Fiction - Year V - Number 42 - November 2020

Barista Bob had gotten so used to people of Cape Misty calling him Barista Bob, he sometimes forgot he had any other names. So, when Detective Peters asked him for his full legal name for...

The Site The Metro North train lurched from side to side as it accelerated, wheels squealing, out of Grand Central station and into the dark tunnel. She, Essie, was accustomed to the rattling banshee scream...

                                                                                                         Where the Money Isn’t                                                                                Ron Singer              “Because that’s where the money is,” was either Willie “The Actor” Sutton’s reply to some journalist’s softball question, “Why do you rob banks?” --or fake...

A brass bell suspended in a wooden frame stands in a square of hard-packed yellow dirt about the same area as a two-car garage. They call it a park, but it’s not much of...

The Two-Tailed Monster Cat The hauntings began three days after Ishani moved from India to Kyoto. She moved through narrow straight roads, with traditional Machiya-style houses, adorned with paper-lanterns. She was running away from something—...

            It was quiet under the water.             The tepid bathwater made Mina feel weightless. Her hands bobbed next to her, not touching her skin, not feeling the shape of her stomach or her hips...

Pulpit Rock: A Reverie in Three Acts Roger McKnight                I Hank Standish saved his and Hanna’s serving cup after City bus 12 rammed a curb, but nothing stopped the chocolate sundae from swishing onto her white...

I had hitched down to L.A. to visit my friend Paul back in the 70s when all you needed to get someplace was a thumb. I was going to school at U of Montana...

I make my way down the stairs, careful not to overtax the joints. Small, deliberate steps are the rhythm of my days: slow and steady, unexciting and painless. But as soon as I sit...