Short Stories

Panic laced its fingers through Greg Eskew. I’ve got us lost, put us in danger.

Alex DeNozia worked nights. He was a forklift driver at a warehouse in Colorado Springs, and it was his job to load up product onto trailers for next day delivery after the other guys on shift had organized the product onto pallets by type and destination.

Creeping, October fog lay thick around the Chamberlain Hotel’s empty veranda and clung close to the windows, like fragile, but heavy hands pounding silently on the thick, leaded glass.

Elise was sitting in the rear passenger seat of her parent's car, and her mother was driving. She was small enough that she was not allowed to sit in the front passenger seat.

Katie and Jason rolled their bikes through the thick forest. Their shoes crunched over the fallen pine needles, and the sweltering August heat slipped through the tree branches like boiling water.

We received a mundane call for a corpse found in the Downtown Wilson Apartments. Anne Elliot was found rotting in her living room after a foul smell was reported by a number of residents.

It’s not looking good for the Angels. Top of the seventh, Game 6, series tied up at three a piece, and the Giants are leading 4-0, just ten outs away from winning it all.

His prey was close by, crouched and trembling among a dense thicket of blackberry bushes, its breath visible in the cold night air.

The first thing my wife says to them is: “No one is coming to help you. No one will ever come. Get that out of your head. The only person who can help you is yourself.”

What I’m about to write won’t sound like your usual introduction to a collection of short stories, especially not someone’s first collection. For one thing, I’ve decided to write it myself instead of asking someone like Clive Barker, Stephen King...