The Horror Of Their Deeds To View

By Lizanne Herd

The door opens and we each press against the nearest wall. I lower my eyes. The police officer, the last one to be taken, had stood up and screamed at them, had taken a swipe at them, knocking one over. It hit the wall and made a sickening crunching noise, a crack in its shell, splat from several of its eyes smeared thick and brown as it slid to the floor. It took them only moments to turn on him. We all watched unblinking as new appendages, metallic and inscrutable, appeared from nowhere. They cut up the cop, perfect cubes of flesh, the blood filling the floor, the cracks, our clothing. The whole time they made those terrible clicking noises, swarming in on our faces and hands. Those cutting blades gliding over our flesh like a warning.

But not this time. They haven’t come for one of us. I’d thank God if I had a reason to believe in Him anymore. This is another drop. They make drops every few days. A pile of debris on the floor, garbage and scraps. And bodies.

Murdock The Nobody

By Kate Jonez.

‘Destiny is what you make it,’ Murdock’s eyes were unnaturally bright. ‘And luck is what’s left over. If you want something to happen, you’ve got to make it happen.’

Terrible Lizard King

by Nathaniel Lee

That night, Patrick’s dreams were troubled, full of rumbling sounds like drums or distant guns. Patrick woke up several times in the darkness and lay frozen beneath his blanket, unwilling to peep out because he knew what would be at the window.

He could hear it breathing.

Lives

by John Grant

Twenty minutes later, a ring at the doorbell.

That’s them, announces Marian, a slight drawl in her voice. Anxiousness has shoehorned her swiftly into a state of minor inebriation.

But it’s not them, it’s a man and a woman in blue, with faces as long as empty roadways.

A drunk started driving his SUV on the wrong side of the freeway. Took out four cars, another SUV and a plumber’s van before swerving right off and hitting a tree. Seven dead including the drunk driver. Three of the dead – an adult and two children – in the burned-out wreck of a blue Neon registered to Richard G. Charters Jr. The cops called first at Dick’s and Marian’s home, and were sent here by a neighbor . . .

All three of us on the couch in tears, me in the middle with my arms around the shoulders of the two women, as the cops do their best not to transgress their professional code of non-involvement.

The bell goes again, and the lady cop murmurs to us that she’ll get it.

The Moon and the Mesa

by Daniel Braum

We push our way through the hot maze of cologned bodies and emerge into the relative quiet of the street. She fishes in her purse but instead of taking out a pack of cigarettes she pulls out the little black gun. She holds it up admiring it in the streetlight.

“Didn’t you want to take them home. Didn’t you want to-”

“Aw fuck. What the hell are you doing with that? Don’t take it out here!”

I snatch the gun and stuff it back into her purse.

“Hey. Easy there,” she says. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re not going to. You said.”

She’s much too calm. It’s that calmness that scares me.