A short horror story based on Hans Christian Anderson’s "Steadfast Tin Soldier".
The Man Who Lost the Sea was originally published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, October 1959 and on Escape Pod episode 500.
This is my first ever published story, printed at Page and Spine in September of 2015. He hung in about as long as he could, Nicole reasoned. Scott had never been the forever guy. She'd known this the moment he walked into that dive bar. It was the sort of place she never went... Continue Reading →
There was a legend — of a ship — somewhere out in the belt. It was garbled. Maybe it wasn’t even a ship. Maybe it was a station, leftover from some alien civilisation that grew out of Earth’s primordial ooze and evolved before dinosaurs ruled, or maybe they were dinosaurs, space dinosaurs who saw that a planet... Continue Reading →
He floated next to the gyro in the calm silence of space. This was as close to “outside” as he ever got — ever would get if he had any say in it. He was station born, not quite so rare these days as it used to be, at least outside of the founding Company families, but still something to be wondered at. Station wasn’t the kindest place to children, unless you had very supportive parents. Manny was lucky that way.
I really enjoyed Naheem’s story. It grapples with very important, hard issues. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Naheem is our last great exorcist.When you point this fact out to him, he barely blinks. It is a title he accepts, not with humility or even resignation, but with frustration. “We should... Continue Reading →
Ellie watches her husband from the front porch. He makes a lean shadow against the twilight, his arms outstretched, his heels lifting from the ground and dropping again. The wind rustles the branches of the trees overhead, their limbs picked clean of leaves, their roots bitten with cold. The windows rattleshake inside their panes, a... Continue Reading →
In the beginning, there was dark. He couldn’t quite remember why it should be light, but he had vague memories of laughter and singing and fluffy whiteness that was completely opposite to the dark he was seeing now. When the light clicked on he winced and pulled back, as though he could escape the brightness. It was harsh, and it hurt at first, making him more blind than the darkness had. Slowly, his eyes adjusted.
The Galactic Council room was by necessity large - three of its sixty-eight members had to be seated in tanks filled with gases poisonous to four of the others, five needed extra gravity and sixteen needed special vocal amplification technology in order to be heard. Not to mention five delegates were larger than galactic average by several factors. The result was an enormous hollowed out mountain in the tenth sector, and meetings were necessarily infrequent. Most delegates much preferred digital communication.
Grob Thraktar, the undisputed champion of my goblin army, who had slain more elves than the most mighty of human warriors, taken more heads than the savage hydra of eastern Hoflaiin, and who had once single handedly wrestled the giant sandwyrm of the Blasted Wastes into a pit of firedrakes, was also always the one who was most enthusiastic about suggestion night.