Fiction Archive

Fiction

Sandmagic

Where are the uncles? Cer thought. The uncles must come. But the uncles were not there, and Cer heard a terrible scream from inside the garden walls.

In May 2011 (Issue 50)

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Fiction

The Devil in Gaylord’s Creek

by Sarah Monette

I got my sword out of the trunk. Its name was Stella Mortua. John Ray hadn’t had a clue, but Francis told me what it meant: The Dead Star.

In May 2011 (Issue 50)

Fiction

I learned about creation from Mrs. Grimm, in the basement of her house down the street from ours. The room was dimly lit by a stained-glass lamp positioned above the pool table. There was also a bar in the corner.

In May 2011 (Issue 50)

Fiction

Study, for Solo Piano

by Genevieve Valentine

The windows go first, from enemy fire and bad frosts. Then the moss and ivy move in, and the birds, and the rain. At last, the brick begins to crumble. By the time the Circus comes, it will be a ruin.

In May 2011 (Issue 50)

Fiction

A Hunter’s Ode to His Bait

by Carrie Vaughn

“I’ll take her.” He tossed the pouch of silver at the woman. It landed at her feet, and she hurried to pick it up. Her husband was dead, and she had eight other children to feed.

In April 2011 (Issue 49)

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Fiction

The House of Gears

by Jonathan L. Howard

The notes had referred to a Monsieur Samhet, who lived in a strange house in the hills. They were vague about Samhet’s accomplishments, but he seemed capable of resurrecting with an insolent ease that intrigued Cabal.

In April 2011 (Issue 49)

Fiction

The Woman Who Married the Man in the Moon

by Peter S. Beagle

Stories never end. We end. If we could but live long enough, we would see how all tales go on and on past the telling

In April 2011 (Issue 49)

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Fiction

Choose Your Own Adventure

by Kat Howard

Are you brave enough to begin? If so, turn to page 1. If not, remain safe. Close the book and return it to the shelf. No one will think any less of you.

In April 2011 (Issue 49)

Fiction

The Lonely Songs of Laren Dorr

by George R. R. Martin

One moment there was only the valley, caught in twilight. The only sounds were the cries of the mourning-birds coming out for the night, and the swift rush of water in the rocky stream that cut the woods.

In March 2011 (Issue 48)

Fiction

The God Orkrem

by Tanith Lee

To a man bereaved of all as I was, distance and time are only words. For me then, and also now, only one word any more can exist: God. The god Orkrem.