Science Fiction, Horror, and Fantasy Stories

Artatra stormed down the five hundred black marble steps to his laboratories and warrens. It was utterly intolerable, the restrictions under which he worked. That a mind such as his should be yoked to an unimaginative, plodding, stupid . . . well, not stupid, exactly. That was the problem! If the Presence in the Throne was stupid, it could be worked around. The mind behind that mask was sly, it was well-ordered, and it knew far more than it rightly ought. It was unimaginably worse than stupid—it was a functioning mind that lacked vision.

"You won't burn my wedding pictures." I extended my hand, demanding the memory stick back. "Naiomi, you plugged this into your work computer?" Carter ground his teeth while taking a deep breath, following it with a sigh. "I'll have to run a full scan to see what kind of virus you've given it. You know the security policies. Your memory stick is now company property. You signed the same NDA we all signed. I'm throwing this memory stick into the incinerator." "They're the only copy of my wedding pictures, and I need to get them off that stick." I tossed my single, long, blond braid over my shoulder for effect. I doubted tossing my braid looked terrifying. Perhaps if I swung my head around and whipped him across the face with it.

The ting-a-ting-clank announcing a customer caught me off guard. No one came in Moore's Gas & More in July. We didn't have air conditioning. Even the taffy got squishy. I popped up from the candy row and gave my jeans a yank. "Can I help you?" I squinted at the customer standing by the corn chips, backlit by the window. I guessed woman because she was short. I figured she wanted the john. "Back there." I pointed past the air filters. "Only got one. Uni-sex and all." She stared out the window like a little kid, her fingers hooked over the magazine racks. "I'm Cinny if you need anything," I said. I resumed my candy shelving, singing Gloria Estefan under my breath. I had a good set of pipes. Mama said my voice was sweet enough to soothe baby birds out of the nest, whatever that meant, only I was too awkward to sing in front of folks. The customer scuff-scuffed into the candy row like she didn't know to pick her feet up. I turned and I figured out she was a he, and the strangest little he I'd ever seen.

Bill Wexler woke at six, as he did every morning, and kissed his wife. "I'm going for a run," he said. She didn't reply.

No one in Bridge could remember exactly when the legend of the Pusherman began. As folk began to go missing, the stories just appeared, fully formed, as if they had fallen from the sky. Some in Bridge whispered that the Pusherman was an old graybeard who hunted children playing along the Edge because he was envious of their youth. Others said he was a jealous husband who pushed his cheating wife over the Edge and came to enjoy the taste of murder.

Ladies and gentleman of the jury, I don't expect you to understand. The mountain of evidence that seems to support the prosecution's case is daunting to say the least, but all of it is based on an adolescent understanding of the forces that move the universe. I must stress to you once again that Ambassador Gupta is alive and well.

"Owen! You've got snail mail!" "What's that?" Owen asked, taking the envelope from his father. "Don't they teach you kids anything at college?" Owen opened the envelope, and read the single sheet of paper. His father whistled from over his shoulder. "That looks official. Is it a scam?" You are hereby ordered by the court to appear in civil hearing of copyright infringement, patent infringement, smuggling, and bootlegging of a human organ.

Andy sat on the edge of his bed, hands cuffed behind him. Uniformed police finished carrying the last folders out of Andy's apartment. His computer, all the contents of his filing cabinet, and even his checkbook left with the last of the uniformed officers. A suit-clad detective made one last sweep of the apartment. He spotted the phone sitting in its cradle by Andy's bed. "Almost forgot your phone." He grinned at Andy. "Not that we need it after what we found on your computer."

I had enough silver to hire the turnip farmer as a guide, but did he speak the truth? “You can believe it, Gregory. It lives in the western wilderness, the most fearsome serpent I've ever seen.” Mud from baiting a hook stained his hands but did not reach the sleeves of his yellow shirt. No dragon had been seen in the region during the reigns of the last four kings, and most disappeared within a generation after the settlers drained the swamps. “How many dragons have you seen?” I inquired. He chuckled. “Um, well, I've seen plenty of brown rock snakes.” “You compare rock snakes to dragons?” “I'm telling you it stood bigger than a bear. Came upon my sister as she dug turnips.” “She cried out?” “No, my sister neither hears nor speaks, but you never met a kindlier girl. She ran back to find me mending the plow. Never too early to start preparing for sowing, you know. Pale as a corpse, she moved her mouth in vain and pointed.” “What did you do?” “As soon as I saw it, I took my father's spear from above the fireplace. He served as a spearman, a great one, in the king's army, and he taught me a little.” A woman's voice piped up from atop a small boulder that sat against the riverside. “Ralph, you've never seen a dragon, and I've never known you to miss a chance to back down from a fight.” The voice belonged to a …

“What do you think is in it?” There had been a solid five minutes of silence between the two boys before Alex finally asked the question. Another minute passed before Andrew gave him an answer. “My first guess would be a dead body,” he replied as they continued to stare at the coffin sitting in front of them.