Fiction

In a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet suburb (near the noisy city), lived Jeffy

No one was alarmed when Melina Henderson wasn’t home by dinner time

You discovered her in the laundromat, but even without that she was a special kid

They tell me I’m married. A gold band encircles my left ring finger, but the short stocky man with a faltering smile and probing eyes is a stranger to me

In the stillness of his basement workshop, surrounded by his tools and half-finished projects, Ed Foley is cranking a clamp around a cracked table leg when the wooly spider returns

If you want intrigue, it’s there for you. Always has been. Take, for example…well, anything

General Consensus is deemed by all colleagues at Central Command to be the serious sort

The house was a wooden foursquare, now clad with beige vinyl, in a working class neighborhood.

When one is not sure of something, one goes to a witch. Witches are full of wisdom

Should she, or should she not?