The Yellow Wall Paper

By Charlotte Perkins Gilman

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures. (Continue Reading…)

Jerry Got Bit

By Richard Dansky

Linda’s words hung there in the air, a bad omen that had arrived uninvited. Before I could say anything, she looked at her watch, then back at me. “We don’t have long before Vic finishes up with those losers and comes looking for me, so we’ve got to be quick. The only other thing you need to know is that they’re not human. They look human, and they talk human, but they ain’t. They’re faster and stronger than us, they can smell you before you ever see them, and those teeth ain’t for show. They’re predators, we’re prey, and the only advantage we’ve got is that they haven’t figured out yet that serious firepower can even the odds. They’re arrogant, ‘cause they think they’re just better.”

I thought about that for a second. “Sounds like they kind of are, really.”

She threw a wadded-up tissue at me. “Whose side are you on, anyway? Now get ready.” (Continue Reading…)

Graves Basin

by Daniel Roop

Mr. Hoskins, across the dinner table, had seemed confused when I tried to introduce the topic of the democracy of the dead. Ever the businessman, he politely shifted the conversation to areas he could more comfortably navigate. Trying to ingratiate himself as we chewed mouthfuls of pork loin, he asked Ches, “And young man, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Ches swallowed far too large a bite far too quickly in his excitement to blurt out, “Lotsa folks say my great-great-great-great aunts was witches, but that ain’t so. Daddy says they was more like scientists, and that’s what I wanna be. A scientist.”

Mr. Hoskins nodded and sipped his sweet tea, trying to decide which part of that answer to further interrogate in order to seem interested without giving offense. Witches? A farmer’s son growing up to be a scientist? Where to begin? (Continue Reading…)

The Song of the Living

by Tonja K. Johnson

When the trees start to smell sharp and crisp, I know The Dead Things are coming. That warning scent perfumes the air now. The fading summer gale bellows over a field of rolling wheat. Golden stalks bow to the force like cracked swan necks. They waltz to the tune of pine breath. Pirouette to the riotous rhythm of rot carried from The Dead Things shambling in a mass through the mountains. Below the craggy pass, craters blister up from the earth’s surface, oozing brackish slime. We are mostly alone out here. The land, too wild. The wind, too full of teeth. The river’s rush, brutal as tempest waves. Only micro pockets of Living rough the backwood to form small fortified settlements. It’s safer in the cities, with their high electric walls. Because when the trees tear up their roots and run, The Dead Things are close and only the ancestors can save you. (Continue Reading…)

Red Ripper

By Gordon Grice

Listen, I could still stretch half you pups if I felt like it. Sit down and learn something about the business. Did I ever tell you about the Red Ripper? I got a special reason for telling about him, because he’s come back to settle up with me. I never cared who he was under the hood, not until the night they went after him with a Polaroid. He was a good traveling buddy, and kind of a mentor, so what did I care? Wish to God I’d never got curious.

Some of the young guys thought Rip had a stick up his ass because he took his gimmick so serious. He never took that hood off, not even in the locker room. So one night they decided to pull a swerve on him. Rip had just gone broadway with Dory, and he comes back to the locker room and peels off everything but the hood. He’s standing there naked. Gray hair bristled on those round shoulders of his, and his balls hung halfway to his knees. What, you didn’t know that happens when you get old? Now you got something to look forward to.

Anyway, I saw one of the guys signal to another one, so I knew a swerve was up. Rip gets in the shower and one of the guys pounces into the next stall with a camera and the other guy gives him a leg up. The first guy leans over Rip’s stall and snaps a picture. I saw the flash and heard the bulb crack—they used to crack, boys, back in those days. One of the other old guys looked up and grunted a little, kind of annoyed about the flash, but he didn’t say anything. After a second, we heard Rip cussing in that grizzly-bear voice of his. The young guys ran for it like little kids. Rip comes out of the shower lacing his mask, soaped-up and cussing, and the mask is loose and flopping around, which made it look like his head was swollen up half again its normal size. Those two boys grabbed their gear and hightailed it.

Nobody laughed at Rip. Nobody needled him. People just stared at him a minute, and he stood there dripping, and then he turned around and went back into the shower. After a minute he came out with his mask laced up tight and got dressed and motioned for me to get a move on. (Continue Reading…)

Playing Tricks

By Angela Sylvaine

Dina had never seen her dad cry until the day he left. His face was puffy and wet with tears when he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, okay, Button?”

Dina stared at the scarred wood floor, dark curls shadowing her face. She knew he was lying, having talked to the judge about what he’d called Dina’s ‘homelife’ before he’d awarded Mom full custody.

“Just focus on getting well, Greg,” Mom said softly. She opened the front door and waited, fiddling with the frayed cuffs of her Grover Elementary PTA sweatshirt.

Outside, birds chirped, and the sun shone down on a kid riding by on his bike. Dina wondered how everything out there could be so normal when everything inside was so wrong. Their neighbor, Susan, stood at the edge of her front stoop, watching. She’d been over just about every day, comforting Mom and saying what a tough woman she was, what a good mom.

Dad shrugged into his flannel pullover, the one that felt so soft on Dina’s face when he hugged her, and walked out pulling the large, rolling suitcase they’d bought for their trip to Orlando. They never went to Disney, though. Dad had been too sick.

Her vision blurred, and she swiped at her face, reminding herself what Dad had said. She was a big girl, strong and brave enough to make it through this. But Dina didn’t feel brave, she felt scared. For her dad. For her mom. For herself. Everyone at school had seen Dad that day, watched him get dragged from her second-grade classroom. (Continue Reading…)