Newest Stories

The Eyes of Lester Strange

Lester Strange was not very strange at all. In fact, he was quite the normal man. He stood five foot ten inches tall, drove an old blue Saturn, ate lunch every day at the Subway two blocks away from his office and always wore a tie. The ties were always yellow and the eyes were always blue.


Drip, drip, drip endlessly like clockwork ticking, tick, tick in my head, eating at my brain like a bug in my ears. It had been what, days? Weeks? Years? Perry had lost count, living off of fish and the water flowing between rocks made time run in a strange manner. It smelt odd in the caves as well, but it was hard to tell if it was just him, or the dead fish.


For Alessandro Manzetti: I keep him in the basement. I never let him out. Sometimes he cries, and I let him, because I love him. If I didn’t love him, I would have murdered him already. I hear him, though. The crying I can tune out but the sounds of his pencil… The world knows many things, I have made it my duty to prevent us from knowing.

The Sound of Trees

Across the street lives a woman with snakes in her hair. She watches me from between the rotting drapes that keep the sun from melting her living room furniture. Her eyes glow in the dark, and she thinks I can’t see her, but I am not as stupid as she thinks.


It was snowing out. In the living room, Jake was sitting on the edge of the worn leather armchair, lacing his boots. Nicky was still asleep in their bed. He had tried to rouse her (or should that be arouse her? He had hinted at having a little early morning fun, but that had gone down like a lead balloon), and had failed miserably.


I didn’t want anything to do with it. I swear, it was all him. He chased it down, he cornered it, and he took the first swing. We were in the clearing, panting. He stared at me, his eyes all big and black-like. When he spoke, his words vibrated through my sneakers, up my leg-bones and roared in my chest.