Issue 44 - First Paras

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Parsons was sat back in the rickety chair—astonishing it could carry his weight—feet up, Marlboro reds on the table in front of him. Three empty beer bottles, a fourth bottle going, overflowing ashtray. Also, a bottle of the local rotgut, which he grabbed when he saw me, lining up a drink for both of us. Besides me and him, the only other person in that small, square space—perhaps the only other person awake in the village—was the raggedy kid who fetched the beer from the fridge hitched up to the generator out back. He was wiping down the bar. The bar was dual purpose. It had a urinal along the front so bodily functions needn’t interrupt drinking.

'Animals and Men' by James Machin

The steam room is warm, womblike, pulsing with clouds of comforting vapour that alternately hide and then reveal the little lights discreetly set into the ceiling, whose auroras illuminate the mists of tiny hot droplets that ease her muscles, soothe her skin and, with each heated intake of breath, help cleanse her lungs. Sharon stretches out full length on the tiled bench, enjoying to the full the luxury of being the only user. This is what she gets here so late for. To have the whole, delicious, tiled, glass-doored little space to herself. No leering men, no pushy superiors with their deliberately deniable double entendres, no bitchboss working her way up the ladder by digging her spike heels into the hands of the female colleagues holding onto the rung below.

'Steam' by Sam Dawson

November had come to our small town of Plumston with its customary lack of mercy. Winds were north easterly and carried the threat of rain and aches and pains in the bodies of many of the inhabitants. One of our town’s doctors was Dr Henry Hopkins, who was kept busy at this time of year going from house to cottage to almshouse, tending to the needs of all. He was about thirty-five years of age and had trained in London. He lived with his mother and his father, who was also a doctor, now retired, Hopkins having taken over the practice as senior partner. He was considered by many of the mammas as fair game for their match-making and certainly turned many heads among the female population of Plumston. 

'Dr Hopkins’ Tale', or 'Mr Nicholas' by Victoria Day

Everything was dark.

            You’ve come back. For a time, after Carly, everything went dark and you went away. But now you are back for one last trick-or-treat.

           

'Endless Halloween' by Michael Kelly

I travel a lot. Towns, cities, countries—everywhere. One of the happy side effects of all that scooting around is that I meet new people all the time.

'Ghost Stories' by Mark Patrick Lynch

“Pass the cider, Steve, mate, there’s a good boy.”

Across the fire and eight empty cans of Stella, Dan saw Steve lean out of the circle of light and reach behind him, rummaging in the backpack.

'Low Tides' by Mathew F. Riley

FOR ATTENTION OF: US Ambassador ONLY

My name is Ellery Bascombe III, and I am a junior attaché in the United States Embassy, Mexico City. Herewith my report, as requested, one single copy delivered by hand to you:

I was duty officer at the Embassy on the night of Friday, October 31 / Saturday, November 1, 1947. I was manning the night desk when shortly after midnight a telephone call was routed to me from a private address in Calle de los Rechazados. I was informed by caller Elizabeth DRUCE, an American student at Mexico City College, that American citizen Jane SMEDLEY had died at that address earlier in the evening; also that her boyfriend David ROGUS, also a US citizen, was about to be or had been arrested on suspicion of her murder.

'Report on the Death of a US Citizen' (novella) by Steve Duffy