SHORT FICTION

By Erik Sean McGiven  -  Nessdahl Neavis died today, how inconvenient. He was supposed to trim Mrs. Stabler’s hedges and Carla Maursetter was counting on him to weed her garden. Other town folks had trees to prune, fences to mend, and with winter fast approaching, there were all those storm windows to install. The old handyman’s death created a pesky problem for the folks of this small Midwestern town–who was going to do all these odd jobs? There were, of course, capable gardeners, painters, and carpenters in town, but who...

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By Arthur Smith - The yellow Vauxhall car careered into the compound parking quietly and gently just outside the concrete garage. Morris watched keenly as his father descended from the saloon car. Amadu, the Fula servant, was quick to make himself available. Together with his master, he opened the back boot. “Take this upstairs. Ah, look out! Handle it carefully,” Amadu obediently and carefully took the big box out and laid it carefully on the concrete floor. He then rushed back to close the steel gate. “What is it, Daddy?”...

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By Leonard Arden  -  The Gathering Tree, it was a large Horse Chestnut, believed to be the largest in the county. In high summer, its leaves afforded shade and was employed as the focal point for the annual fayre. This day, the last day of the fayre was to be one of excitement. Today, the Queen, the beautiful Glenora, officially widowed but a twelvemonth, was to cast off her widow’s weeds and begin her search for a consort. Her husband, Prince Robert Raith, from the Northland, had been a worthy...

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By Gary Paul Bryant  -   When Mark saw Mount Robson come into view, he knew his troubles would soon be over. It was the Canadian Thanksgiving but just another weekend in mid-October for most of the people he knew back in Oakland. The sky was clear and Robson had a new dusting of snow at the seven thousand foot level. He and his three climbing partners were going to attempt the Kain Face on the north east side of the peak. His sister Caitlin had decided to come...

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by Holly Weiss –  My childhood farmhouse looked pretty good as old farmhouses go. It stood proud and serene as it had for so many years in my memory. It had been unoccupied for years, but the renovation had paid off. I was proud of all of the work and money I poured into bringing my old friend back to life. The new roof kept out the rain, the windows sparkled in the sun, and the back porch no longer sagged sadly among the weeds. Inside, fresh flowery wallpaper...

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