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 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...

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 ...

More Bedtime Stories for All-Night Reading

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

The Wolf’s Cry, Chapter One

"I'm wondering if there isn't a connection between this Viking’s appearance and our man's disappearance." "Yes, but I still don't know.  It's all...so...well, I don't know.  So unusual..."

Shameless Plug for a Friend’s Poetry.

Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.” AIR A Song of Taliessin While walking out under the greenwood fair […] via… Continue reading Shameless Plug for a Friend’s Poetry.

The Jumpgates of Our Star: Part Four

He checked his Kruger in its holster. It felt good in his grip. 'No', he told himself. 'Not just yet. Not yet.'

The Basis of SubCreation

It only occurred to me this week, some few days after I opened the Stories shelf with The Bestiary and The Legend of Gnat Bunker what those two pieces have in common.  They are not merely "creative" but meta-creative. They're about how we create what we do, and in a deeper sense, why.

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...