make us rich, right? That machine?”
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The energy and personality of a person can get stuck before it evaporates from our world. Wood is a fair dumping ground. Something about its pore size and how cellulose vibrates. A person can get himself pasted inside the wall or the floorboards. The body and brain quit, but the rest of the bastard lingers, and that’s the weird quantum trickery that for thousands of years people have called a ghost…
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It was clown-hunting weather. It was time to gather the musty costumes, clean the slide whistles, bag up the guns, and spin the lures of cotton candy…
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The other gamblers ignored her. They were a mixed bunch– middle aged men in ties and shiny suits, women in evening gowns, young men with gleaming teeth and haunted expressions. Roulette was a sucker’s game. Unless you were Cassie…
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Shadows move on the mantelpiece and the end tables. She freezes. The family pictures are moving. Brass frames buckling into bow-shaped mouths. They want to eat her.
Don’t be scared, she says. Of course they’re hungry. Everything must eat. And there isn’t much food…
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Those damn raccoons were here again.
I know it’s raccoons. Rather easy to deduce considering the scores of chocolate footprints everywhere….
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This sounds ridiculous, I know. It’s like watching an old movie where everyone has a British accent, even if they’re supposed to be in ancient Rome or something. God is just impossible to translate…
Magpie Yarns
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The crowd was lined up six deep along the parade route. They ignored the Deputy Mayor who sat, lightly sedated, between his doctor and nurse in the Santa sleigh. Instead, they chanted endlessly for the Marshall, who would not leave the stifling warmth of his coach, or even roll down a window to wave. Their applause echoed off the surrounding skyscrapers. “Take off your mask!” they cried..
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The Fire Marshall took office with a mask, a slideshow, and some compelling statistics…
The Comfort Guide
Monika Vasey
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