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Latest Stories

March 13, 2025
General Stories Vishesh Panthi

The Powerful Adversary

A very wise master named Shamon lives in Japan. He is well-known for his intelligence and discipline. Shamon teaches kendo and jujutsu, traditional Japanese martial arts, in a small town in Japan. All those who wish to learn kung fu, kendo, or any other art…
March 13, 2025
Romance Stories L Christopher Hennessy

Tomorrow Is A Long Time

Lately, I just don't know. It's a beautiful feeling to be of use to a woman again and when I tell her, " Woman, please… Just let me do many things, " it makes her laugh. It's good to hear and her smile is amazing, too. Why do broken people see a way out…
March 13, 2025
Poetry Paweł Markiewicz

Autumn In The Heart

If you have autumn in your heart, blessed soul,the morning star foretells rain of memories here.Highlights and shadows – an ontological being.I’m curious about your paths, your ethical emotions.If the heart breaks the ice of memory,the heart becomes full of…
March 13, 2025
General Stories Devin D. Householder

Hinge Hookups In A Zombie Apocalypse

A 24-year old hairdresser and a 37-year old divorced English teacher scroll their phones in search of love…whatever that is these days. Kat eyed Jim while she poured his gifted Pinot into her tiny apartment’s only two wine glasses. His profile picture didn’t…
March 13, 2025
Horror Stories Robert Hugh

It's Not What You Think

The two uniformed cops stood by their motorcycles. The alleyway was blocked off while the forensics team did their job. “Do you know what happened?” “A detective told me it’s the killer they’ve been looking for.” “Who’s the other guy?” “No idea.” Nearby a…
March 13, 2025
General Stories Alejandro Casas

Hekate

In the early hours of the morning on the first Monday of the first week of the year 2020, Damian woke up panic-stricken at the sound of air horns blaring through his city. Awakening from the stupor of deep-seated rest, he recounted and pondered the…
March 13, 2025
Flash Fiction Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

Brotherhood Of The Blue Traveling Pants

Stop! Easy. Quiet. Listen. Don't rush. I want to tell you a story that needs you to close your eyes. It's the whole vibe. Trust me. I guess theories are oftentimes over-hyped. And this story could seem like a mathematical asymptote. But effort, sure as hell,…
March 13, 2025
Poetry Paweł Markiewicz

The longing The Pindaric Ode

You – such a dreamery born from Dionysian odes like tender day in Your winds – enchanted butterflies as the Golden Fleece – bewitched in my meek fantasy august paradise lost is thus found and so dreamy You lotus-like butterfly you – above volcanos with…
January 28, 2025
General Stories Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

Old Addictions In New Bottles – A Modern Retelling Of Rip Van Winkle

Mental gymnastics is no fun fair, and Rip Van Winkle had lost his mind. Certainly, It would help here to elucidate on the events that led to his losing his mind. Rip Van Winkle, after some wild tantrums from his wife, had left his home into the rocky fields…
January 28, 2025
Horror Stories Cecilia Kennedy

Photo Album For A Ghost

Wild owls hit my window at night. I have a floodlight on, outside, because someone has followed me home, and between the owls and the nightly invasions, I can’t sleep. A door, slamming shut in my dream, wakes me up because it’s real. I steady myself, breathe…
January 28, 2025
Crime Stories Jason Smith

Cinnamon Pine Cones

“I guess they found him.” Liam thought. He'd been expecting it ever since Ben had died. The city’s finest had turned out in force, the flickering lights lit up his living room. He'd seen the first police car arrive. The police officer had repeatedly knocked…
January 28, 2025
Horror Stories Alejandro Casas

Death

It had long weighed on the child’s consciousness that the illness and malaise of his early years had transformed his parents’ faces. His close brushes with death, both physical and metaphysical, had often reinvigorated his desire to live. Yet constraint,…

I awoke with a strangled cry, startled to find him standing over me.

The Stalker, dressed all in black like always.

Sure, I’ve seen him before, but never up close. Watching me from a darkened doorway, peering through the slats of the dingy blinds in an abandoned house, sitting in the next car over on the subway, standing on the opposite curb as I waited for the Walk signal.

For the most part, I’ve gotten over being afraid. In the beginning, I was terrified. Double- and triple-bolting the doors, nailing the windows shut, willing to take my chances on burning up in a house fire as long as he couldn’t get me. I'd worry that he’d gotten in the house while I was out, check every nook and cranny, places he couldn’t possibly fit, my frenzied imagination granting him superhuman powers. Maybe he could shrink himself to the size of a mouse, wait for me to let my guard down, reassume his normal size and come after me as I soaked in the tub or watched TV.

I bought the gun a long time ago. I used to carry it everywhere, even around the house, but it’s lying in a drawer now, gathering dust. Who knows if it even works anymore? Do bullets have an expiration date like medicine and batteries? Guess it’s a little late to go Google it now.

You know what they say: after awhile you can get used to anything, even a hulking stranger all in black stalking your every move. Okay, nobody says the last part, but I’m saying it. I mean, I still have a life to live. Work, bills, parties, dates. Although my dating life’s not so great—it’s hard to be intimate with someone when there’s always someone else watching. I know people are into that, but for non-exhibitionist me, it puts a damper on things.

After awhile I started imagining that The Stalker was a guardian angel. On the whole, my life runs pretty smooth. Like even though I live in a not-so-great part of the city, I’ve never been mugged, not even in the dark subway tunnels late at night. Maybe The Stalker’s a good guy. Maybe everybody has one; they’re just too wrapped up in themselves to notice.

He isn’t looking so benevolent right about now, looming over me. How’d he even get in? Have I gotten so complacent that I forgot to bolt the door? Now I feel invincible, telling myself he’s protecting me? Does he stand watch every night, and I’ve just never woken up before?

In all these years, I’ve never seen his face. Even now, it’s too dark. He’s too dark. Maybe he doesn’t have a face, just blackness, like the Grim Reaper. I’ve never seen him with a sickle...surely that would’ve caught my eye. Maybe the sickle’s a myth, artistic license to make Death look more interesting. Maybe he hired some fancy advertising firm to spruce up his image.

I can just picture the brainstorming session for that gig.

It needs something. It’s so blah—I know! It needs some color.

But it’s Death. Death doesn’t do color.

I’ve got it! A sickle. He needs to have a sickle.

Then everyone else would just stare at each other, not knowing what a sickle was. Once they figured it out, the guy who came up with it would get huge kudos, a raise...wish I had something like that on my resume. Designed the official image of Death—that would have the job offers rolling in for sure.

Has he been watching me all this time, just waiting to punch my ticket? Surely Death has a pretty full schedule; he couldn’t afford to spend all his time on me, unless he has a staff of underlings on the payroll, like all the Santa Clauses at Christmas.

Maybe he pals around with Santa, picked up the idea over a round of golf. There is all that business about Santa being an anagram for Satan...maybe he’s part of the dark side, too.

I glanced over at the clock. 3:47. Time to get the show on the road or call it a night. Death or no Death, I’ve got work in a few hours.

“Get it over with, or let me go back to sleep already.” That didn’t come out nearly as forceful as I intended, voice hoarse and scratchy. Still, The Stalker turned and walked out with a rustling sound, like leaves scraping in the wind.

He closed the door behind him; I heard the sound of the lock sliding home.

I rolled over to go back to sleep, smiling, finally figuring it out:

All this time, he’s had the key.

 

END

 

 

Vela Damon grew up in the rural south and now resides in The Lone Star State. Her short stories and poems have appeared in 101 Words, Dark Dreams Podcast, Leaves of Ink, The Subterranean Quarterly and several other publications. She has work forthcoming in Hogglepot and Blackout City Podcast. Find her online at www.veladamon.com and www.facebook.com/veladamon

 

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