More Bedtime Stories for All-Night Reading

Ladies and gentlemen, and scoundrels of all ages, this is the page for the stories. 

Night-Time is Always the Worst: Ch 5

Jonas had never been so far up in all his life. The sidewalks he was used to had no railings because it was only twenty centimetres to the street, not hectametres. He walked more carefully, one hand against the reassuring wall. The air was clearer up here, and the early morning light was almost blue after thousands of yellow and grey-green mornings below. He looked again at the address as a tungsten-yellow Phœnix Valkyrie roared past, freely sharing bullets with the DPD at close range. Jonas pulled his coat around himself, thanked the OneTrueGod for a day out of the factory, and prayed for Clara's safety.

Night-Time is Always the Worst: Ch. 4

Kriever didn’t like public trans, and insisted on driving his old Sting Ray everywhere. He glanced over to the passenger seat, where she sat with his coat still over her shoulders. “Which way, doll?” he asked. The rain had eased up, for now...

Always Good for a Bad Pun

M.C. of the San Quentin Talent Show: "I've never had a more captive audience.  Thank you, gentlemen.  I'll be here all night.... Unfortunately." "I miss Ol' Rex every day since the day he died." / "That was the last day I did miss that dog." The Bedouin's daughters are pretty intense. "Waiter, there's a hair… Continue reading Always Good for a Bad Pun

Night-Time Is Always the Worst: Ch. 3

“I didn't like the way you treated Sam just now,” she said when he reached her table. “Sam was begging for it.” She was wearing something much too short, but Kriever was too busy to be impressed. “Put on a coat and take me uptown, doll,” he said.

Night-Time is Always the Worst: Ch. 2

The asthmatic death rattle of the air-scrubber was a comfortable sound, a beacon home in the crushing waves of the street.  It had guided him home every night now for eight years to the same drafty building and the same putrid stairs, and the same motherless little girl at the top who made it all worthwhile.  Clara was eleven and all that came with it.  Her father would give his life to save hers.

Glastonbury Abbey

This one's a short stand-alone I wrote back in '04.  It's set in medaeval Europe, sometime after the events of King Arthur's time. It is, of course, my own work, and not to be republished or sold.  Enjoy. “I am old,” I tell him.  “My eyes do not work like they used to.  Give me… Continue reading Glastonbury Abbey

Night-Time is Always the Worst: Ch. 1

“What's the word, Feng,” he asked the alien as it hovered back and forth, stirring this pot...mixing that... “I just told the blue boy I ain't seen nothing,” he mumbled.  “You eating tonight?”

The White Cobra: The Lair of the Cobra

We pushed our way through the shattered city. All around us were the signs of a race without hope, an entire nation devoid of both love and life. "Is this what they saw at Pompeii?" I wondered. Men and women both, dead before they died.

The Final Sunday In Ordinary Time

The familiar carol's paradigm downshifted like McQueen and floored it, and I realized what the shepherds saw that had them "sore afraid."  

Pray for Iran and Iraq

Death toll from Sunday night's earthquake was being reported as upwards of 300 in Iran alone, as of 4:00 pm local time.  Lord God, watch over Your children and keep Your people safe.  Let their hope through this crisis testify to Your Son's power and His deliverance.  In Jesus' own most holy Name, let it… Continue reading Pray for Iran and Iraq

The Wolf’s Cry: Chapter Four

"My friends, guests, neighbors, jokebrunts, et cetera, et cetera, I have asked you to come because Things are Happening," said the satyr. 

The Wolf’s Cry: Chapter Three

"Now, here are my maps, all very incomplete, of course—a little hobby of mine.  Folks from all over come in here, mostly gnomes, of course, but a few dwarves not too proud to duck a bit sometimes.  The Father has blessed all his children, and I feel my blessing is to share in hospitality."

The Wolf’s Cry: Chapter Two

Were those footsteps?  He hid himself behind a massive oak—greater than any he had seen in Europe.  The trunk was more than five feet in diameter, and smelled musty—very musty.  He could almost smell the centuries of age in the bark. But there were the footsteps again!  This time he was sure of it.  He peered out around the trunk...

Done Honorably, This is Always Worthwhile

http://www.artofmanliness.com/2017/10/30/adoption-101-options-process/ Take care of the widow and the orphan...

The White Cobra: The City of Cobras

Then a roar like the fall of a second Atlantis tore the jungle behind us.  The great pillar stood shuddering, and then it fell, smashing branches and saplings on its way.  It shook the ground when it fell, and the treetops parted ...