Prefer to listen to your fiction? The following stories of mine are available in audio format:
“What the Blood Bog Takes”
Far Fetched Fables, no. 156, May 2, 2017
Read by Andrea Subissati
“I want to watch,” Asthore says, grabbing my hand. She knows my dread of the blood bog, yet pulls me after her, onto the trackway. I try to turn back, but others from our village press close behind us, as eager as Asthore to see the fate of our clan-chief.
“Notes on a Page”
Far Fetched Fables, no. 140, January 10, 2017
Read by C.J. Plog
“Feeling, Ms. Adams!” he says, his German accent as thick as his eyebrows. Every criticism begins with those same words, that same exasperated tone of voice that makes me want to crawl inside the music and hide behind the staff lines. “Beethoven wrote a piece full of passion. You’re just playing notes on a page.”
Far Fetched Fables, no. 47, March 10, 2015
Read by Gareth Stack
Keith touches a hand to his nose, and I’m not sure what surprises him more: the blood my left hook drew, or the fact that his boxing gloves have suddenly disappeared.
“The Swan Maiden”
Far Fetched Fables, no. 10, June 24, 2014
Read by Rachel Dee
The windowless theater makes it impossible to keep track of the days, but I am certain that years have passed since Fyodor’s last visit. I fear that he has died while his magic has not, for here I still stand, a swan maiden poised forever on pointe. Forever cursed.
“The Holy Spear”
Tales to Terrify, no. 112, February 28, 2014
Read by Jedidiah Kalanu Shepler
When Eric hit the ground, all he felt was pain–pavement scraping his cheek, machete hilt digging into his hip, forearm burning where he had been bitten.
“The Girl Who Welcomed Death to Svalgearyen”
Beneath Ceaseless Skies, issue 126, July 25, 2013
Read by Tina Connolly
Adda looked up and down the snowy lane, but Grandma Marit had already disappeared into the darkness. The only movement came from flickers of firelight sneaking out of neighbors’ windows. The darkness groaned in annoyance at the tittering flickers, who flitted up and down the sides of the box-like wooden homes. The flickers skipped over the ground and tickled Adda’s feet, even through her heavy boots.
“The Little Things”
Every Day Fiction, August 13, 2012
Read by Izzy David
Allie clasped the edge of the café table, white-knuckled and queasy as she watched Paul reach for the tea bag. His profile hadn’t said anything about him being a tea drinker.
“The Sins of the Living”
Tales to Terrify, no. 15, April 20, 2012
Read by Joe Sammarco
Thomas tossed his head back, drained the last of his ale, then slammed the mug down hard enough to knock his tri-cornered hat off its perch on the table’s edge. The throbbing in his temples worsened; even the jolting motion of his last carriage ride home from Richmond hadn’t made his head ache so badly. But ten mugs of ale wasn’t enough to erase that final image of Sarah, lips blue and eyes wide with the vacuity of death.
Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, issue 5, September 2011
Read by Geoffrey C. Porter
Figures, Pete thought as he stared into the rabbit cage. Mr. Fluffy lay corpse-still, his formerly floppy ears rigid and his pink nose no longer twitching. The damn rabbit would have to up and die on Good Friday.
Beam Me Up!, episode 258, April 23, 2011
Read by Paul Cole
Alex surveyed the room with weary eyes. So much metal, so much technology, and none of it could stop them. Why had he wasted time barricading the door?