It is a little known fact that Herbert Hoover was never really interested in becoming president. He actually started his career working as a mining engineer, traveling the world developing mines for various precious metals. At this time, politics was the furthest thing from his mind. His simple ambition, if you can call it simple, was to have a dam named after him, preferably the most famous dam in the Western Hemisphere. Becoming the President of the United States was just, in engineering language, the straightest line between two points.

Too bad Hoover’s mostly remembered for causing the Great Depression.

House manager Morgan came into my room. He sniffed the air and looked disapproving.

Then the telephone rang.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Derek is the writer of “Murder from Beyond the Grave” available on eBay.

Dr. Sheila Fabiana, PHD., surveyed the water with her binoculars, looking for signs of predation. Sharks patrolled these waters. Her current task was to record their feeding behavior and keep track of various data related to hunter and prey.

Sharks are literally incapable of pity or empathy. Ruthless by definition, but are they really?

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” squeaked mouse, prostrate in the straw.

The Circus Train gave a shrill whistle as it pulled into the station.

From Guest Contributor Tim Law

I’d told everyone I knew what I was doing. A real pro. So when the sound system had a connection problem and no one could hear the introductory speaker, my heart dropped instantly. Not because of the mishap. I could talk my way out of a mishap.

At least the electric shock that killed me happened quickly enough I never felt a thing.

The doors open and the bridal party makes their entrance, the music resonating throughout the church. The women shine in their baby blue gowns and the bride, Belle, arm in arm with her dad, shines. Her white gown with sequined embroidery catches the eyes of the onlookers, as her father smiles and leads his daughter to the groom. My stomach churns. I can’t let this wedding happen knowing the truth.

The room, aghast over the disruption, waits for me to respond.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Autumn evenings hit different. You know the season because of how the air cools your sun-burnt skin, and you crave melting into the breeze. Insect music dances across the same wind as your smile. The scent of decay tantalizes with its promise of the most peaceful hibernation. Surrounded by abundance, knowing there’s more than you can ever hope to enjoy.

I fall asleep, a big spoon in a drawer with just enough silverware for a single meal. Remember to wash it after every use and one spoon is enough to last a lifetime.

It’s been three months since you died, but it could have been three days or three years. This time, this forever after, is something separate from our former life. Some people thought you a burden, but I was a volunteer, an eager one at that.

You are the best friend I will ever have.

Ralph and Rayette were at breakfast, with Ralph treating. He called the waiter over to their booth with its plywood table top.

“Six? You think six flies is a lot? You should see the number of ‘em in the kitchen…Especially around the pot of oatmeal.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

I moved into my workshop, with a gas-ring and pair of chickens in a cage. I needed no assistants. I watched the sky from a hilltop laboratory, harnessing the lightning.

In reality I sleep under the stairs in my friends’ flat. He’s a motorcycle courier, she’s a receptionist. I work where I can, wherever the agency sends me, seven days a week. If I’m ill I rely on her noticing and bringing me soup or something. I have a notebook to record my dreams. Huge flights of geese turn furrows through the red November skies. Worlds can barely contain me.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers