Short Stories

Channel Zero

12:16

A killer enters the room. No one notices, and the show goes on.

I switch on the receiver and catch a glimpse of tenant #62 in grid four. He’s cooking a late dinner. On the street, in the hallway, I might call him Jim, or even Mr. Hollerbach. But here, in crystal-clear hi-definition, he’s tenant #62.

That’s the way Channel Zero works.

This story previously appeared in 365tomorrows and Soundzine, 2007

4 pages – 564 words - Download 117kb PDF

Down the Tubes

Mrs. Taggart sat down at her desk and sipped her coffee while going over the day’s lesson plan. When the clock struck eight, she set down her coffee, reached behind her ear and synced herself to the network.

White, snowy static filled her eyes, and when she blinked, she found the virtual classroom before her. A group of thirty students sat at their virtual desks, some attentive, some not so much. She cleared her throat.

“Good morning, class.”

This story previously appeared in 365tomorrows, 2008

5 pages – 594 words - Download 133kb PDF

Jeff & the Antichrist

It’s from nightmares of a bloody, ravaged planet that I wake to find a pudgy demon sitting on my chest. At least I think he’s a demon. His body is shaped like an upright football, with spindly arms and legs accented with elongated claws for fingers and toes. I say “he” because of the tiny, engorged phallus poking up from between his legs. He has jagged teeth, horns, eyes of fire and a distinct smell of sulfur, too.

This story previously appeared in CRAM, 2007.

12 pages – 3,324 words - Download 139kb PDF

Migration of the Butterfly

Betsy opened her eyes. At first all she saw was an inky void swimming in the forefront of her vision, and then Clayton’s form started to come into focus. The back of his head, rather. There was movement behind him. Footsteps came to her ears, and somewhere out of that crawling shadow behind them stepped a tall man, his head bowed slightly. Darkness covered his eyes and most of his face. His black coat seemed to stretch to the ground, to fade in with the shadow behind him, as if they were one.

This story previously appeared in Suture and Kaleidoscope, 2005.

72 pages – 25,658 words - Download 410kb PDF

One Fix

I can’t remember when I decided to quit smoking. It may have been Friday, but I’m not really sure. Everything’s blurred together. It feels like razorblades have sliced off the tips of my memories, and that’s okay with me. I’m not sure if I even want to remember.

This story previously appeared in Art-Underground, 2003.

7 pages – 1,567 words - Download 114kb PDF

The Great Wall of Suburbia

Old man Hensley had had enough. With everything, he would say, if one was so inclined to ask (which was not very advisable, to say the least). It was his first morning as an official retiree and, if it was any indication of the mornings to come, he would much rather return to his job as a contractor. It wasn’t the concept of not having to support himself that pushed him over the edge (quite the contrary, actually—after working so long for Fairview Contracting, he had quite a hefty pension under his belt); rather, it was his surroundings. If asked, Mr. James Hensley would say: “It’s the fuckin’ neighbors.”

This story previously appeared in the “Walls” issue of Contemplicity, 2005.

14 pages – 4,254 words - Download 180kb PDF