Pig, of brick house fame, smelled something burning. Was it a weasel? Then he heard cursing coming from next door. Witch again! After countless warnings from the city, she’d refused to clean up the candy bits and cake that littered her yard, refused to cease and desist in the eating of children. But what if she was on fire? What about the Good Samaritan Law? A law that he and his two brothers scoffed at years before, when they thought taunting a wolf caught in a trap was amusing, almost as enjoyable as the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

He was a short chapter in my story, merely a page turn, but, in his story, I was the witch who broke his heart, and that bothered me. Knowing he would always view me as the wicked witch I didn’t want that part, I didn’t ask for it. I just could not love him the way that he wanted, and he couldn’t give me the love that I craved, no matter how hard he tried. Years later, when he calls me a whore, I pretend it doesn’t bother me. It’s just his way of coping, and I accept that story.

From Guest Contributor Kelsey Swancott

Kelsey is a senior majoring in English with a minor in Visual Arts and Spanish while also being involved in the campus literary magazine Angles. She plans on furthering her education by getting her master’s degree in English as well.

I know I am asleep. I am floating, cruising through an old neighborhood. I recognize every detail of the houses and the trees. Perhaps I am just exploring the deepest, untouched basement spaces of my memory, where everything is stored? I float by an antique shop. The elderly owner, opening it up, looks at me. Now I muse: am I experiencing astral projection within my dream? I float by a little boy in black: going to a funeral? He is snagged on my floating robes, which are also black. I wonder: is this how one becomes, all unknowing, a witch?

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar

Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.

The witch stared into the candlelight. The darkness and tempest outside would strengthen her spell, To Make Him Love You More. He wasn’t home yet, now was her chance to cast it.

Decided, the witch chanted.

From Guest Contributor Soleah Kenna Sadge

Soleah is a fantasy writer. You can learn more about her and her writings by visiting https://linktr.ee/sksadge

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

What came to pass? Life in red, gushing red. There was blood in the soup, blood in the stew, blood on the hands of my husband. I thought about the plagues in Egypt, the Pharaoh who knew about miracles turned against him. I thought about science. That what flows, surely ebbs? While the old king’s blood ran blue.

From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda Lowe’s poems and stories have appeared in Gone Lawn, Crack the Spine, What Rough Beast, New Verse News, Tiny Molecules and others.

Old castles and dungeons. Wizards and dragons. Evil Orcs and bewitching princesses. And he above all, The Mighty Knight, the warrior chosen to save the world from eternal doom.

Nothing but memories.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

John, riding down the dark empty road at three o’clock in the morning, takes a swig of beer.

Lying dead with his head on the steering wheel and his thumb pressing on Amy’s cell number, the phone begins to dial.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Jack wanders into the local for a pint at the end of his evening walk.

He glances back through the pub window at the carnival of fools, none of whom will escape the Reaper.

From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Leo squeezed Hayden’s neck. Slowly the life began to leave her body as her eyes widened and face reddened.

Leo wiped down every trace of his finger prints and DNA. He put the gloves in his pocket and left Hayden’s house intent on finding the man she left him for.

From Guest Contributor Lisa Scuderi-Burkimsher

Jodi watched the rain through the picture window. She’d never be allowed outside as long as the weather continued, but she looked and she plotted and she convinced herself that what her parents didn’t know couldn’t be punished.

Although Jodi fought valiantly, she succumbed to the same fate as her great-grandmother. Witches just weren’t meant to battle against rain.