As the new employee at the haunted mansion, I quickly realized that my job is to communicate with the ghosts rather than clean up after them. Neither appeal to me very much.

It turns out that the undead are just as susceptible to gaslighting as the living.

Survivors with faded numbers tattooed on their wrinkled forearms slowly reboard the tourist bus. The archives they were supposed to visit burned down months ago. Yahweh beckons me forward with a curled finger. Don’t make eye contact, I remind myself. Seconds later I feel the blast wave on my cheek. It also knocks off my hat. “Look!” Yahweh booms in his usual angry voice. “Remember!” There are clouds, come evening, that will resemble bleeding stigmata. There are birds that return to nests in the eyeholes of skulls. I could try to explain it to anyone who asks. No one asks.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

The butter-yellow rotary phone was sitting on the carpet in the living room of the empty apartment. It’s cord and wires were disconnected and curled around its body.

David bent over, picked up the phone, and quietly walked out the door.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The bombs are exploding, but I don’t look back. My son is screaming, so I grab hold of his hand tightly and run.

We are the fortunate who survived.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The time machine had come with many instructions, disclaimers, and warnings. Multiple signatures were required, acknowledging no one could be held liable for what was about to happen other than himself. His lawyers advised against proceeding. His priest refused to absolve him of his sins, both past and future. His children cried.

He didn’t bother explaining that everything they feared had already happened. He died before he was born. The reality they knew and cherished was not the reality they had known and cherished. They paradoxically clung to an existence that never was and always would be.

Seventeen doctor visits to prove my mind was sound. In yet? I assured them that Abe Lincoln was a senator in my world. And? To me, the rapture had happened. Meaning? I was missing two billion people from a couple of days before. Did they believe me? I had photos to show them. They started feeding me pills to shut me up. What did the photos show? Deagel.com showed a population of 8.5 billion and? The current reality had 6.3 billion people. They said Photoshop. I laughed. Why? To realize one is dead when breathing is not what one expects.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Clinton is a blogger, disabled, filmmaker, and poet living in La Paz, Bolivia.

A few years ago, editor and I visited Malheur Refuge in remote Southeast Oregon. This was before the infamous “occupation” by a fringe group. We got a visual treat starring a coyote and a pheasant. The coyote would approach the pheasant and the pheasant would fly fifty feet out of range. The coyote would approach again; the pheasant would fly off again. Neither party seemed particularly excited. It seemed they may have played this game regularly. We watched for a few minutes, but we had other things to do, and it appeared that this game could go on for hours.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

To this date, she had led a fairly convenient life. No big ups, but no big downs either, aside from the occasional deep grief over the loss of a pet.

When it was her turn, she said: “Can I speak to the shop manager? Tell him it’s Karen.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

My Tata sat in the front row crying. A photograph of his beloved 1977 taco truck stood next to Mita’s casket. Very first taco truck on the east coast, he always said. Mita bought a taco from the truck at closing. She was a stunner and captured his eye. Always the gentleman, he would not let her walk home in the dark. He drew a crowd as he rolled up to her family home in the taco truck. Her parents came out and wanted to evaluate his cooking. Today will be the first day they will be apart since then.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

NT Franklin has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

The last time I saw Clara, she was by the door waving goodbye after our passionate kiss. I still smelled the scent of her flowery perfume.

The photo of my wife was destroyed in the mayhem when it dropped from my hands.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher