The two men walked slowly through the graveyard, glancing at the five-or-ten word death-tweets carved on the stones. Roger Hartley seemed agitated as they passed more and more of the worn and overgrown headstones. They all seemed too old, few showing terminus dates later than 1900.
"It's buried here, with the humans?" All us fellas loved Miss Violet May, right from the start. She came from the land of Twelve Thousand Lakes, came click-clacking on the train from North to South till she met worthless Sorry Joe Weevily, and he sweet-talked her into getting off and marrying him.
We'd never seen a girl from that far north before. Course, them northern girls ...sometimes you don't see them at all, ain't that what they say? Leastways that's what I always heard. That them Twelve Thousand Lakes was fulla nothing but ghosts, spirits drifting around from one fingerling lake to the next. Albert sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Beside him, a bearded fellow yelled at the bartender.
"And bring me two more shots of bread while you're at it!"
by Damien Angelica Walters
Hush Leda sleeps within a nightskin.
Published on Feb 28, 2014
by Tom Jolly
Published on Feb 27, 2014
by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Published on Feb 26, 2014
by Tina Connolly
Published on Feb 25, 2014
by Christopher Kastensmidt
Published on Feb 24, 2014
by Peter M Ball
Of the sixteen recorded executions featuring Signore Don Vashta as the subject, I have been present for three, and I have read detailed and verified accounts of two more. In addition, I am known as a man who has an interest in such things, and thus I am a man to whom all rumors eventually find their way. Among our fraternity, if we can truly be called such, this makes me something of an expert, and I do not take this duty lightly.
Published on Feb 21, 2014