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  Petty Theft

  by G. Allen Wilbanks

  Go ahead and take it, said the tiny voice in the back of Tony’s mind. No one will care.

  He eyed the display of candy bars, greedily. The clerk was currently distracted with the register and would never notice if one or two went missing.

  Why not? he finally decided and slipped a couple of the chocolate bars off their metal stand and dropped them into his pocket.

  Tony shifted the gun back into his right hand. “Hurry up,” he growled at the clerk. “Empty the register and put all the cash into that bag. I don’t have all day!”

  G. ALLEN WILBANKS is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 50 short stories in various magazines and on-line venues. He is the author of two short story collections, and the novel, When Darkness Comes.

  Website: www.gallenwilbanks.com

  Blog: DeepDarkThoughts.com

  The River

  by Ann Christine Tabaka

  A story was once told about a man who owned a river. He would not let boats pass through without paying a toll to him.

  One day, that man simply vanished. No one knew what happened, and very few cared. There was not a trace of evidence, not a single hair. A month passed, and most people forgot about him. They went on with their lives, happy to have free passage on the river.

  Months turned into years, and soon the case was closed, but the weighed down boat on the bottom of the river never gave up her secret.

  ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She is the author of 9 poetry books. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Burningword Literary Journal; Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.

  Compromised

  by G. Allen Wilbanks

  Detective Jonas glanced at his partner. When he was certain the younger man was distracted, he knelt beside the body and picked up the coat button beside the victim’s hand. He slipped the item into his pocket.

  There was nothing he could do about the shell casing. The beat cop had already noticed it and marked it.

  Toby was getting sloppy; leaving way too much behind at his crime scenes. Pretty soon, the moron was going to get caught regardless of Jonas’ interference.

  The next time he bumped into Toby, he was going to have to ask for more money.

  G. ALLEN WILBANKS is a member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA) and has published over 50 short stories in various magazines and on-line venues. He is the author of two short story collections, and the novel, When Darkness Comes.

  Website: www.gallenwilbanks.com

  Blog: DeepDarkThoughts.com

  The Artist

  by E.L. Giles

  The pressure grew, twisting my guts to the point where I wanted to pick up the knife and slash my stomach to release it.

  The urge to kill was here again. Vivid, pure, and beautiful. I could not resist the impulse to create—Yes! To create the most realistic and grotesque scenes one could imagine. This was my art, my poetry. My loophole to avoid dementia. Unless it was dementia that made me an artist.

  I painted with the most brilliant hues of purple and realistic textures of skin. People didn’t understand the beauty in my work. They knew nothing.

  E.L. GILES is a dreamer, passionate about art, a restless worker and a bit of a weird human. He started his artistic journey as a music composer until the need to put his thoughts and stories down on paper grew too strong for him to resist it any longer. He lives in the French Province of Quebec, Canada, with his girlfriend and two boys.

  Facebook: elgilesauthor

  Website: www.elgilesauthor.com

  Black Tears

  by Ximena Escobar

  “Dan?”

  It was all a blur, but I remembered fighting with him. I got up and pulled my dress down; I was still wearing my heels.

  He was in the bathtub. He could have drowned, the motherfucker. I kneed him on the arm, but he didn’t stir.

  I didn’t find eyedrops, but I found a razor blade. I wiped my fingerprints, dropped it in the red water.

  I told the cop I was unconscious. Black tears tattooed on my cheeks, drugs in my blood test.

  The stream of his wrist tattooed in my memory.

  My lie bruised on his arm.

  XIMENA ESCOBAR is an emerging author of literary fiction and poetry. Originally from Chile, she is the author of a translation into Spanish of the Broadway Musical “The Wizard of Oz”, and of an original adaptation of the same, “Navidad en Oz”. Clarendon House Publications published her first short story in the UK, “The Persistence of Memory”, and Literally Stories her first online publication with “The Green Light”. She has since had several acceptances from other publishers and is working very hard exploring new exciting avenues in her writing.

  She lives in Nottingham with her family.

  Facebook: Ximenautora

  One Last Thing to Do

  by Glenn R. Wilson

  After years of tracking down creeps like this guy, it gets mundane. Always the same. They cry about a hard life, lousy parents, oppressive society. “It’s not my fault,” they say. With a slick lawyer, a sympathetic court, and a stay at a mental institution, they get “reformed.” Just a fancy term for getting away with murder.

  Just once, I want to feel it like they do.

  “What’s so fascinating about killing someone?” I ask the loser at my feet.

  Before he can answer, I plug him good and watch him bleed out.

  Hmm. Feels alright.

  Now, I can retire.

  GLENN R. WILSON has come full circle. Making a point to mature, like fine wine, before diving head-first into his long list of writing projects, he’s approaching them with a plan. That strategy is to build with one brick at a time. He’s accumulated a few bricks already and is adding more. Over time, with persistence and determination, he’ll have a home. But for now, a solid foundation is the goal. Please, enjoy the process with him.

  Framing a Murder

  by Cindar Harrell

  I felt the life leave him as the blood from his pierced heart ran over my hands. I sighed in relief, the king, my husband, was dead. I collapsed beside his corpse on the bed we shared, not caring that blood soaked my dress.

  Rot in hell, bastard.

  I closed my eyes to steady myself. It wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t about to be charged with treason. I stood, grabbed the knife and made several long cuts on my arms and stomach, slicing through my thin nightdress.

  Summoning one of my servants, I dropped the weapon and began to scream.

  CINDAR HARRELL loves fairy tales, especially ones with a dark twist. Her stories are often fairy tale inspired, but she is also working on a mystery series. Her stories can be found on Amazon and in various anthologies. You can follow her on Facebook and visit her blog, which she promises to try and update more often,

  Website: cindarharrell.wordpress.com

  Facebook: CindarHarrell

  The Investigation

  by Rhiannon Bird

  She’d been staring at crime scene photos for days, writing reports and doing interviews. Was there anyone that wanted to hurt him? Did he have any enemies? Any strange behaviour? As the investigation continued, the team was beginning to see the dead end approaching. There were no leads, no witnesses, and no evidence. Just a dead body. It was finally almost over, she congratulated herself quietly. No one would have to know, and she could move on. She just had to throw the investigation for a little bit longer before shoving the skeleton in her closet and never looking back.

  RHIAN
NON BIRD is a young aspiring author. She has a passion for words and storytelling. Rhiannon has her own quotes blog; Thoughts of a Writer. She has had 4 works published. This includes 3 short stories and 2 poems. These are published on Eskimo pie, Literary yard, Down in the Dirt Magazine and Short break fiction. She can be found on Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

  Heist

  by Sinister Sweetheart

  It was supposed to be an easy open and shut case. The bank was broken into at around midnight.

  Only one set of fingerprints was found on any surfaces. All other evidence was consistent with only one person being in the building during the event, Theodore Johnston.

  The investigators searched the building intently; meeting a stalemate at the vault.

  Management was uncharacteristically sparse. There were problems finding the proper authority to unlock it.

  Upon entry, officers were shocked to discover Theodore’s slain body. The Medical Examiner claimed his time of death took place hours before the bank was ever robbed.

  SINCE Sinister Sweetheart made her first post to a popular Internet forum, she’s taken the horror community by storm. Her ability to create, terrify, and drive home her stories is insurmountable. Sinister Sweetheart’s published works can be found in multiple anthologies for all to read, but be forewarned, if you do... you may want to call your therapist after, her stories are terrifying, disturbing and devilishly unsettling. She is not only a fright visually, but also has a creepy tentacle in horror podcasting as well. Sinister Sweetheart writes, voice acts and is the media director of the Scarecrow Tales podcast.

  Website: Sinistersweetheart.wixsite.com/sinistersweetheart

  Facebook: NMBrownStories

  Death’s Door

  by Cindar Harrell

  I take my nursing duties very seriously. My patients’ lives are in my hands. People praise the doctors, but it’s always the nurses. The doctors barely have time for them, whereas I know them all by name.

  I care for them, I help revive them when they crash, and cry for them when they die. And many die. You can’t save them all, but that is hardly my fault. I help them see death’s door, but they are supposed to come back. If they don’t, it’s not because of my syringe, but because the doctors don’t get there in time.

  CINDAR HARRELL loves fairy tales, especially ones with a dark twist. Her stories are often fairy tale inspired, but she is also working on a mystery series. Her stories can be found on Amazon and in various anthologies. You can follow her on Facebook and visit her blog, which she promises to try and update more often,

  Website: cindarharrell.wordpress.com

  Facebook: CindarHarrell

  Nine Cats Worth of Crazy

  by Aiki Flinthart

  “Your husband, Joe, died of head trauma,” I say, gently. “Blunt instrument.’

  Mrs Winterford rubs rheumy eyes with age-twisted fingers. She is alone but for eight black cats, yeowling and eyeing me balefully—probably for taking away the half-eaten body. The house stinks of cat piss.

  “See anyone?’ I ask. “A weapon?’

  “No, officer. But I found Samson in the freezer.” Her smile is full of holes and bitterness. “Rock solid. Joe had run him over. Murdered him!’ She glowers. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Samson...the cat? Frozen hard?’

  “Yes.” She gives a satisfied nod. “Just hard enough, actually.”

  AIKI FLINTHART has had short stories shortlisted in the Aurealis awards and top-8 listed in the USA Writers of the Future competition, as well as published in various anthologies and e-mags. She has 11 published spec fic novels and has edited 2 short story anthologies. She regularly gives workshops on writing fight scenes at conventions. Lives in Brisbane. Does martial arts, archery, knife throwing and lute-playing.

  Website: www.aikiflinthart.com

  Pack Justice

  by Stuart Conover

  Joseph Vancovenhoven died at approximately midnight.

  That is what the coroner’s report stated.

  Detective Robert Svoboda rubbed his eyes.

  It claimed the cause of death as a wolf attack.

  That was wrong.

  He knew a shifter was to blame.

  One he had warned too many times to not hunt humans.

  His sister’s scent was on the body.

  As the lead detective in the town, he had sworn a duty.

  As the pack’s Alpha, he had also sworn a conflicting duty.

  Loading silver bullets into his revolver, Robert sighed.

  One way or another, he would have to bring Annette to justice.

  STUART CONOVER is a father, husband, rescue dog owner, published author, blogger, journalist, horror enthusiast, comic book geek, science fiction junkie, and IT professional. With all of that to cram in daily, we have no idea if or when he sleeps or how he gets writing done! (We suspect it has to do with having evil clones.) Stuart is a Chicago native and runs the author resource Horror Tree.

  Lost and Found

  by Joel R. Hunt

  Officers and monks gathered in the shadow of the rescued painting.

  “You see?” said Inspector Miller, “All that violence was for nothing. Here’s your sacred painting. Neither sect was responsible for the theft.”

  “She’s right,” said the first monk, “I am sorry we blamed your order for that vile act.”

  “Forgiven, brother,” said the second, “We thought you were heretics. We were mistaken.”

  They bowed to Miller, each other and the painting, then left.

  “You realise it’s a forgery?” whispered Officer Brown.

  “Of course,” Miller said, watching the monks walk down the monastery steps side by side, “But they don’t.”

  JOEL R. HUNT is a writer from the UK who dabbles in the darker aspects of life, particularly through horror, science fiction and the supernatural. He has been published here and there (though likely nowhere you’ve heard of) and hopes to have released his first anthology of short stories later this year.

  Twitter: @JoelRHunt1

  Reddit: JRHEvilInc

  Russian Roulette

  by E.L. Giles

  The revolver lay on the table, its chamber half full. Two men sat near it, their hearts pummelling in their chests.

  “The game is simple,” said a third man, approaching. He picked up the revolver, then tucked it into the hand of one of the men. He pointed across the table. “He dies, you’re free.”

  “You’re crazy!” shrieked the man, his bravado dying as a sharp blade came to rest under his throat. He gulped and aimed the gun. “I can’t.”

  “Do it now.”

  The man let go of the gun, sobbing.

  “Too bad for you,” said the third man.

  E.L. GILES is a dreamer, passionate about art, a restless worker and a bit of a weird human. He started his artistic journey as a music composer until the need to put his thoughts and stories down on paper grew too strong for him to resist it any longer. He lives in the French Province of Quebec, Canada, with his girlfriend and two boys.

  Facebook: elgilesauthor

  Website: www.elgilesauthor.com

  A Classical Conundrum

  by John H. Dromey

  “The success of this heist depends on clockwork precision in its execution,” the criminal mastermind told his handpicked crew. “I want to know in advance about any possible glitches. Have all of the mall security guards been bribed or intimidated?”

  “All but one,” a henchman said. “Julius Spencer is the lone holdout.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, Boss. Our female accomplice, Pearl, will be vulnerable for three seconds while moving through a red zone of the concourse on her way to disable the alarms.”

  “Is that a deal breaker? What’s the worst-case scenario for Pearl?”

  “Julius sees her crossing the ruby con.”

  JOHN H. DROMEY was born in northeast Missouri, USA. He enjoys reading—mysteries in parti
cular—and writing in a variety of genres. He’s had short fiction published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Martian Magazine, Stupefying Stories Showcase, Thriller Magazine, Unfit Magazine, and elsewhere, as well as in a number of anthologies, including Chilling Horror Short Stories (Flame Tree Publishing, 2015).

  The Murder of Miss Money

  by Ximena Escobar

  A serpent undulated in the unseen waters—anxiety twisting and knotting like guts amongst the spectators; silent as the spinning police light; silent as the lake.

  The car emerged, pulled by chains. Pat’s arm hung lifelessly out the window.

  Nobody saw the scarf that had been thrust down her throat, waving its mute ripples of stifled scream from within. It was all over Facebook; she had no money; her children didn’t talk to her—everybody’d seen that.

  Except for the forensic pathologist. He kept seeing the scarf in his memory. He’d tied her wrists to the bed frame with it.