All the Eyes That See

by Alan Baxter

Sitting on the neatly upholstered chair in the tiny office I try not to let my frustration show. “Really, nothing at all?”

“Not in town.” The real estate agent’s face is apologetic. “With the flower festival on it’s our busiest time of year.”

“There must be something.”

“It’s our own fault, Jim,” Mary says, putting a hand on my knee as she smiles at the agent. “We just don’t have distances like this in England. We under-estimated how far apart things are.”

Sydney to Melbourne is nearly as far as London to Glasgow, but it’s such a speck on the greater map of Australia. This continent is inconceivably huge. That realisation doesn’t help us now, late afternoon in the middle of nowhere. Our decision to take the scenic route has come to bite us. “Is this really such a small town?” I ask.

The man leans back in his chair, still smiling. “We’ve a little over five hundred residents, nearly half of that out on farms all around. In town there’s one hotel and one motel, both packed to the gills. Lots of people travel in.”

“For the flower festival.”

“What about the Carroll place?” (Continue Reading…)

Thoughts and Prayers

by Meg Elison

he’s over by the gym

Maddie’s phone buzzed once and she glanced down and saw the text. She had long schooled her face to not react to notifications, but she had no idea what this was about. When Mrs. Bethel turned her back, Maddie carefully slid out her phone.

The text had come from Daniel, her friend from first period. They often split a large iced latte in the morning, sharing their secret coffee obsession that they both hid from their parents.

Thumb flying in silence, Maddie texted back: ???

Mrs. Bethel’s class was on the far east side of campus, on the basement floor. The gym was on the far west end, so the sound of it didn’t reach them until it was too late.

he’s headed toward the library lockdown your class (Continue Reading…)

Impostor Syndrome

By Gregory Marlow

Looking back, the first red flag was during the job interview, when Chad said their target demographic was males, ages thirteen to seventeen.

“That’s pretty specific,” I said.

He shrugged. “Market research.”

If I had been using the critical thinking skills I obtained from five short years of undergrad, I would have asked why not eighteen or nineteen. If I were using my conscience, I would have questioned the ethics of any product, even a video game, that targeted minors.

I wasn’t using those things to make decisions anymore. I was thinking with my stomach. The same stomach that was eating discount Ramen by the glow of a computer monitor for the last six months, while I begged for my first job opportunity in the game industry.

(Continue Reading…)

“More salt on the places that never healed” – Holly Green

Witchcraft

By Arthur Machen

‘Rather left the others behind, haven’t we, Miss Custance?’ said the captain, looking back to the gate and the larchwood.

‘I’m afraid we have, Captain Knight. I hope you don’t mind very much, do you?’

‘Mind? Delighted, you know. Sure this damp air isn’t bad for you, Miss Custance?’

‘Oh, d’you think it’s damp? I like it. Ever since I can remember I’ve enjoyed these quiet autumn days. I won’t hear of father’s going anywhere else.’

‘Charmin’ place, the Grange. Don’t wonder you like comin’ down here.’

Captain Knight glanced back again and suddenly chuckled.

‘I say, Miss Custance,’ he said, ‘I believe the whole lot’s lost their way. Don’t see a sign of them. Didn’t we pass another path on the left?’ (Continue Reading…)

Grandifolia

By Elliott Gish

The first time I do everything the way I’m supposed to. I wait for the new moon and walk into the woods at midnight. I carry a jar of pig’s blood and wear a wreath of nettles, ignoring as best I can the stinging on my scalp. I tread silently, carefully, one bare foot settling deep into the dirt before I lift the other, until I find what I am looking for.

The tree sprawls lasciviously across the hollow that shelters it, its branches spread wide and low. An American beech, its pale bark gleaming silver in the dark. Fagus grandifolia. That’s the scientific name, Fagus grandifolia, big leaf beech. I looked it up before I came. I don’t know why.

No—that’s a lie. I looked it up to gird my loins with trivia, to guard against the utter foolishness of what I have come here to do.

I pour the blood in a careful circle around the trunk, careful to duck the lowest branches so I don’t dislodge my nettle crown. There’s barely enough. By the time I close the circle only a few stubborn drops slide down the glass.

I back a few feet away and kneel, my knees sinking into damp earth. Closing my eyes, crossing my fingers, I say the words, and I wait. (Continue Reading…)

All the Good You Did Not Do

by Jolie Toomajan

When the doors slide open, the screams escape. Saul is summoned from his security podium by the researchers’ howls, and he slides in his formal uniform shoes until he finds them caged in an elevator open to the atrium-style lobby. A young man hauls a woman from the back of the elevator and slams her to the floor. Oh no, she has lost her shoes. The young man tears into the raw meat expanse of her neck with his teeth, ripping strips of flesh and spitting them next to her. He plunges his hands through her body, digging into her guts, and then he snaps his head and he sees Saul and he runs so fast How could anything run that fast and Saul fires his gun When did I reach for my gun and the head collapses in on itself until nothing remains. Is that supposed to happen? What’s left of the man drops to its knees, where it wobbles in an eerie circle as if choosing where to land. It finally tumbles backward. (Continue Reading…)

Bad Doors

By John Wiswell

The country was at just over ten thousand deaths the morning that the door appeared. On Kosmo’s phone NPR was interviewing a doctor with a nasal voice about the need for social distancing, while Kosmo himself collected empty cans from around his home office. They were everywhere. Walls of recyclable cans dominated his room. Just beside his bookshelf, out of the view from where he taught his Zoom classes, he’d constructed a veritable castle of empty Coke Zeroes.

“If you spread your arms wide, that is roughly the distance you want to be away from others,” the doctor explained. “That prevents your breath and expectorate from coming into contact with others.”

Kosmo tried spreading his arms that wide—he’d always been gangly—and promptly knocked over a three-stack of cans balanced on top of his Riverside Chaucer. The cans clanked to the ground and rolled into the hall. Kosmo chased them, hunched over, like cartoon dinosaur in pursuit.

Nearing the hall, he called out for his cousin. “Jesse? Got any empty seltzers? I’m doing a recycling run.”

That’s when he saw the new door. It was equidistant on the wall between the entrances to his room and Jesse’s. Its deep burgundy color stood out against the plaster white of the walls. It was perfectly flat, without any veins or grain, like it was liquid that had merely cooled to look like wood. It had a square knob, made of polished ebony that shone against the redness. (Continue Reading…)