I hear a mother scream. She is haunted by the ghost of all the empty tomorrows, the house that doesn’t creak in the night, the silent graveyard safe from superstitious breath.

I too have that scream inside me, its silence continuing to bounce off the walls, the pain reverberating both inside and out.

When Maxwell slept, he always dreamed of chocolate. According to his psychoanalyst, this was a long repressed association he had with the candies his mother gave him as a child. His medical doctor insisted it was a result of his chocolate allergy (technically three different allergies to milk, nuts, and soy, but who’s keeping track). His wife believed it was a sign he should get her a Valentine’s Day gift (collateral damage be damned).

In other words, death by chocolate.

Steven was playing from behind from the start. Every time he made a play to get within striking distance, the deficit grew to the point it seemed out of reach. It didn’t matter how aggressively he attacked or how ferociously he defended, the cards were always stacked against him.

Steven never even heard his opponent call game.

The ancient gods of the Nilmani people occupy a liminal position between myth and religion, no longer worshiped but still respected. Only the oldest living souls remember these forlorn mischief makers, who liked to plague even their most devout followers with typhoons or earthquakes or other inconvenient harrassments.

It won’t do to anger a forgotten deity with nothing left to lose.

The entire population heeds the call to arise. Yet to an outside observer no actual call has been made, no clear sign or order to rouse the masses. You might question whether there’s a leader at all, for it appears a communal urge has overtaken the congregation and compelled an immediate revolution of activity after weeks of idle rest.

The flock, once airborne, assumes formation and heads south for its winter home.

The turkey is in the oven, and I breathe in the flavor. The table is set, and the apple pie is cooling on the counter; the sweet smell makes me want to eat a piece before the family arrives.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The trick or treaters are finally done for the night. Time for some soothing TV. Must be some
horror movie, some ghastly looking character is staring at the camera emoting “You’ll be dead
before the night is over.”

Must have a really late tricker, someone’s at the door now.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

When the Church implemented the new confessional system, Pope Earl the First proclaimed it would usher in a new era of community and humility. Father Gabriel had doubts.

“I’ve been sleeping with Sean’s wife for three months.”

After laying her egg, the female Emperor penguin spends at least two months at sea gorging on silverfish. The unfed male then incubates the egg for that entire time in the penguin colony. Ed and Fred were two Emperor penguins…

“After sitting here so long, all I seem to dream about is scrambled eggs.”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney