After Nine Lives.

A cat dies and is ushered before the Throne of God. “Nice pad, mate!” says the cat, “I think I’ll stick around! ..."

The Headship Game: Game On!

Neither I nor Dalrock mean to imply either that biblical headship is "a game" or that it consists of the self-appointed-stud-bull attitude marketed as being "Alpha" or having what its marketers call "Game" (capital G).  They are in fact mutually incompatible, but are far nearer in form-- and this is Dalrock's point-- than either is to the culturally-popular emasculated gamma-male role that is too often mistaken for "being a Good Christian Husband."

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...

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 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."

More Bedtime Stories for All-Night Reading

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

Among the Ruhig

A slender girl was silhouetted in the doorway against the early light.

Bedtime Stories to Read All Night

Check back each week for new stories!

The Further Adventures of one Gnat Bunker: (An American Tall Tale)

Nat took another drink and began another tale...

The Legend of Gnat Bunker: An American Tall Tale.

It was a slow day in 1871...