My dark little selkie story is up now at PodCastle! (First new publication to actually hit in like forever.)
Basically, I'm relatively fond of selkies as a concept anyway, and then I read an article about the culture and conditions surrounding Alaskan fishing trawlers and went "Hmm."
Dave Thompson had specifically requested I send it to him, and then I found out he was planning to leave the editorship of PodCastle, so this is sort of a farewell on several levels. Best of luck, Dave! We love you, man.
And it wasn’t. It flowed out of the tap and down to the sink, clear and cold to the touch, but it wouldn’t get anything wet. He added coffee grounds to the filter holder and they just hovered in the middle of the fluid, undampened.
He glared at Betty, sipping blithely from her mug as she sat at the table. “How did you get yours, then?”
Betty shrugged, then indicated the dark gouge in the wall behind her. It dripped, glistening wet. “The bricks aren’t working right, either.”
spent the night in a haunted house. We
didn’t have to. No one forced us. We’re not sure now why we did.
were no horrifying apparitions. No blood
dripped slowly from the ceiling. Nothing
moaned or whispered. No fingers clutched
or trailed softly down the soft hairs along our arms. The house was musty and damp, and we slept
fitfully, fearfully, expectantly.
at all happened.
when we opened the door to leave and found only another hallway stretching
off into the dark and distance, smelling of age and mildew.
spend nights in a haunted house.
Part of the Advent Ghosts annual event at I Saw Lightning Fall.
The Squid of Despair takes up most of the living room now. Its muddy, brown-gray skin saps the brightness from the room, or perhaps simply highlights the lack already there. It rolls a dinner-plate-sized eye at me as I step over its sprawled tentacles. I kick it. It does not respond.
“You should just get rid of that thing, man,” says Cal. The Hummingbird of Whimsy flits around his head, while the spiny Scorpion of Sarcasm lurks on his shoulder.
The Squid lifts one tentacle, then drops it, limply, on my lap. Because of this, I cannot kick Cal, too.
There will be short stories and very short stories. The short stories will be from 1000 words up and will be rare. The very short stories are what I'm calling flitterfics. They will be posted whenever I have a chance, hopefully at least twice a week.
All material is under a Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike license. Write your own, paint a picture, sing a song; just link back to me at some point and we're solid.