*Flash Fiction* The Stranger in Your Bed



The Stranger in Your Bed

By Laura Beasley

Her answers didn’t add up.

She told him the wooden cage was for a large bird she’d caught. But only small and medium-sized birds lived in the woods. She let him chop up the cage to burn in the fireplace.

She let him scrape the candy off the outside of the cottage. It had been a failed decorating project she’d seen on Pinterest. Women do crazy things.

They met on a dating website. He liked her long, grey hair and flowing black dresses. She was interested in marriage and liked children. She owned her cottage in the middle of the woods.

Their relationship was clicking and he planned to pop the question. He was ready to bring his grandson to visit on weekends.

Everything changed one day. He was fixing dinner in her kitchen while she painted her nails blood-red. He needed more EVOO for the salad dressing. He found the pouch of bones in the pantry. They were children’s finger bones.

He never married her. He kept his grandson safe.

He called the cold case district attorney. The DA had been searching for the killer of a missing child. A little boy had been lost in the woods for more than a decade.

Hansel’s parents would find peace at last.







D.S. Thomas

No-name could have been you and, for a brief moment, you were No-name. Everyone has been, at some point or another. Suspect and uneasy features assigned to an otherwise faceless being. A boogeyman. Someone’s nightmare. For a few moments, at least, you could have been a shadow that terrified or an unexpected voice that left your victim slack-jawed and pale. You might not have been my No-name, but you might have been somebody’s.

“You’ll keep quiet or…” Continue reading

The Only One in the Room



The Only One in the Room

By Nick Manzolillo

The bodies sway gently in the breeze, with one hanging from every other lamppost along the Main Street.  Robert wonders how they all got up there, he doesn’t see any ladders.  He takes one final pull from his cigarette and then tosses it against the asphalt. There’s a brilliant flash of sparks before the stub’s sole ember is left struggling to remain alive before it eventually suffocates.  Other corpses rock to and fro from the tree branches, but they are shrouded in the late evening darkness.  Go figure, the next bus isn’t coming ‘til the morning, but this was always meant to be the boring part of the trip. Continue reading

Flash Fiction Friday *Don’t*




Gregg Chamberlain


Don’t run out of gas.

Don’t get out of the car.

Don’t go look for help.

Don’t go near the old house.

Don’t knock on the door.

Don’t open the door.

Don’t go inside.

Don’t stay in the house.

Don’t explore.

Don’t split up.

Don’t go upstairs.

Don’t go into the basement.

Don’t go without a weapon.

Don’t turn around.

Don’t waste time screaming.

Don’t cry to me now that you’re dead because you just don’t ever listen!

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Don’t Fear The Reaper



Don’t Fear The Reaper

Alexander Brown


“I need you to kill him for me.”

The words were spoken in the right order, the request not unreasonable. After all, Brian Turner’s father had been a son of a bitch long before the Vietnam War but an even bigger one since.

But Brian also knew that rules were rules.

“You know I can’t,” Luke replied.

Before he could continue, Brian snatched the words out of his mouth.

“Rules are rules.” Continue reading

Crown of Thorns



Crown of Thorns

By Mark Slade

Blake came to Kerr’s séance, hoping to get in touch with his dead son.

Miles had committed suicide almost a year ago, just as Gregory Blake decided to quit his nationally televised show where he gave his sermons every Sunday morning at eleven a.m., a prime spot for syndication, right before football. Rev. Archbishop Gregory Blake, his full title, had his show, loyal worshipers that hung on to every word he spoke, nice cars, and a nice home in Canyon.

But he also had a lot of troubles. Twice a divorcee, women and drink would always complicate Blake’s life. Almost tried twice for being Heretic, he had less than half of the Church Officials he could call his friends or colleagues. It was Blake’s outspoken rants on Homosexuals in the Church, and getting the right literature to for married couples and non-married couples concerning planned families, or the fact he didn’t believe Mother Mary was  a virgin when she had Christ, that was kind of way of thinking as a carrier of Christ’s words and teachings, really ticked them off. None of that weighed on his mind as much as being able to talk to Miles one last time. Tell him, he was sorry. Continue reading





By Mike Carey

Billy wasn’t happy.

His parents were going out for the night, and in spite of his protests, they had called Lisa to come babysit. Billy hated Lisa. She always hogged the TV and the computer, she was mean, and she smelled weird. Worst of all, she made it sound like she was doing him favors and always wanted him to thank her. The doorbell rang and Billy shuddered. He knew that she had arrived and his best bet was to just stay in his room, but he knew what was coming next.

“Billy!” his mother called up the stairs, “come down here a minute.”

He knew the routine by heart. Dropping his phone on the bed, he sulked down the stairs.  As usual, Lisa had managed to block most of the bottom stair with that huge creepy old bag of hers.  She said she kept schoolwork in it, but Billy had never seen her open it. He tried not to look at her, but she could tell she was staring at him with her fake smile stretching across her pimply face, and her greasy red hair falling onto her bony shoulders. Continue reading