“99 Obeah-men” by Karen Cavalli
I held a glass of champagne in my hand and stood alone under the dark night sky. . .
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“Rent” by Mark Budman
The strange woman at my door holds a knife and a fork. Her cutlery is sharp. She smells of raw oysters. A bag hangs over her shoulders . . .
“Café Blanc” by Laura Boss
It was the jet lag that had set Owen off . . .
“Out of the Woods” by Nathan Ward
“You better come get me,” George mumbled into the phone when his wife Connie answered brightly on the third ring . . .
“Falling Out” by Thomas Mitchell
The cool water of the lake bit into her as she reached for the canoe, hands slipping against the polished surface, tired legs kicking slowly at the darkness . . .
“No Mercy for Jameson” by Howard Gimple
Eammon Doyle wrapped his fist on the bar. “This is Col. James Kelleher, Jungle Jim to his friends. He’s just back from Belfast. I know some of you lads are thinking of joining the fight, so I asked him to talk to you.” . . .
“The Sweat Hut” by Alana Jules Jackman
It used to be so. Playing dead to catch Corbeau alive. Every day started with the Our Father.
“The Aftermath” by Christopher Fraser
“I’m sorry.” It was a simple statement, filled with honesty and sadness, but truth was evident in the man’s voice . . .