“In the Kitchen” by Josh Krigman
The floor was covered with Timothy’s blood when Maurice came down the steps from the dining room to see how things were moving along . . .
Tag: Noir Series
“Superman” by Darryl Graff
I was born in 1962 in Stuyvesant Town, a middle-class housing development located on the East Side of Manhattan. When I was young, I used to see an older kid who rode his ten-speed bicycle through the neighborhood. He always wore a Superman costume, and he steered the bicycle with his feet, with his hands always high over his head and his red Superman cape flapping in the wind behind him . . .
Join Us at the Brooklyn Book Festival!
Join us and our Akashic authors at the Brooklyn Book Festival!
“Tiburon, CA” by George Masters
Tedesco was dead, frozen and wrapped in a tarp in the back of the Chevy Suburban when Berlin stopped for coffee in Tiburon . . .
Joyce Carol Oates’s Introduction to Prison Noir
To celebrate the release of Prison Noir, the latest in Akashic’s Noir Series, we’re pleased to bring you this decidedly dark sample from the anthology: editor Joyce Carol Oates’s introduction, “Seeds for Next Year.”
“Orange Crush” by Siobhan Lyons
Mondays Are Murder features brand-new noir fiction modeled after our award-winning Noir Series. Each story is an original one, and each takes place in a distinct location. Our web model for the series has one more restraint: a 750-word limit. Sound like murder? It is. But so are Mondays. This week, Siobhan Lyons takes us back […]
Eric Boyd: Swimming Lessons
To celebrate the release of Prison Noir — the latest release in Akashic’s Noir Series and edited by National Book Award winner Joyce Carol Oates — we’re pleased to feature a guest post from contributor Eric Boyd, who gives insight into what it’s like to write while incarcerated.
“Sugartime” by Erik Arneson
I was running a dust cloth across the top of the glass display case housing my most prized first editions—Hammett’s The Dain Curse and Christie’s Perilat End House among them—when the bell above the door jingled and a middle-aged man stepped into my used bookshop in Philadelphia’s Spring Garden neighborhood. His cashmere trench coat made me hopeful for a big sale, but the ratty Yankees cap and knockoff sunglasses he didn’t remove gave me pause . . .