FEATURED STORY:

CAMPY
BY CARRIE CLEVENGER
ALSO IN THIS ISSUE:
EXTRA VIRGIN
BY ANDREW JACK

THE ASHES
BY CHERYL TRACY

MALAKH IV
BY SIOBHAN MACINTYRE

DISCARD
BY ASHELYN SANFORD

GEMINI RISING TIR NA NOG

BY NL GERVASIO BY NL GERVASIO

BEST OF LUCK THE TELLIAN LAW

BY KILIAN CONOR Vol. I, Issue V
BY ERIC J. KRAUSE
  
 
RUNNING INK PRESS

Forever Nocturne Magazine

Volume I, Issue V

Herein are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the au-
thors’ imagination or were used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, busi-
ness establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Non-fiction: news articles were thoroughly researched before being accepted for submission, and links
are given for more information.

All rights reserved © 2010 Running Ink Press

Edited by N. L. Gervasio
Co-Edited by Siobhan MacIntyre
Cover Design by N. L. Gervasio
Magazine Design by N.L. Gervasio and Siobhan MacIntyre

Published by Running Ink Press

PRINTING HISTORY
2010

This magazine, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without the prior written permis-
sion of the publisher or individual author.

For information, address:

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ISBN:

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1st Edition

MATURE CONTENT: READER DISCRETION ADVISED

March 2010 Forever Nocturne

Photo © 2009 NL Gervasio

Volume I, Issue V

Welcome and thank you for  much that pay will be.  designs the Halloween issue 

downloading the FN ‘zine!   This is Forever Nocturne’s  and I design the St. Patrick’s 
First, if you’re reading  5th issue and I’m very ex‐ Day issue, which I can’t fig‐
this, you’ll have noticed the  cited about some of the  ure out for the life of me 
$1.00 cost to download the  submissions we received  because she’s the Celtic one 
’zine this time around.  this last round, especially  and my favorite holiday is 
Charging this amount will  Carrie Clevenger’s Campy,  Halloween. Regardless, as 
enable many things for us in  as she is our featured au‐ soon as we’re both finished 
Photo © 2010 M. Hoffman
the future, the first of which  thor this issue.  Carrie has  with our degrees, the ‘zine 
is the ability to finish legaliz‐ been with us for a while  will become available quar‐
ing important details with  now as a contributing  terly. Until then… click 
Inside this issue: our press, and the second:  writer, and we just love her  around. 
Campy 2 to pay our writers in the  and her work. Be sure to   
near future. What this and  check out her websites and  Sláinte! 
Extra Virgin 4 the next issue will do for us  her story featured in the link  Jinxie_G 
Jinxie_G 
is give enough information  below. 
The Ashes 13 for us to determine how  Now, Siobhan generally 

Malakh 16

Best of Luck 21

Gemini Rising 23

The Tellian Law 31

Carrie Clevenger worships Maynard and on twitter
Tir na nOg: Pt 1 34 dreams of cephalopods on trains among as @Carrie-
other oddities in Austin, Texas. She is Clevenger. Photo © 2009 C. Clevenger
Discard 39
motivated by Stephen King, music, ex- Look for her in Lame Goat's Howl:
cessive amounts of coffee, and forks. Tales of the Feral and the Infernal out
The hub of her evil network is found now on Amazon and in Chinese Whis-
at http://www.carrieclevenger.com/ and perings in October 2010.
Page 2
March 2010
Photo © Gilbert Tremblay
It was the sound that got them. The eerie screech-
ing, howl-thing that held their hands mid-air and
Volume I, Issue V
their eyes bulging from the sockets. The sound of
bestial mockery, imitation and otherwise downright
fucking scary shit out there in those woods.
Casey was the first to move; the rest watched
her carefully in order to determine whether or not
the health-risk was higher than acceptable.
“What in God's name—“
It sounded again, this time closer. The me-
thodical tick of the silly little pine-cut cuckoo clock
tapped away at their courage. The hour struck and
the little carved birdie that popped out may as well
been laced with electricity, because everyone
jumped.
The ivy trailing up the east wall reinforced the
sign that this place was forgotten. Paid-for and just
left for whatever. Casey and Tom were seeing one
another; Sheila and Brandon were not. They had
math together the year before, and since Shelia and
Casey were best friends, and Tom was Brandon's
buddy, it all sorta worked out.
Until nightfall.
“Are you sure you've built a fire before?” Ca-
sey asked, hands on hips watching Brandon fumble
with matches and kindling in the unused fireplace.
They had to go out and cut wood for it. Tom
picked mesquite and the room smoked up pretty
fast.
The door provided a little relief, but Shelia ven-
tured outside for a smoke while Casey and Bran-
don argued about trees and wood and stuff and
was pretty much out of it. Until the sound.
It circled around the cabin,
pulling the group together in the
middle of the one-room house; a
noise like rushing through a field
of grass, or a bunch of birds tak-
ing off. . Casey retreated under Tom's strong arm
with a slight whimper, but Shelia refused to sub-
ject herself to Brandon's smelly armpits. Jocks
tend to be more on the moist side.
“What is that?” Brandon whispered in the
flickering light of the Coleman kerosene lamp. It
was green, like color mattered in camping gear,
and thankfully was included in the $99.95 deal
down at Price-Savrs for the Complete Woods-
man Set. It'd also come with a fuzzy-flocked air
mattress, queen size, and it was already assumed
that Casey and Tom would be fucking on it be-
fore sunrise.
“Close the windows,” Tom said, his blue
eyes uncommonly dark with huge pupils. His
nostrils flared, and a trickle of sweat eased down
his cheek. But Tom smelled like that new men’s
deodorant Axe, and not a chopping ax, because
that would have come in handy to cut the wood
for the fire. Casey kept stroking her hair, and
Brandon could hear the rough sound of auburn
curls, a sort of scritch-scritch-scritch sound, on
top of the howls in the fucking forest, and oh
shit he was just about to goddamn well lose it
right there and then until Shelia scoffed and lit a
cigarette. Right there in Casey's dad's cabin.
Right in front of everyone, who would have
bitched about the smell except they all envied the
damn blond bitch, with her icy blue eyes and
liquid eyeliner.
She hated her name, because she was named
after her grandma, and who in the hell really
wanted to be named after some old dead lady?
“Fuck this,” she said and ducked out of Bran-
don's grasp to walk to the open
doorway. A screen separated her
from the pressing black outside
their little abode. The trees
stood silent, unwilling to divulge
 Page 3

Volume I, Issue V
any more secrets to their inhabitants. A bird cooed and Shelia smiled. Casey knew that same smile in gym,
right before she decided to tear down some unsuspecting freshman chick for trying to get out of a shower
after running laps. Seniors showered. Seniors had fucking tits to show off, and since sex was overrated and
highly preached against in their sleepy town of Chase Nook, Colorado, someone had to see those beau-
ties.
Casey'd seen them up close, once. Shelia was thinking about getting piercings there and asked her
opinion on whether gold or silver rings would look better. Then she asked her if she wanted to feel them.
Casey swallowed, remembering that feeling.
She looked back to the doorway. Shelia wasn't there.
“Hey guys, where did Shelia go—“
Her words were drowned out by Shelia's scream, somewhere behind the little house, but with the win-
dows all blank eyes to the outside, it could've been in the roof.
Casey slapped Brandon's arm. “Go outside and find her!”

March 2010
Brandon nodded once and started for the door, but Shelia burst back inside, gripping her neck.
“Fucker bit me!” Her eyes crossed for a moment before she wilted to the floor. Brandon dragged her
closer to the middle and slammed the door shut, following up with a swift locking of all three bolts.
“She's bleeding,” Casey shouted, pulling her jacket off to stanch the flow. Shelia's features were
pinched, her lips bluish.
“We have to get her to a hospital,” Casey said, pressing down on the wound while Tom picked up the
phone. He wiped his hand on his jeans to clear away the dust, his face hopeful, then sinking into unmistak-
able despair.
“It's dead,” he said, and let the phone drop to the floor.
A solid thump at the door jerked the three's attention to it. Another. And another, like bricks hurled at
the thing, and Shelia was coming around.
“She's waking up,” Tom said, squatting beside her.
“Great deduction,” Casey snapped.
“How're you feeling?” he said, his voice very light and high, which didn't sound like him at all.
“I think the bleeding's stopped,” Casey said and winced at the next heavy thump against the door. Her
breath caught as she looked out the window over the massive floor-model television.
Golden eyes glinted in the camp light. Dozens. Maybe even a hundred.
Shelia vibrated under her hands.
“Shit, she's convulsing!” Tom said, pinning her shoulders to the floor.
The three pounced on her shaking form to hold her steady. Blood pooled in the blonde's mouth.
“She's biting her tongue,” Tom snapped, “Stick something hard in it.” His eyes cut to Brandon.
“The fuck are all those out there?” Brandon asked, almost dazed. His wonderment was cut short by
Shelia chomping into the meatiest part of his forearm.
It was like a slow-motion scene: Shelia with hilted teeth, Brandon screaming, Casey falling backwards
and Tom? Well, Tom clocked the bitch, but it did little good. Her clothes tore all over, her breasts swelling
and receding beneath her already skimpy tank top, her arm going furred and that same golden gleam in her
eyes.
“Fuck! She's a were—“ Brandon's words were cut off as three-inch claws tore the right side of his face
off. The blood-soaked tank was nothing but a rag as her back arched, bones snapped and rows of wickedly
sharp fangs filled the elongated snout her once-pretty face melted into.
Brandon fell on his back, gurgling on blood as Shelia turned her attention to Casey, screaming.
“Little bitch,” the Shelia-thing snarled, charged the girl and swallowed her face. Casey's skull collapsed
under the crushing torque of those jaws, and the beast that was once Shelia licked her chops, slicing her
own tongue on those crimson-stained points and looked straight at Tom.
Page 4
March 2010 “I want you,” she growled and Tom backed up to
the door, his fingers seeking behind his back. He
turned the knob and in one smooth motion, opened
the door to flee into the night.
~*~
Snow came and went, and eventually, the realtor's
sign at the road was uprooted and tossed into a truck
with shovels and pails. The yellow tape was long
gone. The ivy was pulled from its precarious cling to
the cabin walls, and birds sang in those parts again.
“This cabin was sold at an outstanding discount,”
Volume I, Issue V

George said with a grin to his fishing buddy, Earl.

They unpacked the Jeep and tromped into the house.
“Floor's a little scratched up,” Earl harrumphed
and George laughed.
“Must've been some animals in here last winter.” Photo © Michael Lorenzo

In the bushes outside, two

stately wolves watched. They
watched, and they waited un-
til nightfall.
~*~
© 2010 Carrie Clevenger

Sarah Alatas spent most of her day trying to avoid committing a public indecency. It’d been hard; her 
costume had been designed for a woman without Sarah’s hips and it seemed like every time she turned 
around the shorts were making a determined effort to disappear up her ass.  
“Tough gig, huh?” A young man, caramel coloured skin behind his beard, raised his eyebrows at her 
from behind his set up. He had a sketchpad in front of him, pencil poised just above the page. 
“You have no idea.” Sarah walked over to the edge of the young man’s table and looked at his sketch. 
“Two fingers,” she said. 
“What?” 
“Two fingers. I always use two fingers to dig the shorts out of my crack, you’ve only drawn one. Other‐
wise pretty good though.” 
“Um…” The young man was staring. “Thanks.” He was silent for a moment. “Sorry.” 
“Why?” 
“Well, the whole drawing you nearly naked thing I guess.” Even as he apologised he added an extra 
line to the drawing without looking at it. Behind him was a full sized cartoon drawing of him sitting at his 
desk, drawing a cartoon. The title ‘Wiley Comics’ blazed underneath the drawing, along with a web ad‐
dress.  
“Wiley?” She said, still looking at the drawing of her. He’d gotten the suggestion of her curves exactly 
 Page 5

Volume I, Issue V
right, the extra line had somehow taken the drawing from nude chick into the realm of classy nude. 
Sarah looked up at the artist intending to fix him with a smile only to see the top of his head as he bent 
over the sketchpad. 
“Dean Wiley. Owner, artist, writer, marketer and web designer of Wiley Comics. Pleased to meet 
you.” Dean looked up, his eyes stopping only for a half second as they passed Sarah’s breasts. She’d 
never considered herself stacked, but the halter top that was a part of the Zula Cola promotional uni‐
form more than made up for it by being two sizes too small. He pushed his glasses back onto his nose 
with one hand and reached out a handshake with the other.  
“Sarah,” she said, returning the handshake. His handshake was firm, but she felt the tension in his 
tendons as he shook. Too much drawing, she guessed. That, or a chronic masturbation problem. She felt 
the tiny twitch in her chest as the coil inside her responded to his condition.  
“Are you okay?” Sarah quickly plastered the smile back onto her face.  
“I’m good.” She smiled wider. “How much?” 

March 2010
“For what?” He looked down at the sketch.”Oh. If you can stand to wait until it’s inked you can have 
it for free.” 
“C’mon Dean, you came here to make a buck right?” Sarah looked around her. The convention hall 
was almost empty of comic lovers. There was a small queue by one table where a skinny man sketched 
madly while his bald offside kept the con goers occupied. As she watched, the bald man gesticulated 
wildly and the word ‘delicious’ floated out of the conversation to her ears. The bald man handed a plate 
to the large man in front of their table. Sarah could see a plastic fork sticking straight up. The big man 
took the plate in one hand and the sketch and walked away.  
“Yeah, that’ll happen. You’re the first person to stop all day.” 
“Too much competition?” She jutted her chin towards the queue. The bald man handed out another 
plate with a fork sticking out of it along with a poster. The girl he’d given them kissed the bald man on the 
cheek and handed him a green note. 
“Nah, those guys are in a league of their own. I’m too new for most people to know about.” Dean 
placed the pencil carefully beside the paper and picked up a pen. 
“And they’re giving away waffles,” said Sarah. She could smell the chocolate ice cream they’d put on 
the hot waffles as it melted on the plates.  
“I wish I’d thought of that.” Dean began carefully adding the ink into the picture, choosing the best 
line through the sketch. She watched her image take on even more life. 
“You’ve got to let me give you something for that,” she said. It was glorious. She didn’t have any pho‐
tographs of herself, it would be the closest thing she had. Sarah always kept an emergency twenty in one 
of her shoes. With one hand she reached down and flicked it out, offering it to Chris. “Please?”  “I can’t 
do it,” he said. “You’re all the human contact I’ve had all day.” He waved a hand at the empty tables next 
to him. “The others gave up yesterday.” Two seats down, an exceptionally hairy man sat hunched over a 
comic book. He looked up at Dean and grunted. “Victor doesn’t count.” 
Victor grunted again and turned a page. Sarah decided that Victor had been the faintly unpleasant un‐
dertone smell that had been irritating her all weekend. 
“Let me buy you lunch at least?” She said. She gave a little half smile, putting all the warmth she had 
left into it. Her grandmother had always said it was the warmth that got them, and if you knew the right 
tricks, you didn’t need anything else.  
Dean smiled back. “Sure.” He added another two lines to Sarah’s picture, slowly tracing over the line 
of her calf muscle. “Vic, watch my stuff okay?” 
“Hmph,” said Victor. 
“That means yes. I think,” said Dean. He gently placed the unfinished cartoon Sarah under his desk.  
There was a food court at the convention, serving all kinds of nutritionally bankrupt food. Sarah 
Page 6
March 2010 picked up a bowl of Indonesian food that at least had recognisable vegetables in it. Dean followed suit 
and picked up a bowl of curry straight after her. The two meals cost her eighteen of her twenty dollars. 
She placed the remaining two one‐dollar notes on Dean’s plate as they found a table.  
“Got to give you something. I asked for it so I have to pay you something,” she said. “It’s important to 
me.” 
“Um…okay,” said Dean, taking a mouth full of curry. “Gnnh.” Sarah put a hand of her mouth and 
laughed as Dean’s turned red. Two tears tracked down his face. 
“Hah! That’s what you get for trying to impress a girl in a food court,” said Sarah. Dean opened his 
mouth speak but nothing came out. He snatched up the two dollars from his food tray and sprinted back 
to the Indonesian food stall pointing frantically at the drinks dispenser. The elderly man behind the 
counter laughed so hard he spilled half of Dean’s Coke onto the bench as Dean was practically dancing 
Volume I, Issue V

by time he threw the drink back down his throat. 
Ten minutes and two complementary bottles of water later, Dean got his voice back. Sarah finished 
his plate of food as he asked her what he’d just tried to eat.  
“Chilli, mostly.”  
“How can you eat something that hot?” Dean took another swig of water and wiped his eyes. 
“My grandma used to make it for me.” Sarah missed her grandmother’s cooking; no one made spicy 
food quite like Grandma Atalas. Sarah felt herself lick her lips at the memory.  
“Did your grandmother hate you?” 
“Sometimes,” said Sarah. She smiled at Dean again. The coil in her chest twitched as she met his eyes. 
It was going to have to be soon. She should never have left it so long, but it was getting hard finding the 
right people.  
“I’d better get back and finish the inking, since you paid me.” Dean’s eyes were blue and clear and 
stayed on hers despite the ridiculous outfit she’d stuffed herself into.  
She followed him back towards the show floor, walking by a supply closet. The coil in her chest 
twitched again, hard this time.  
“C’mere a second,” she said to Dean. 
“We should get back. Vic’s not really good at watching the table,” said Dean. Sarah gripped the front 
of Dean’s shirt and pulled on the door handle. The tinny little lock in the handle snapped under the strain. 
The coil strained and vibrated with the effort.   
“Wow,” said Dean as she yanked him into the room with her. Sarah kissed him hard, drawing him for‐
ward. Dean was still trying to talk as she pulled him tight against her. Slowly he began to kiss her back. 
Images rolled lazily across her mind as Dean’s energy flowed into her. A blank page fluttered across her 
mind, then a drawing of an old man in a bed, a smile on his face. More pages flipped across her mind as 
the coil sucked Dean’s future into itself.  
A page with several small children hanging onto Dean, older, heavier but still with the fussy little 
beard lingered for a moment. The coil roared in Sarah’s mind, demanding more. She felt better than she 
had in months. Dean’s lips burning against hers, his hand running up and down her back. She wondered if 
he could feel his future slipping away. He unlocked his lips and began kissing her neck, his life still flowed 
against her. She saw him sitting at a desk, a huge crowd flocking around him all holding money out. A 
stack of books with his name on it danced in front her eyes. 
Dean broke away for, staring at Sarah. His life still flowed through her hands. She couldn’t see any‐
thing but the drawings of his life as they flittered through her mind. 
“Sarah, I‐“ The last drawing she saw was her, still not inked properly. Half sketch and half real.  
Dean fell to the floor. Sarah felt a rush of joy, so pure it flowed through her nerve endings like electric‐
ity. She felt strong again. Powerful. 
Guilty. 
 Page 7

Volume I, Issue V
She looked down at Dean, saw his pulse beating weakly at his throat, his heart tying to pump blood 
around a body that didn’t have a future. She knew what happened next, knew she’d have to leave town 
for awhile, move onto another convention somewhere. Maybe she could go to a nunnery; surely there’d 
be food there? 
The memories of Dean’s life lingered. She remembered her picture, still burning with the life Dean’s 
hands had imbued in it.  
“Damn it.” Sarah burst out of the closet. Sprinting down the hallway to the convention floor, she 
brushed her hands past two men as she ran between them. The coil didn’t so much as murmur. “Fuck,” 
she muttered as she ran on.  
Sarah burst into the main room. The after‐lunch crowd had shown up. Men and women, but mostly 
men, in too tight superhero outfits. Little, bespectacled kids. Sarah steered herself away from the kids, 
grandma would have killed her if she’d gone there. 
She deliberately ran into the only likely looking suspect who’d painted himself green, his ponderous 

March 2010
stomach hanging over a pair of purple shorts. She collided with the green body paint, pulling back at the 
last minute to keep from knocking him over. As he cursed and blundered backwards, the coil stayed still. 
Somehow, he wasn’t edible either. 
She spotted Victor from fifty feet away.   
Victor looked up from his book to see Sarah bearing down on him, running full clip on bad high heels 
as the green painted man yelled after her to watch where she was going. 
“Victor,” she panted at him. 
“Mmm?” said Victor. Sarah reached out a hand and gripped his wrist. Still glutted on Dean’s life, the 
coil gave a tiny, lazy twitch, but it was something. 
“Dean, he needs you.” She tried to haul him up. 
“Already watching his stuff,” said Victor. He smelled a lot worse up close, his wrist was greasy under 
her fingers. Sarah gripped harder, letting the coil add its strength to hers. She felt the bones in Victor’s 
wrist rub against each other. 
“Listen you greasy fuck, your friend needs you and you’re going to come and help or I’m going to tell 
everyone here at the top of my lungs that you’ve never touched a girl who wasn’t made of fucking plas‐
tic.” 
“Mmph,” said Victor. “They know.” He got up anyway and Sarah dragged through the crowds of peo‐
ple. She was definitely going to have to leave town. Maybe even change her name again. The image of 
Dean’s drawing still burned in her mind. She silently prayed that no one had found Dean yet, otherwise 
there would be nothing anyone could do for him.  
She yanked open the door to the closet, seeing Dean still lying amongst the brooms. His heart had 
slowed down even more, just the faintest of beats visible in his neck. 
“Shit,” said Victor. He stood and stared at Dean’s body. “What should we do?” He turned to Sarah as 
she drove the tips of her fingers into his abdomen. This wasn’t one of her grandma’s tricks. She remem‐
bered the rasp of her great great grandmother’s voice as it told her in the old tongue to dig into his stom‐
ach. She let her fingers grow long, letting the coil’s energy drive them through Victor’s shirt, through the 
layer of fat over his stomach. Victor opened his mouth to scream as Sarah lunged forward and sank her 
teeth into his throat, crushing his windpipe beneath it.    
A tiny wheeze came out of Victor’s mouth as he thrashed against her. 
Grandma never did it this way. She’d always said to take softly, leave them with a good memory and a 
pulse. You get more time that way. 
There were other ways though, and Sarah pressed her fingers in deeper. Feeling the squich of his in‐
testine under the pads of her fingers. Victor slammed a meaty fist into the side of her head, but Sarah 
pressed her head into the blow, taking it on the top of her head. She spoke to the coil, telling it to drink. It 
Page 8
March 2010 took a moment, still full of Dean’s life, for its response. She screamed at it in her head, telling it to take 
everything. Victor spasmed twice, jerking back and forward and then collapsed around her hands. She 
drew onward, watching his skin strip away and disappear into the hole in his gut. His muscles followed, 
and his hair and eyes; each one flowed into the hole, and then out into her fingers. 
She let go of his throat. Victor had nothing left with which to scream. It hadn’t been more than a min‐
ute when she was left with her fingers still in his intestines as the coil broke down Victor’s bones and 
sucked them in under her claws. Her arms rippled and bulged as she absorbed him. She didn’t see any 
images; instead she felt Victor’s life flow into her. All at once, she felt the surge of so much power in her 
that she could see the glow of her eyes against the back wall. She blinked and looked down. Right at the 
end, as the intestines themselves disappeared into her, she felt one long note of sadness drawn across 
her mind, and then it was gone. There was a small pile of clothes on the floor, a pair of jeans, a worn t‐
Volume I, Issue V

shirt, sneakers.   
The coil was bursting with life. 
Sarah leant down to Dean and she saw his face was pale and drawn in the light of her eyes. She placed 
her lips on his forehead. The coil rebelled, but Sarah was merciless, bearing her will down on it until it 
gave up Dean’s drawings. His future flowed back into him, she saw the old Dean on his deathbed flow in 
reverse through her mind. It took far longer to give them back than it did to take them, and here and 
there, she gave him a note of Victor, she couldn’t help it. 
The final drawing of her flowed into her mind. She opened her eyes and saw that the dimness in the 
closet had returned. Dean’s heartbeat was firm and flowing again, beating his future around his still form. 
Sarah planted a kiss on his lips. 
“I’m sorry,” she said. Sarah left Dean in the closet. She figured she had about half an hour before he 
woke up or someone found him. She wondered if anyone would look for Victor. It took her fifteen min‐
utes to get clear of the convention centre and into a taxi. One of her heels had broken. 
She sat down into the back of a yellow cab with a sigh. Maybe she’d move to Washington for a spell, 
she’d heard they did a good comic convention there. There was always that risk she’d see Dean there of 
course. She’d have to check his website and see if he was going to go. 
“Rough gig?” Sarah opened her eyes and saw the taxi driver had turned around in his seat. He winked 
at her through wire‐rimmed glasses. 
“You have no idea.” Sarah gave the address of the motel to the driver, and as they pulled out into traf‐
fic, she leaned her head back in her seat and tried to remember the name of Dean’s website. Sarah 
smiled. She’d find him. 
~*~ 
© 2009 Andrew Jack 
Andrew Jack lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, where he’s working on his first full length fiction novel 
The Downside of Being Dead. His progress can be followed on his blog. 
*Background image © 2005 Gabor Palla  
 Page 9
Volume I, Issue V

Poet’s Corner
Stop Aging Reality…
 
A long, hard life
Steeped in pain and excitement

Life’s erosion
Shows its effect

Cracks and crevices

Mire my façade

Challenges and triumphs

Draw a road map of experience

Scars and bruises

Paint a portrait of undying fortitude

Do I appear that different to you?

Photo © Ryan Arguello
Do I no longer appeal?

Tiny splinters with angry heads quiet be-
fore the spark
Pleading falls on ears filled with lies
You swing your gavel, striking rotted wood
Your kingdom splits as maggots mature to
flies
The core is the same
My love unchanged
My shell reflects my experience
My heart exudes my desire
Judge me not by my presentation
Judge my actions and my soul

Take no pity
Running ahead blinded by justice proved Sympathy, I do not require
false
A dagger plunged straight into a true back Remember who I am inside
Not my worn appearance
You snatch your hatchet to bury in molded
ground © 2009 T. Hoffman
Your reality crumbles as green spores attack

A forest for the trees is missed

Waterfalls dry up from the heat of ire
You strike and ignore the roar
Your bridge to me dissolves in the fire

© 2009 H. C. Zuerner
Photo © 2008 NL Gervasio

© 2009 Full Moon Press Forever Nocturne

Page 10
Volume I, Issue V

Poet’s Corner
The Road Less Traveled 
It’s the place we don’t talk about
as we go on
acting as if nothing has happened
a road of mistakes we don’t want to learn
from
we guard it with caution signs
 
Do Not Enter

But for those brave few willing to change

to make amends
this is nothing more than a fight
to take back the night
to take back their lives
and to live the way they see fit
It’s old,
overgrown,
forgotten,
or it’s new
and has never been used.

Dark and mysterious

it’s a path in our lives
we don’t like to go down
pretend it’s not there
the place where all the what if’s live
all the should of, could of, would of’s play Photo © 2010NL Gervasio

Dance around
© 2010 E.M. Halvorson
calling out the names
of the people afraid to live
afraid to take a chance

© 2010 Running Ink Press Forever Nocturne

 Page 11

Volume I, Issue V
Alice in Wonderland

March 2010
PG for fantasy action/violence involving scary images and situations
and for a smoking caterpillar.
Running Time: 1 Hour 48 Minutes

Walt Disney Pictures tapped director Tim Burton for this re-imagining of the 3D fantasy
adventure Alice in Wonderland. This time around, it's a magical and imaginative twist on
one of the most beloved stories of all time. Johnny Depp stars as the Mad Hatter and
Mia Wasikowska stars as 19-year-old Alice who returns to the world she first encoun-
tered as a young girl. Of course, along the way she's reunited with her childhood
friends—the White Rabbit, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Dormouse, Caterpillar,
The Cheshire Cat, and of course, the Mad Hatter.
With the duo of Burton and Depp together once again, it's obvious this will be one color-
ful ride into Wonderland.

Why Is A Raven Like A Writing Desk?

This is not the Alice in Wonderland you grew up with as a kid. It's 13 years later and this Movie poster © 2010 Disney
time around Alice embarks on a journey to find her true destiny and end the Red Queen's
reign of terror in Wonderland. Along the way, she tries to connect fantasy, dream and even reality as she interacts with a number of interesting
characters. Linda Woolverton wrote the screenplay for this updated twist on the old story. She does a wonderful job of recapturing and recasting
the wonder of Lewis Carroll's 1865 book Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass.
I went into the movie with an open mind. I like the duo of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. But I must also admit, sometimes Burton's flicks are too
predictable. It's not quite like the old saying of - if you've seen one Burton movie you've seen them all - but it is close. The techniques are the same
and the twists and turns are as similar as your daily drive to and from work.

However, when all is said and done, I have to admit I really enjoyed Alice in Wonderland.

This is not the same old same old when it comes to the eclectic style of Burton and Depp. If anything, Burton has tapped into an incredible balance
of brilliant colors and drab grays. As for Johnny Depp, he seemed somewhat invigorated in his portrayal of the Mad Hatter. He makes the character
his own, while at the same time enables it to jump off the screen with creativity, fun, adventure and life. As for others involved in Alice in Wonder-
land, it truly is an all-star cast. Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter and Crispin Glover all add a sense of zest and excitement, truly making this
March 2010 Page 12
an adventure to remember.
An Attention to Detail

I love Tim Burton's attention to detail in all he does. Not only do the scenes come to life, but he leaves no dangling thoughts along the way either...

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Even that somewhat odd and out of place phrase is connected by the end of the movie. When it comes to special effects and computer generated
graphics, I believe Tim Burton does it better than James Cameron. The effects in Avatar seem flat compared to the 3D feel of Alice in Wonder-
land, even on a normal screen.
The story and plot lines of Alice in Wonderland could have been very complicated. Not only does it include the new twist to an old story, but it also
Volume I, Issue V

connects the old story with the new. This is where Burton's attention to detail really shines. Everything weaves together quite well. Alice in Wonder-
land reveals the storytelling brilliance of not only Burton as a director, but also of Johnny Depp as a character.

Disney Misses Rating 'Again'!

The only downside of Alice in Wonderland is the rating. Once again, Disney misses the mark when it comes to age appropriate.

With a PG rating, we have to say Alice in Wonderland is not family-friendly. As a matter of fact, when I screened the movie, parents were taking
some of their younger children out of the theater. Perhaps the filmmakers should have taken a cue from inside their own movie. Alice is suffering
from nightmares as a result of her first trip to Wonderland when she was just 7 years old. The movie starts with her screaming as she awakes from
her nightmare. Then, even when she's older, she's still having bad flashbacks about her first trip to Wonderland. This is a very accurate depiction of
how the mind of a young child works.

Psychologically, children usually do not start distinguishing between fantasy and reality until about the age of 11 or 12. As a result, a PG-13 rating
would have been better for Alice in Wonderland. While this is in no way is a totally over-the-top violent movie, the content is still too much for the
really young. So, if you plan to take your kids to this movie, keep in mind that a more appropriate rating would have been PG-13.

This is far from the family-friendly Alice in Wonderland

original movie.

Overall, I really enjoyed Alice in Wonderland and believe it even tops the Burton/Depp combination in the 2005 hit Charlie and the Chocolate Fac-
tory. I have to admit I would see this movie for a second time and might actually visit a 3D IMAX theater to do just that.

Enjoy the show!

Dr. Rus

© 2010 Dr. Rus D. Jeffrey

For more information visit Frame by Frame online at: http://framebyframe.godlaughs.net

Dr. Rus gives this movie 4 Lloyds


Photo © Ben C  
Sherri Collins stared down route 202, her large eyes nar-
rowed to slits of chocolate and a deep furrow between her fine
brows. Gary was supposed to have been here an hour ago. He
was late – as usual.
“Damn it,” she hissed and turned to look at the little
house as if it might agree with her.
Gary knew she had to be to work at 9 and that it would
take them two hours to unload the truck his father had let
them borrow. It was six-thirty and the only way she’d get to
work on time now was if she suddenly developed the ability to
teleport herself back to Portland.
She’d arrived at 5:30 just like she’d promised and didn’t
appreciate having had to get up at four in order to do it just so
he could be late. Hell, she hadn’t even had a coffee yet and –
THERE’S WATER IN THE HOUSE.
Her brow unfurrowed. That’s right. They’d had the water
turned on, hadn’t they? And gas had been delivered and that
ugly harvest gold stove that looked like it belonged in a restau-
rant rather than in the kitchen of the little house Gary was buy-
ing. There was a jar of coffee in the cupboard over the sink
because they’d bought groceries yesterday since they planned
on spending the weekend getting settled into the place.
Sherri started toward the house after shooting another
chocolate dagger down Arundel’s route 202. It was a nice
house; only three years old and Gary would never have another
opportunity like this to buy a house that sat on a two acres of
land at the ridiculously low price that this place was being of-
fered at: thirty-six thousand and five hundred dollars.
When she’d heard the price she’d not only balked, she’d
demanded to know what was wrong with it. The real estate
agent, Mr. Bodkins, had assured her that the house was struc-
turally sound, legally wired and plumbed, and then had reluc-
tantly explained that the reason the price was so low on the
little two bedroom place was because it had been built over
what had once been a large garbage dump. Of course, the first
thing she’d thought then was that the house was sitting on a
thousand barrels of toxic waste. Bodkins had laughed and as-
sured her that was not the case; it would never have made it
through the stringent building codes and inspections if that
were true.
She paused and studied the place. It didn’t look like a pig
and there was no dock close by. So why did she feel like the
place was a distant relative of the Amityville Horror?
There wasn’t anything visibly wrong with the place: the
roof and white siding were new, the windows and doors sound.
Nothing outside or inside looked wrong, and Bodkins was
right; it had passed every inspection thrown at it by the Town
and Banks involved in its sale. The land around the house was
gorgeous. The oak trees spread over the yard were tall and
Page 13
Volume I, Issue V
healthy, the weeping willow tree full and beautiful, the lawn
lush and greener than any of the others on the road. The
marigolds, morning glories, and bachelor buttons were bril-
liant and growing thickly. The land held some rises and falls,
but that only added to its attractiveness. So…why did the
place give her such a severe case of the heebie-jeebies?
COME HAVE SOME COFFEE, SHERRI.
March 2010
Coffee? She closed her eyes and rubbed her left temple
idly.
THE COFFEE IS GOOD IN HERE, SHERRI. BEST
YOU EVER HAD. I PROMISE.
The house keys dropped out of her hand and clattered
on the little cement walkway. Her eyes snapped open and
suddenly she wanted nothing more to do with this place. She
wanted Gary to get here fast and then she’d tell him that they
couldn’t buy it after all. She’d changed her mind. Something
was definitely wrong with it. Let someone else have the
damned thing. Let someone else drink its coffee.
BUT YOU WANT THE COFFEE, SHERRI. YOU
NEED IT. YOU’RE JUST OVERREACTING BECAUSE
YOU’RE TIRED. THAT’S ALL. COME IN FOR SOME
COFFEE. YOU’LL FEEL BETTER.
Was she nuts or what? She snatched up the fallen keys
and unlocked the door. What on earth was she thinking?
There’d never e another chance to get a house like this. This
place was perfect for them. They had saved enough money
to fix it up and, after a year or so, they’d sell it for four or
five times as much as they’d paid for it. Then they’d use that
money to get another house and flip that one too. They’d
keep on doing that until they had the money to buy the
house of their dreams, and they’d make a boatload of money
doing it. That was their dream, wasn’t it? And no case of the
creeps was going to steal that away from them.
Inside the kitchen the smell of fresh paint made her
crinkle her nose in distaste. She set her pocketbook on the
counter by the stainless steel sink and thought she’d open a
few windows to air the place out. First, she’d put some water
on to boil. After filling the tea kettle with water she set it on
one of the burners and turned the flame on beneath it, then
stepped back, frowning at the stove.
It really was hideous. It was too big and too old and
took up too much room in the kitchen. She didn’t like gas
either; it made her nervous. She’d rather have one of those
electric stoves without burners that still somehow managed
to cooked things. She’d seen one like that at Sears at the
Maine Mall, and after the salesman had shown her all its fea-
 Page 14
tures, she’d decided she’d get one of those to replace this old
March 2010
clunker. It was her kitchen, after all.
The teakettle whistled and she jumped where she stood.
She must have zoned out for a minute because it seemed like
she’d just put the kettle on. She shut the flame off, found a
cup, spoon and the coffee and sugar, and made herself a steam-
ing hot cup. As she lifted the cup to her lips an icy chill raced
up her spine and she shivered, nearly spilling the dark fluid.
“Someone just walked over my grave,” she mumbled and
took a drink.
“And the Lord sat back after he’d created the universe and
all that was in it, took a drink of coffee and said it was good,”
she grinned, looking down into the depths of the dark fluid.
She’d forgotten to put milk in but that was okay. It tasted
wonderful. Sweet and soothing and, before she knew it, the
Volume I, Issue V
cup was empty and an oddly pungent sense of utter loss filled
her. The coffee was gone and she suddenly felt as if she’d been
deprived of the right to breath. The coffee was gone and it
shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. She had to have more. A million
cups more. She—
Sherri leaped to her feet and quickly made herself another
cup of the stuff. With her first sip she felt great relief and then
frowned, wondering when she’d sat down at the table. She
didn’t remember having done it… Suddenly she wanted to
leave the house. She wanted to get the hell out of here and
make herself puke until all the coffee gurgled up out of her. It
was bad coffee. It did bad things and now it was inside her.
The house had tricked her!
DRINK THE COFFEE, SHERRI. IT’S GOOD STUFF,
NOT BAD. DRINK IT.
Sherri lifted the cup and downed the contents in one long
gulp.
HAVE SOME MORE.
She made another cup and left the sugar out this time but
it didn’t matter. It still tasted wonderful. Calming. Then she
noticed the ashes and blinked stupidly at them because she
should have noticed them before but hadn’t.
A trail of white ashes led from the stove, over to the sink,
and back to the stove. There weren’t any footprints. No little
mousy footprints. She started to giggle then laugh and stag-
gered back to lean against the counter to keep from falling.
YOU SEE? I TOLD YOU IT WAS GOOD STUFF,
DIDN’T I?
“Yes,” she gasped between bouts of hysterical laughter
that shook her entire body until she collapsed onto the floor.
The cup of coffee dropped with her and spilled next to her,
spreading into a glistening pool.
She tried to get up but her legs were rubber and she
couldn’t stop laughing even though her eyes were wide with
fright. She couldn’t stop laughing and couldn’t take her eyes
off of the little puddle of coffee.
It was moving…gathering into itself and bubbling as if it
were being cooked at the rolling boil. It curled in on itself
and slowly, so slowly, washed over toward the broiler drawer
of the stove. It flattened out then seemed to rise off the floor
like an ocean wave. It rose and little tornadoes began spin-
ning and rising and then it wasn’t just a pool of coffee any-
more. It was a hand. A dark, liquid hand that turned its line-
less palm away from her and then began curling its fingers
beckoning her forward.
“No,” she rasped, barely able to breath, she was laugh-
ing so hard.
And the hand gracefully motioned for her to come to it.
COME ON, SHERRI. IT’S NOT SO BAD. IT’LL BE
FUN. WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
Her body started to crawl forward and she wanted to
scream, but all she could do was laugh. Her mind and body
had become separate entities and neither was listening to the
other because of the coffee she’d drank. No. Not the coffee,
she realized, still trying to get her body to stop moving for-
ward. It had been the water that the coffee had been made
with. The water that came from somewhere under the house,
in the land that had once been a garbage dump.
She was just inches from the glistening hand now and it
turned, bent at its liquid wrist, and picked up the car keys
she’d dropped. Metal jingled against metal. The fingers
curled into a fist then popped open and the keys were gone.
Poof! And what dropped to the floor from the coffee hand
was a little pile of white ashes.
Sherri was hiccoughing now. If she didn’t stop laughing
soon, she’d die because she wasn’t getting any air. She wasn’t
getting –
The hand exploded and tiny drops of coffee splattered
her face and long hair, then the pool was back, dark and glis-
tening like some black crystal. The fluid rolled and tossed
tiny waves back and forth across itself. Two tentacles rose,
swirled around each other then tipped onto their side and
bounced gently. Lips, Sherri realized. They looked like lips.
More fluid rose up behind the black lips, stretching up
and up until egg shaped overall filled the space behind the
lips. The oval bulged and bubbled. Four holes popped into it.
A smooth, rippling nose pushed out from the oval. Above
that, eyes began taking shape. Then cheeks and a chin and it
was Gary’s face. He smiled at her with eyes that had slits of
nothing where the pupils should have been. He smiled and
for a moment the fear left her; she was still laughing but now
it was real laughter. Everything was going to be all right now.
Gary was here. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
The smile faded from Gary’s face. The black lips opened
wider and wider until she could see the black tongue and the
black teeth. The sound that filled her mind was not an audi-

ble one yet it made her ear drums rattle and her teeth grind
together. He was screaming. Silently screaming her name over
and over. The face twisted into a mask of agonizing pain, rip-
pled, then exploded in a rain of black coffee that felt like hail as
it pelted her face and neck.
Sherri wasn’t laughing anymore. She was squealing…
keening…shrieking because the black drops were moving on
her skin. The stuff ran down her face, into her eyes, nose, and
mouth. Drops trickled down her neck and arms, burning angry
red welts into her flesh. Tendrils of smoke rose from her jeans
and t-shirt where the fiery fluid burned through the cloth, leav-
ing perfectly round holes behind. The molten black fluid found
her flesh and seared into it as if a thousand cigarettes pressed
on her skin all at once.
She staggered to her feet, pounding and swiping at the
many pinpricks of fire, trying to put them out, to stop them
burning. But they were everywhere now, all over her body. In
her hair and eyes, racing up and down her throat, burning her
from the inside out even as she burned from the outside
in. She swiped at it, trying to pull off her t-shirt, whirling, spin-
ning in the middle of the kitchen floor, jumping up and down,
beating her body as little flames ate at it, spreading around to
encompass her entirely. Her whole body was one five foot two
inch blue flame now, and the last thing she saw before her eyes
exploded and collapsed into her charred face was the growing
pile of white ashes at her feet.
The windows on the left side of the kitchen snapped open.
The ceiling fan began to whirl, faster and faster until the ashes
rose up and up, caught in a white tornado, spinning wildly. The
exhaust fan over the stove turned on. The ashes slowly seeped
through it, out into the open air where a fresh breeze caught
and carried them across the yard and spread them over the
land. For a moment the sound of a soft, whispering sigh
rushed across the curving land, through the leaves, grass, flow-
ers and over to the house. Its friend, the house.
It had been angry when the men had closed the dump and
had come in with the dozers to turn the soil. It had liked the
things that that the men had brought it to eat. It had liked the
flames and rats and birds and other small animals that some-
times got near enough to become a meal. But the men had
closed the dump, stopped feeding it, and then other men had
come and built the house. It had been angry at first, so angry
that it had taken two of the construction workers. That was
when it had discovered that it could think and that it liked the
taste of the men.
It learned there were going to be long tubes called pipes
put into the house, pipes that would reach well down into its
belly so that the men things could drink the land’s water. It
was water, though it didn’t think it had always been water. It
thought that at one time it might have been some of the stuff
in those large green barrels that two men had buried in the
dump one night while no one else had been around. One of
those men had accidentally dunked his finger into the silvery
fluid contained in one of the barrels. It remembered that the
man had yanked his hand back missing that finger. It didn’t
really remember what had happened next and it didn’t care.
The finger had been good. It had done something to the
silvery stuff, which in turn had done something to the water
that the next group of men had tapped into. Then that young
man had broken into the house and had fallen asleep after
drinking some of it. It had learned more inside the young man,
and that meal had been very good.
Page 15
Volume I, Issue V
It didn’t get to eat as often as it wanted to, but the meals
were better now and each time it learned something more
before it ashed them. It took things out of their heads the
way he’d taken the man’s face out of Sherri’s. Yes. It liked
this and it had fun. It just wished men came to the house
more often.
The exhaust fan shut off. The ceiling fan slowed to a
stop. The kitchen was now clear of the black smoke that had
filled it while Sherri had been ashed. The sound of a truck
rumbling up the driveway came. It turned on the fire under
the thing Sherri had called a teakettle, then withdrew a little
from the house. Maybe Gary would like a cup of coffee too;
it chuckled, and the trees, grass and flowers danced with its
laughter.
Gary jumped out of the truck and sauntered up the little
walkway smiling. The house was beautiful and the lawn
seemed even greener than it had yesterday. He stepped into
the kitchen.
March 2010
“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he said but saw the kitchen was
empty.
He guessed that Sherri must be upstairs doing some-
thing. The teakettle whistled; he shut it off, then decided he’d
make a cup of coffee before he went up to face her. She
really hated that he was always late. He couldn’t help it.
Things just…distracted him easily; he’d lose track of time
and they’d have a little argument and then they’d make up.
Making love for the first time in the new house wouldn’t be a
bad thing. He grinned.
He spotted a cup on the floor and picked it up. A drop
of coffee fell onto his fingers and he instantly had a head-
ache.
HAVE SOME COFFEE, GARY. IN A MINUTE, IT
WON’T MATTER IF SHERRI’S MAD AT YOU. YOU’LL
LIKE THE COFFEE. YOU’LL LIKE IT A LOT. I
PROMISE.
Yeah, Gary nodded, headache forgotten. He’d like a cup
of coffee. That would be just fine.
© 2010 Cheryl Tracy
In order to love you
I must be able to watch
As you whither away
Leaving this now-beating
heart
Alone
March 2010 Page 16
Malakh IV
SIOBHAN MACINTYRE
“I used to be able to run for miles without getting
tired or winded.” My voice, pitched low, was
barely audible over the crackle of the driftwood
fire, but I knew without looking that he’d heard
with no trouble. I couldn’t look at him as I talked;
Volume I, Issue V
dead. Dead. The next person in line as far as im-
portance to you is the man that came between
you.”
Again I looked away, this time in shame.
“He was dating her first,” I admitted reluctantly.
“She was certain he was The One, so she wanted
me to meet him.”
And oh, how excited Zanna had been to
have two of her favorite people meet and be-
come friends. Had she noticed the instant elec-
tricity between us, the force like two magnets

propelling us toward each other? No, I rather

instead, I stared into the flames, watching them
doubted she had. She had been too wrapped up
lick at the midnight sky with greedy tongues of
in her own happiness to see the vibrant attrac-
orange and green.
tion that had flared between Ian and me. And
Despair wasn’t the only reason I avoided his
hadn’t there been a part of me that had justified
gaze; embarrassment kept my eyes averted. How
that attraction because I was the more beautiful
pitiful I must seem to his species; how unimagina-
of us two? Yes, there was no doubt that I had.
tive, how limited. No wonder Raum had left; his
“And you stole him,” Russ surmised with his
disdain for my human frailty must have slid in-
usual uncomfortable bluntness.
exorably into disgust.
I closed my eyes, mortified at the turn our
“And strong…Lord, was I strong.” Heavy
conversation had taken since we sat down in the
loads had seemed light as a feather, and my legs
sand. “I stole him.”
had been able to propel me to the roof of a one-
story house. I’d only needed four hours of sleep
each night and could eat anything, and as much as
I wanted.
But beyond those things had been that feeling
of being special, chosen. An angel had chosen
me—me, Suzanne Harper—over all the other hu-
mans on earth, and had shared with me some of
his extraordinary abilities. I’d come as close as
anyone ever would to knowing what it was like to
be one of the malakh.
“You said there was a man involved in your
rift with Zanna. Will you tell me about him?”
“I’d rather not talk about him.”
“Why not? It could be important. If Raum
killed your best friend, he could go after this man.
He may need our—the angels’—protection.”
“I don’t think it—”
“What don’t you want me to know?” His nar-
rowed eyes seemed golden in the firelight, but it
was impossible to tell. They’d changed colors so
often since I’d met him that I couldn’t remember
what they’d originally been…not that I’d seen
their real color. His slip in the café had been so
unexpected and brief that I hadn’t been able to
take in all the details.
“Nothing. It was just so long ago, I don’t—”
“Suzanne,” Russ said patiently. “Zanna is
Photo © Linda Graindourze

“So Zanna had every reason not to speak to
you all these years.”
“Yes. I justified it because I thought Zanna was
plain, and since I was more attractive I deserved a
man like Ian Reid. She could go find someone else
who fit her looks. I thought that and a lot more.”
Tears crept down my cheeks, but neither of us
mentioned them. I had harbored this guilt in deep
in my heart for six years—the three years I’d spent
with Ian, and the three years since I’d left him for
Raum. And now Zanna was dead; I would never
have the chance to tell her how wrong I’d been,
how sorry I was for what I’d done.
A sob escaped my clamped lips. I plastered a
hand over my mouth, but nothing would hold
back my grief. Too late, too late—I’d come to re-
pentance too late to make any difference, and I
would have to live with that for the rest of my life,
however long that might be with a rogue angel
hunting me.
His arm slid around me, and he pulled me
against him. His hand pressed my cheek to his
chest; my tears flowed over it in an unrelenting
stream. He offered no trite words of comfort, and I
was glad for it. Zanna was dead because of me,
and she had died with her heart broken by my
actions. I deserved no comfort.
A long while later I sat hiccupping into Russ’s
silent chest, my tears dried by the heat from the
fire. His hand still cradled my face, and with fur-
tive guilt I took comfort from its warm pressure.
“Sleep, Suzanne,” he murmured, and with re-
lief I let consciousness swirl away and sank grate-
fully into oblivion.
The sun was wrong when I next opened my eyes.
At first I couldn’t place why, and then I realized it
hung in the sky more to the west than the east. I’d
slept through the night and most of the day. My
head was pillowed on a plastic shopping bag
draped over a mound of sand. Russ sat motionless
a few feet away, watching the surf crash onto the
shore. Gulls wheeled overhead; the wind carried
their shrieks away from the sea, making them
sound deceptively distant. I wondered vaguely if
they’d managed to crap on any part of my body as
I lay here in the shade of a pile of driftwood.
“No, the shielding protects you from bird crap
too,” Russ said distractedly.
“How’d you know I was thinking that?”
“You were talking in your sleep a while ago.”
Page 17
Volume I, Issue V
He finally turned to look at me, offering a trou-
bled smile. “We should get going. I had planned
on going to Zanna’s yesterday, but apparently I
have been driving you too hard. You needed the
sleep.”
“Is something wrong, Russ?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been hunting him for so
long, I can’t believe I’m so close.”
I sat up and stretched. Midway through a
jaw-cracking yawn, I realized what he’d said. “I
thought you didn’t know who was hunting
him?”
“Poor choice of words,” he replied, frown-
ing. He turned, scattering sand across my jeans.
“All angels have responsibilities. Some are sent
March 2010
to watch over the humans. Others watch over
the other angels. Yet others are fallen angel
hunters—not a pleasant job.”
“A fallen angel hunter is who was after
Raum? He’s fallen angel?”
Russ made an impatient sound. “He’s mur-
dering people, Suzanne. Of course he’s fallen,
but not in the terms you’re thinking of. He’s not
one of the original rebellion. I’ve been a watcher,
over both humans and angels. Now I’m called to
be a hunter because the last one…well, obvi-
ously he failed. But Raum’s just—” His hand,
resting on his thigh, clenched into a tight fist.
“—always one step ahead of me.”
My stomach growled, ending his introspec-
tion. He rummaged in the grocery bag beside
him and handed me the jar of cashews. I
screwed off the top and dove in. His odd, dis-
tracted demeanor faded into the background as I
chomped my way through a quarter of the nuts
left in the jar. When the hunger pangs had
abated, he silently handed me a bottle of juice.
The juice barely touched my thirst.
“Is there a bottle of water in there? I’m really
thirsty.”
“No, but we can get some on our way to
Zanna’s.”
I bit my lip. “Explain to me again why we
have to go there?”
“I’m hoping he left some sort of clue that will
lead me to him.”
“He’s been too smart for that so far.”
“If he left a clue, it wouldn’t be by mistake. It
would be a challenge to me to find him; I have
to take the risk of him laying a trap for me. Are
you ready? Have you rested enough?”
March 2010 Page 18
I nodded, gathering my trash. We’d spent the
night on a strip of beach with parking and other
amenities. I was amazed we hadn’t been rousted
and run off during the night. As we passed a trash
receptacle, I smiled hesitantly at the girl standing
next to it. She stared at my left eyebrow and then
turned away without a change in expression. I
raised a brow at Russ, but he only shrugged again
and tugged me toward the sidewalk.
We walked with steadfast determination,
mostly silent. Russ held my hand in a loose grip,
feeding me strength to keep exhaustion at bay. We
Volume I, Issue V
stopped to rest on the edge of Rizal Park, and he
waited until we were lounging on the grassy edge
of the park to let go of my hand and withdrew his
strength—his way of making me rest. Weariness
flooded through me in an instant. I was only
vaguely aware of leaning heavily against his
shoulder, and of him easing me down to pillow
my head in his lap.
The sun was nearly set when I woke. It burned
the clouds in a glorious display of crimson, or-
ange, and gold. I stretched and sat up, my stom-
ach gurgling.
Russ glanced at me, amused. “Hungry al-
ready?”
“Unlike you,” I replied tartly, “I have to eat
every few hours.”
“Good point.” He rummaged in the plastic
grocery sack and tossed me a bag of teriyaki jerky.
“That should tide you over.”
“Much more walking, Russ, and I’m going to
need new jeans.” In just the three days since I’d
met him, my jeans had started to fit loosely.
“We’re almost done, I think.”
I paused midway through biting a thick piece
of jerky in half. “Done? Is he…is he close?”
“Closer,” he stressed. “We’re right to go to
Zanna’s; I think he’s left me a clue. Otherwise…”
He trailed into silence for a long time.
“Otherwise?” I prompted.
“Otherwise I wouldn’t sense him at all. I just
can’t pinpoint him.” The edge of frustration in his
steely voice made me glad he was not hunting me.
“And then what? You’re going to confront him
after he’s murdered God knows how many peo-
ple? Are you crazy?”
He quirked a funny little smile in my direc-
tion. “Insanity is an affliction of your species but
never mine.”
“You can’t call what he’s doing the actions of a
sane being,” I argued.
“Not sane as you define it.” In human terms,
in other words, with our limited understanding
and penchant for filing everyone away in tidy
little boxes with definitive labels.
“But—”
“Suzanne,” he broke in with a trace of impa-
tience. “We’re good, or we’re bad. It’s as simple
as that. Acts of depravity amongst the fallen
don’t indicate a lack of sanity, just a lack of re-
gard for morality.”
“I still think—”
“You want some comfort in the face of what
he’s done, and I can understand that. But you
can’t let that desire blind you to reality. He’s
completely cognizant of what he’s doing, and he
made a deliberate decision to do it.”
I subsided into silence, stung by his sharp-
ness. Was I wrong to hope against all hope that
we were wrong, that it was some other angel
murdering humans and framing Raum for it?
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his tone concilia-
tory. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’m just
afraid that if you get your hopes too high that
I’m wrong about him, you’re going to be hurt
exponentially when I’m proven right.”
“Maybe you won’t be.”
He favored me with a pitying look. “I have it
on the highest authority. He’s the angel respon-
sible. Finish your jerky. We still have another
hour or so of walking.”
I needed no further encouragement. I fell to
with gusto, and in short order had polished off
the jerky, leaving nothing to show for my meal
but slightly sticky fingers. He handed me an-
other bottle of juice, and I was relieved to see
that this time it was grape.
“Feeling better?”
“Much.”
“Onward, then.”
We started out again, and as we rounded the
corner onto Rainier Avenue, I slipped my hand
into his. He looked down with a surprised smile,
but offered no comment. He squeezed my fin-
gers and we fell into a comfortable stride.
The walk was long, a straight shot down
Rainier Avenue to South Genesee. Zanna
lived—had lived—at the south end of the park
on the quiet, pleasant South Snoqualmie Street. I
paused at the end of the back walk, unable to
look away from the blaring yellow crime scene

tape that barred our way. Russ ducked under it.
“We can’t go in there. It’s still a crime scene.”
He arched a brow. “Sure we can.”
“Someone’s going to see us and call the police.
How will you explain that?”
“No one will see us.” Still I hesitated, skepti-
cal, and he retraced his steps. His hands came to
rest on my shoulders, and his eyes shifted from
cool blue to almost copper. “Suzanne, haven’t you
wondered why no one stopped while we were
sitting for so long on the side of Dearborn Street?
Or why no one bothered you on the beach when I
went to get you food? No one can see us.”
“Really?” I wasn’t so sure I liked that idea.
What if something happened to him? Would the
shielding break, and I’d become visible again? Or
would I be condemned to wander through a
world where no one could see me?
“The marriage bond and the shielding will
break if anything happens to me,” Russ said; his
fingers tightened a fraction. “Don’t worry. Now,
do you want to stay out here while I look around
inside?”
“Do you think…is it very bad?”
His eyes darkened. “Yes, I think it’s very bad.”
“I’ll stay out here, then. I don’t think I can…” I
trailed off.
His hands fell away and without another word
he pivoted and strode away from me. The door-
knob was no match for otherworldly abilities. He
gained easy access, and he didn’t look back as he
stepped across the threshold. The house seemed
to swallow him.
I sat in the grass beside the patio, ignoring the
comfortable deck chairs under the shade of the
awning. Zanna had not welcomed me here when
she had been alive; I wasn’t going to make myself
at home just because she wasn’t here to object. The
lawn needed to be mowed; my fingers cropped all
that was within reach in an effort to distract my
mind from what was in the house.
The sun warmed my shoulders. I stared at my
arms so I wouldn’t have to look at the streak of
crimson on the door trim. My skin had turned a
lovely shade of brown. I hadn’t been this tan in
years, since I’d had the time—and the inclina-
tion—to sunbathe. It generally took several weeks
of dedicated sun worshipping to achieve this
shade.
I frowned, thinking back over the time since
I’d met Russ. Had it only been three days? It
Page 19
Volume I, Issue V
seemed like much longer. With my weight loss
and tanned skin, it was almost easy to believe it
had been longer. And then there were stretches of
time that I couldn’t remember passing, one mo-
ment being aware of the sun burning down from
one angle, and the next it shone from a direction it
should have passed hours before.
I wondered if my jumbled memory had some-
thing to do with Russ feeding me his strength; I
slept so deeply that upon waking I had several
moments of complete amnesia. Angels, I grumbled
silently. Damn angels.
I glanced up, checking the back door to see if
he was coming out yet. The door, open just a
crack, beckoned to me, enticing me. Come see what
March 2010
he did to her, the girl you learned to drive with; the girl
you first drank whiskey with—and puked with; the girl
who followed you from California to Seattle to go to a
college she hated just to be your support system; the
girl whose man you stole and whose heart you broke.
Come see the end of the heartbreak, splattered across the
white walls Zanna so favored. Come see what waits
ahead for you when Raum finally gets around to you.
I blinked the thought away, surprised to find
myself on the back porch, pushing the door open.
He had caught her in the kitchen. The Mexican
floor tiles were stained with a large, sticky puddle
of blood that had been left to dry. The walls were
not white, but a warm butter yellow with crimson
splatters that might have been artful had they
been paint rather than blood. They were darker
than I’d expected, more russet than red. The scent
hung thick and bitter in the air, closed up as the
house had been. Zanna had no family, and sepa-
rated from Ian and me, there was no one to call for
a crime scene clean-up. Her house, paid for long
ago through an insurance settlement, would re-
main empty until unpaid property taxes forced
the county to sell the parcel at auction.
I dragged my eyes away from the bloody floor.
A newspaper lay open on the table, sprinkled
with scarlet drops. I could just make out part of a
headline: Police call off search for missing…
“Suzanne,” Russ said with concern. I hadn’t
realized I was headed toward the floor until he
caught me. He pressed my face to his chest and
carried me outside, where I lay with my cheek
against the cool blades of grass for a long time.
An ant crawled up a long, broad blade, wa-
vered at the tip, and lumbered back down. I
watched it zigzag across the dead thatch under
March 2010 Page 20
the green lawn until it disappeared. Still I stared
until I realized something else was in the thatch. A
tarnished circle of cheap metal with a heart die-
cut into it, mashed into the dirt. Ian had worn one
like it when we were living together; we’d bought
a matching pair at some little stand at the fair after
indulging in too many funnel cakes. The heart on
his had been cut funny, a little lopsided.
I pushed my fingers through the thatch and
pried the ring from the ground, brushing off the
soil. A lopsided heart.
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I
Volume I, Issue V

thought it might burst from my chest. A weight Italian Meatloaf 

settled on my chest, making it nearly impossible
to breathe. I sat up slowly, a scream of anguish
building in my throat.
“Suzanne?” Russ queried sharply.
I raised my face to the sun and screamed.
“IIIIIIIAAAAAANNN!” Again and again. And
again.
Russ pressed his hand to my forehead, and I
knew no more.
© 2010 Siobhan MacIntyre
Siobhan MacIntyre writes paranor-
mal and chick lit, both infused with
copious amounts of sarcasm. She is a
full-time employee of the state
(Washington), full-time mother to
three kids, six cats and a dog, and a
full-time wife. This means that Sio-
bhan is a part-time writer. Somehow,
she has managed to complete a novel
-length manuscript titled The
Wyckham House. Currently she is working on the second
book, Gothic. This is the second in a planned series of three
or four books about "the devil's mansion." Indeed, because
Siobhan is of Celtic descent and loves those tangly little
knots, she has even tied her short story The Stone Garden
into the convoluted mess the devil's mansion creates, which
can be read in our first issue.
 
Ingredients: 
1 or 2 pieces of Italian bread dried (You can substitute bread 
crumbs or cubed plain bread stuffing) 
2 lbs of ground beef (you can substitute ground turkey) 
2 eggs (you can substitute egg beaters) 
Parmesan cheese (at least 1/2 cup or to taste) 
Canned Bread crumbs (Italian seasoned or plain) 
Onion powder (not fresh) 
Garlic powder (not fresh) 
Basil (fresh or dried) 
Parsley (fresh or dried) 
*If fresh then chop and cut into small bits. If dried then then 
crush the herbs in your hand before dropping into mix. This 
brings out more of their flavor. 
Additional ingredients: 
2‐29oz cans of Hunts unseasoned tomato sauce 
1‐2 bags of macaroni. Regular macaroni...I use corkscrews or 
shells or elbows. I would not recommend spaghetti. 
 
Serves about 6‐8 
Preheat oven 375 
Begin your mix: 
 
Crumble/crush dried bread in a large bowl. Once crushed to 
mostly crumbs and powder add water to soften the bread. 
You should add enough water so that the bread is now mushy 
and is like a paste. You don't want it too mushy so add more 
bread if you accidentally use too much water. 
 
Now begin to add your seasonings. ONE AT A TIME. This is 
very important. I don't know why I just know that my Noni 
was very particular about this. Pick any of the seasonings  
Continued on page 36 

Sean found a leprechaun once in the park. He
was pale and thin with a large toddler's head and
wore a green velvet coat and tails, along with a
very tall top hat. The little bugger perched atop his
little pot of gold and concentrated on his pipe. It
didn't much smell like cherry tobacco.
"So y'found me then, and here I offer you not
one, not two but three wishes. You don't want me
pot o' gold, take a look at your inflation!"
Sean of course opted for the wishing in order
to finally achieve his dream goals, as any man
would. Who'd take such a tiny kettle of gold? He
could wish for an entire castle filled with gold.
"Be quick about it," the leprechaun prompted
with a fierce gleam in his green eyes. He was an
evil looking creature, and not at all cute or chubby
as leprechauns are often portrayed.
"I wish for an expensive sports car," Sean
blurted. The leprechaun grinned.
"Any particular sort then, or should I surprise
you?"
"Any'll do. Black," Sean said, scratching his
chin. "Make it black."
"Of course, a very good choice you've made."
Sean stood there for a moment and looked
around. "Well?"
"Well what?" the leprechaun said.
"Where's my car?"
"D'ye feel they should should just drop out of
the sky then?" the leprechaun snorted. "Well then
you should've wished for one to do just that. This
will take time. Not much longer than a day." Be-
fore Sean could retort, the leprechaun vanished.
Page 21
Volume I, Issue V
March 2010
"Bloody little sod," Sean said and returned to
his car. He pulled out of the car park and merged
into traffic. Not very long after, a Lamborghini
began trailing him. Black. Sean decided it was a
coincidence until he turned into his drive and the
Italian sports car pulled in right after him.
A man in a grey suede jacket got out, gun
aimed at Sean.
"What is this about?" Sean asked, and the man
gave him a frightening smile.
"I have to kill you now," he said and before he
pulled the trigger, he clutched at his heart. His face
went from stoic and quite deadly to blue. Sean
stood there in shock as the gunman died in his
drive. The Lamborghini purred indifferently.
The leprechaun materialized with an amused
snicker. "I take it that this'll do ye, yes?"
"He was going to shoot me," Sean said, toeing
the body in his drive.
"He was a lil' how can I put this here, con-
fused, yes. He was confused."
"But now I've a dead man in my drive."
"That you do. You asked for a fancy sports car.
You didn't indicate how to get it to you. I used the
easiest method."
"There's a bloody dead man in my drive." Sean
said with a hint of annoyance.
"Aye and you still have two wishes that I know
of. Perhaps we can work out an arrangement."
"I'm not using my second wish on corpse dis-
posal. This is your doing!"
"If you like," the leprechaun said with a smile.
"I'll be along now if you're not in need of wish-
 Page 22
making."
March 2010
The gunman'd shat his pants. A pool of yellow
spread at his groin. Sean grimaced.
"Alright. Take him away."
"What's that? I need the magic words y'know."
"I wish for the dead man on my drive to be
taken far away from here. Canada is a good start."
"Splendid choice Sean. I do like the way ye
think." The leprechaun grinned, and the corpse
vanished.
Sean breathed a sigh of relief and turned his
Volume I, Issue V
attention to the Lamborghini. It smelled like
money. Curious, Sean opened the bonnet and
rolled his eyes at the ammunition and gun stash. At
least they didn't stink.
"And your third wish?" the leprechaun asked
and giggled to himself. He lit his pipe from a tiny
match secreted away in his green velvet jacket
pocket. When Sean dared look at him, he could
see the green horns protruding from his furrowed
little green brow.
"I need company. I wish to be wanted by beau-
tiful women."
The leprechaun laughed outright. "Done."
"A wait period again I suppose?"
"You could say just that. And now we are done
Sean."
He vanished again, and Sean snorted. Good
riddance to the little shit. At least the Lamborghini
was legitimately his. He took it for a ride, marvel-
ing at the silken transmission and erection-worthy
horsepower in the thing. Once his day was over,
he parked it by his little house and went inside to
find his bed.
The smell was revolting. He retched and pulled
his shirt up over his nose as he climbed the stairs,
desperate to know what would cause such a stench.
In his bed, were four what-used-to-be people.
Women. They were in various stages of decay,
jaws unhinged, eyes sunken in and liquid goo.
Mottled skin. Fingernails stripped and scattered
over his pillow.
"Cor, what the hell is this? Leprechaun! Lepre-
chaun! I demand you get your arse here now!" He
shouted. The sound attracted the dead women and
they climbed over one another to slide off the bed
and come towards him.
"You called?" the leprechaun chirruped in his
ear. Sean turned and the little bastard was floating
there on his tiny pot of gold.
"These are beautiful women? These are worse
than what you took from my drive!"
"I did what I could to force a free-willed crea-
ture to become obsessed with the likes of you," the
leprechaun said. "Ones with no free-will became
the obvious only option. I might be magical, but I
can't work miracles."
He puffed on his little pipe and Sean swung at
him, but the leprechaun merely materialized across
the room, near the reanimated dead. "You're out of
wishes, and our deal is done. I suppose I could
offer you a bit of a trade though. To take you out
of the situation?"
"Trade for what?"
"I'll make you gold. For luck."
"That's not a trade!" The women were almost
upon him. Their rotting skin was crawling with
maggots and all manner of slithery things. "Yes,"
Sean said. "Yes! Make it stop, whatever you ask!"
"Glad you said that," said the leprechaun and
Sean shrank and hardened, the corpses falling to
gelatinous piles where he once stood. The lepre-
chaun floated to the floor and picked through the
mess until he retrieved a gold coin.
"My good luck," he said, and put it in his pot
with the others, the light evoking a low series of
screams from the contents. The leprechaun van-
ished for the last time.
© 2010 Kilian Conor
 Page 23

Volume I, Issue V
“Fuck no, I didn’t kill that stupid bitch,” I yelled at my  “Because you have no fucking conscience,” he 
identical twin brother Trent, my loud response not  replied. “And I do.” 
really helping my defense, but whatever. I was fucking  “That’s right, you do that for me, bro, so I don’t 
pissed because he would’ve seen my innocence if he  have to deal with it,” I said and slapped a hand on his 
hadn’t broken the damn link again. He just didn’t want  shoulder. “I do the killin’, you do feelin’ bad.” 
me watching him screw his girl, which I really wouldn’t  Trent sighed heavily. “Just be more careful about 
mind watching.  who you kill.” 

March 2010
“Oh really? Then what happened to her? She’s been  I pulled him close and looked him dead in the 
missing for three days.” He folded his arms over his  eye. “I didn’t kill her, I promise you that.” 
chest and glared at me, his blue eye meeting mine,  We stared at one another for a few seconds, and 
green doing just the same. “Last I saw, she was with  then he nodded again. “I believe you. You’ve never 
you.”  lied to me.” 
“Last you saw, bro, but I left her after that,” I said,  And that’s the truth too. I’ve never once lied to 
crossing my arms, which made us look like either could  my twin. I have no reason to. Don’t think I could get 
be standing in front of a mirror. “Try lookin’ with the  away with it anyway. Trent’s half of me, for fuck’s 
inner eye, fucker.” I tapped my forehead and adjusted  sake. He may not understand why I think the way I 
my hand back into the crook of my elbow. “I had to  do, but he got all the other shit. Other people, I did‐
meet someone else, if you must know.”  n’t give a shit about one way or another. Trent was 
His brow hit his forehead. “Who?”  the only liability in my life, and that boy could take 
I narrowed my eyes. “That’d be none of your damn  care of himself when he needed to. 
business if you can’t see it anymore.”  Only problem was he looked just like me, so 
Trent reached up and rubbed his face. “Damn it,  when I did a job I had to be invisible. The vamp shit 
Shawn, I’m trying here. I really am, but I need a little  helped with that immensely. 
cooperation.”  “Maybe you should take those piercings out and 
“For what, to save me?” I snapped. “Let’s face it,  dye your hair,” I suggested. 
man, you’re the good little boy and I’m not. It’s always  “Why, you get seen or something?” he asked 
been like that, even when we were kids, before all the  and grabbed my wrist, twisting my arm back. 
vampyre bullshit.”  “No, I’m just sayin’ it might be better,” I replied, 
“Before Cianán turned us,” he mumbled, but I heard  turned my arm and caught his wrist up in my hand. 
him quite clear.  “Knock that shit off. You know I’ll take you down.” 
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied. “I’m fucking glad he did,  Trent laughed. The fucker. “Alright, so if you did‐
you know.”  n’t kill her, who in the hell did?” 
Trent nodded slowly because he knew damn well  “Don’t know, big brother, but I’m gonna find 
shit was bad right before that happened. The govern‐ out.” 
ment had trained me to kill, which I became stellar at,  He rolled his eyes because he was only two min‐
and Trent could hack into pretty much any database in  utes older. “Let me know if you need any help. I’m 
the world. It’s why he and Seth, video game designer  sure Seth could find some shit for you or some‐
extraordinaire, got along so well. But after that, right  thing.” 
around our twenty‐second birthday, shit went downhill  “Will do.”  
fast, and we went through two years of drug‐ and alco‐ I’d love to have stayed and chatted with him be‐
hol‐induced hell before Cianán found us. I considered  cause I rarely saw him anymore, but I had to find out 
the master vampyre a blessing; Trent felt otherwise, but  who possibly killed that girl and made it look like I 
he didn’t complain about his immortality.  did it if Trent was questioning me. She’d gone miss‐
“Why do you think I do what I do, Trent?”  ing that night and I needed to find her. And boy, if 
March 2010 Page 24
she was dead, that fucker was going to pay when I  know we’d have been gone in a snap,” I replied with 
found him.  a snap of my fingers. “Of course, Trent would’ve 
~☯~  killed you if you’d hurt her.” I took a few steps to‐
Leaving Trent’s house and heading out into the  ward him. Showing this slayer any remote sense of 
night, I wasn’t sure where to go, but I figured start‐ fear was a bad idea. Not that I was afraid of him or 
ing at the last place I saw the girl would be a good  anything, but the guy had a nasty rep. “S’up Fang? 
spot. I phased into the alley next to Inferno, a club in  Why’re you here?” 
one of the historic districts in Portland. The scent of  “Why do you think?” he said, scoping the alley 
sea and pine hit my nose in a rush, and damn did  while reaching into his long black leather trench. 
that smell good after leaving the seafood and smog‐ Just in case he was pulling a weapon, I readied 
choked air of the Bay area. I fucking hated seafood.  myself to phase the fuck out of there. Instead, he 
Hated smog even more.  pulled out a pack of smokes, hit the end until one 
Volume I, Issue V

I crouched down where I’d last talked to her and  popped up, and raised the pack to his mouth, taking 
scooped up some gravel, bringing it to my nose to  one between his teeth. Then he stuffed the pack 
see if her scent still lingered. It did. I had her. Now I  back into his inner pocket and pulled out his trusty 
just needed to figure out where she went, and possi‐ Zippo. The flame sparked to life and he moved it to 
bly who with.  the end of his cigarette. 
I inhaled deeply to search the other scents when  “You huntin’ me tonight?” I asked, wanting a 
a unique one hit my nose. “What’s that?” I mumbled  damn smoke myself, so I reached into my leather 
and stood up, still holding a few rocks in my hand.  jacket pocket, searching for my own. 
Now, I’ve smelled just about every scent known to  Fang shook his head twice, and then gave me a 
man, which wasn’t impossible because of my height‐ chin up. “I hear a girl’s gone missing.” 
ened sense of smell, but this one had me perplexed.  I snorted before lighting my smoke. “Yeah, and I 
There was a human‐type scent there, but underlying  suppose you think I did it, right?” I said around the 
was canine. Someone with a dog, perhaps? Or fuck,  end of the cigarette and removed it from my mouth, 
it could be a werewolf. I dropped the rocks and  a puff of white following it. “I have an alibi.” 
scanned the alley. I knew what werewolves smelled  He smirked. “Oh yeah? What’s her name?” 
like, and this scent was similar, yet somehow differ‐ “Oh no, we’re not going there,” I said with a 
ent.  shake of my head. “You’ll go after the person, and I 
There were two different types of werewolves in  can’t allow that.” 
the world. Of one type, only two existed and lived in  Fang’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight, along 
Italy. They’re both somewhere around two thousand  with his bald head. “Must be special to you.”  
years old. The girl may be a bit younger, but damn,  I’d have replied with “not just to me,” but that 
she was hot in a Scarlett Johansson sort of way. The  would’ve given away something the entire race 
other type was your typical horror movie wolfman.  would hunt me down for and take my head off over. 
I’m talkin’ Underworld here, not Lon Chaney. The  He got within a few feet of me and stopped. He 
first type can actually turn into a wolf. It looks like a  knew better than to get any closer. We both did. 
wolf, acts like a wolf, hunts like a wolf. The second  “So, you got any idea what the fuck happened that 
type looks and acts like … well, a wolfman—half hu‐ night?” 
man, half wolf.  “Yeah, I talked to the girl right here in the alley,” 
I sniffed the air again. Apparently, a new type  I said, pointing to the ground. “Then I left to meet 
had risen. Fucking great.  someone else. End of story.” 
Quiet footsteps, those of the sneaking variety,  “What’re you doing here now then?” he asked, 
hit my eardrums. I turned toward them and flashed  taking a long drag from his cigarette. 
fang, trying hard not to laugh.  “Trying to find out what happened because who‐
“Dude, could you be any louder? I can hear you a  ever the fuck did it is making it look like I did it, and 
mile away,” I said. “No wonder you can never catch  I’m so not cool with that.” 
me.”  He nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think you would be. 
The bald‐headed man coming toward me flashed  What’ve you found so far?” 
fang right back, except his were false. “I came close  I studied him a second because it wasn’t like 
that one time.”  Fang to help a vampyre. “I got a scent,” I said and 
“Yeah, and you had to have a hostage or you  told him about it. “You got anything?” 
 Page 25

Volume I, Issue V
His lips drew into a thin line. “Just people saying  the entrance to this club now.” 
they saw her last with you.”  I took a step back and tilted my head. “Oh, that’s 
“Dude, if I’d killed her, it just would’ve been out  right, you don’t hunt werewolves, or anything else 
of annoyance, and I don’t kill for stupid shit like  outside of vamps.” I leaned forward, pointing a fin‐
that,” I replied, waving my hand in the air. “I can’t  ger at him. “I suggest you start, Fang, because this is 
run around killing people at random. It’s not good  unlike anything I’ve ever scented before.” 
for business. What the fuck do you think I am, a se‐ He glared at me. “How different?” 
rial killer?”  I stood up straight. “I won’t fucking know until I 
A burst of laughter exploded from his mouth.  see it, but the scent is off. It’s not normal. You catch 
“Fuck, man. That’s the funniest damn thing I’ve ever  my drift, slayer?” 
heard you say.”  “How? A werewolf is a werewolf.” 
“That’s great,” I said. “Can I go about my busi‐ I raised a brow. “I forgot, you don’t know about 
ness now searching for this fucker, or do you wanna  the immortals.” I chuckled. “Look, I don’t have time 
help?”  to give you a history lesson on werewolves, but this 
A hand and finger popped up. “Actually, I may  fucker is neither of what I know.” 

March 2010
have something else for you. One of her friends said  I took a mental snapshot of the surprised look on 
she saw a guy leering at her in the club. Kind of  his face. “There are immortal werewolves? Fuck, 
freaked her out. In fact, she thinks she saw him be‐ next you’ll be telling me the Fae are fucking real 
fore that night following them.”  too.” 
Color me surprised. “You got a description?”  I had to contemplate that thought before open‐
He grinned like a mother fucker. “I got better—a  ing my damn mouth. “Well, in a way, they are, but 
name. Bouncer recognized him from the door; re‐ that’s irrelevant right now.” I flicked my cigarette to 
membered the name.”  the side and ran a hand through my long black hair. 
I waited for him to tell me, but the ass took his  “Shit, okay, you need a name. Let me think.” Whom 
sweet time. “Well, what the fuck is it?”  did I hate that I could give away so freely? Hell, he’d 
“Oh no,” he replied, shaking his damn head.  already tried to run his sword through Grant, and 
My hand came up and drew a circle next to my  that didn’t work. Besides, Kylie would kill me, and I 
head. “You get a rattling sound in there when you do  didn’t want her pissed. She was much stronger than I 
that?”  was, even though we were the same age. It’s be‐
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, look at Mr. Funny Fuck‐ cause she was a different kind of vampyre. Yeah, 
ing Vamp. You want the name or not?”  there’s two different kinds of vamps too. She and 
I snorted, held up a hand, then stood straight  Grant didn’t feed on blood like Trent and me. They 
and calmed my face. “Continue.”  took a part of the soul; they called it the life force. 
His face was dark, hidden within the shadows of  Fang rolled his eyes. “This is gonna take all night 
the night and buildings. “You don’t get it that easily,  at this pace.” 
vampyre. I want something in return.” If he’d been a  “Fuck off, I’m thinking,” I replied. “I can’t just 
vamp, those eyes would’ve been glowing with that  give anyone to you. Not that I even care to give you 
fucking challenge. Bastard.  anyone.” I held up a hand. “Oh wait, I’ve got one. 
“Like fucking what?” A gleam hit his eyes. “Oh  Matty, that mother fucker. I hate him.” 
fuck no! I’m not giving you the name of a vampyre to  Fang laughed. “Okay, that works. You got a last 
hunt and kill.”  name to go with the first?” 
He shrugged and started to turn away. “Guess  “Yeah, it’s Johnson.” 
you don’t want to clear your name then.”  “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any 
I leapt forward and grabbed his arm. “You will  idea how many Matt Johnsons there are out there? 
fucking tell me that name!”  You need to give me more.” 
He growled as his eyes flicked from my hand on  “He’s in fucking Kansas, last I heard, asswipe.” I 
his arm to my face. “You know better, vampyre. If  raised my hand and did a Neo to him. In other 
you want the name, I get a name. That’s how it fuck‐ words, I beckoned the info forward with my hand. 
ing works, or you can search all night long.” He  “Now give me the name.” 
yanked his arm from my grip and squared his shoul‐ Fang nodded, gave me the name I needed, and 
ders as he turned to face me. “If it’s not a vampyre  smiled. “Catch ya around, vampyre.” I didn’t like the 
who did it, I don’t give a fuck. And you can’t go near  gleam hitting his eyes. 
March 2010 Page 26
“Yeah, whatever, slayer,” I said and turned to 
vanish before he could pull out a stake. That shit did‐
n’t kill me, but it damn sure hurt and paralyzed me, 
giving a slayer ample time to remove my head. Not  Trent: I’ll see what I can find. 
fucking cool and I kind of liked my head attached. As  Shawn: Cool, I’m gonna search this 
I turned to phase, I felt a prick of pain hit my side.  name Fang gave me. 
Mother fucker. That was payment for grabbing  Trent: What name? You saw Fang? 
his arm.  WTF?  
~☯~ 
I phased to my safe house in Portland (I have one in 
a few select cities throughout the world), and before 
I powered up my laptop to search this guy out, I had 
Volume I, Issue V

to pull a fucking small dagger out from beneath my 
ribcage. I winced, pushed my fingers against the area 
to determine the damage within, and discovered my 
spleen had been punctured, but I could feel myself  I blew out a breath with the cigarette between 
already healing so it didn’t really matter. My laptop  my teeth, which sent a couple of embers floating 
beeped and I looked up at the screen as I tossed the  over my keyboard.  
dagger onto the desk. Seeing that Trent was online, I  A grin spread across my face as I typed away.  
wiped my bloody hands on my t‐shirt and entered 
chat with him, asking to run through his files. Trent 
had a database filled with every preternatural crea‐
ture in existence. Maybe I could find this guy, maybe  Shawn: Dude, it’s all good. He was cool. 
not, but it was worth a shot. I mean, I only needed to  The name he gave sounded weird. I’ll type it 
stick to the canine familiars anyway.  into your database, but the spelling might be 
My brow arched and I reached for my smokes.  wrong. 
After the flame lit the end of a cigarette, my fingers  Trent: Jesus fuck … alright, hurry up.  
tapped away at the keyboard.   Shawn: Ya know, if you’d just open the 
damn link again, all this shit wouldn’t be 
necessary. 
Trent: Fuck. Off.  
Shawn: You got any info on a new type 
of werewolf?  
Trent: New type? There are only two 
types, man. Vincent and Lyssa, and then all 
the others. 
Shawn: I picked up a scent that’s differ‐
ent from theirs, yet there’s still a canine 
quality to it. Ever hear of anything like that?  I laughed aloud, removed the cigarette from be‐
If it’s not a werewolf, I wanna know what  tween my lips, and sat it in the ashtray next to my 
the fuck it is.  laptop. Someday he’d open that link again. I just had 
to wait for the right moment. It’s not like he couldn’t 
hear me if I screamed his name when in trouble. 
He’d hear it. He just wouldn’t see anything unless I 
was about to die. Hell if that was going to happen 
anytime soon. I typed the fucked up spelling of the 
name Fang gave me into the database and hit enter. 
The search began. Then I sat back, pulled off my 
black t‐shirt, looked at my quick‐healing wound, and 
The screen remained blank for a bit before I  picked up the cigarette, leaving it between my lips 
could see he was typing something.   while I rested my hands on the back of my head and 
  kicked my boots up on the desk. 
 Page 27

Volume I, Issue V
About fifteen minutes went by when my search  take care of first. Not to worry, babe, I’ll be careful 
ended … with zero results. Go fucking figure. Damn  as always. See ya soon.” 
thing didn’t even offer me an alternate spelling.  One of the things I loved about that woman was 
“Damn it.” I moved my black Roy Rogers’ back to the  that she knew me, knew what I did, and never once 
floor and leaned forward, typing to Trent.  questioned it or held me accountable for it. That, 
and she turned me on like no other female had. I 
also liked the fact that she took me as I am, no 
strings, no typical female bullshit. She was a helluva 
Shawn: Find anything?  lot like me. Perfect fucking match. If I wasn’t careful, 
Trent: Nada. You?  I’d end up spouting the L‐word to her, and that just 
Shawn: Zilch. Maybe I spelled it wrong.  couldn’t fucking happen. Last girl I told that to ended 
Here, you try …   up dead because of me. 
I dried off, got dressed, and searched through 
my arsenal to decide on which weapons I’d take with 
me to hunt this guy down now that I knew where he 

March 2010
was. I strapped on my shoulder holster, checked the 
ammo on my Kimber 1911 and placed it in the hol‐
ster. Next, I strapped a knife to my leg under the 
black jeans—silver blade because if I remembered 
correctly, werewolves were allergic to the shit and I 
Less than thirty fucking seconds later and the  wasn’t taking any chances in case he was a were‐
fucker pops into chat with name, address, birthdate  wolf. Then I attached a few extra clips to my belt, a 
and the goddamn social security number for this guy.  blade to my arm, and finally slipped my leather biker 
Sometimes, I really hated my twin. I won’t even ask  jacket on before stepping out to the balcony. 
him how he did that so fast because it’d just make  The chilled wind swept through my wet hair as I 
me look bad.  closed my eyes, envisioning the formation of wings 
on my back. Pain struck as they took form, slowly 
materializing, pushing their way out of my body yet 
not tearing my clothes. It was some sort of molecu‐
Shawn: Ass … Thanks. Later. 
lar shit I didn’t know much about and didn’t really 
Trent: ROFL. You’re welcome. I’ll keep 
fucking care, to be honest. I rarely used this form of 
researching that other shit. 
travel, but I had to if I wanted to locate this guy. I 
could only phase to places I knew and had already 
been, and even that was touch and go, depending on 
whether it was a public place or not. 
My wings lifted me into the night, and I was off 
in search of a possible new preternatural creature 
who might also be a killer. Not that most preternatu‐
ral creatures weren’t killers, but whatever. What 
some of the Fae do to their victims … Creepy shit, 
man. Whether this guy intended to frame me for the 
I closed out the chat window after memorizing  girl’s disappearance or not, he was on my shit list of 
the info, and then shut down my laptop and headed  the paranormal that existed in the clandestine re‐
for the shower. Since my wound had healed, I  cesses of this world … and I was going to make his 
needed to wash off the blood. I rinsed off quick and  ass extinct. 
stepped out of the shower right as my cell phone   
rang.   ~☯~ 
“Yo.” At the sound of her sweet voice, my lips  I found myself outside his house, hiding in the shad‐
turned up into a smile, and my fangs elongated at  ows with an unmarked patrol car nearby. Appar‐
the memory of tasting her blood only hours earlier.  ently, the human cops got the same info I did. I 
My tongue slid over my teeth. “Oh, hey baby. Yeah,  sniffed the air surrounding the building to discover 
I’ll stop by later tonight if I can. I’ve got some shit to  that odd scent I’d found in the alley. Now that I was 
March 2010 Page 28
closer to the suspect, I realized he wasn’t a dog  the freezer and peered around the corner as he 
owner and definitely more along the preternatural  opened the satchel and dumped its contents onto 
lines. The scent normally associated with dogs was‐ the table. My brow arched as I watched tiny frag‐
n’t present—dander, feces, that nasty wet dog smell  ments of white scatter and clink against the flat 
one would expect in such a misty climate. I sniffed  metal surface. As he began drilling holes in each 
again. Nope. In fact, this guy didn’t have any pets.  piece with his Dremel, I caught a faint scent of the 
I peered through a window on the side of the  dust drifting into the air. Bones. More importantly, I 
house after movement caught my eye. Darker skin,  now knew the girl who’d followed me out of the club 
long black hair pulled back in a braid, some sort of  three nights ago was dead. 
weird tribal tattoos I’d never seen before. He walked   
through the kitchen with what looked like a sewing  ~☯~ 
kit and opened a door. A light came on, hitting the  There was always a moment in time when every‐
Volume I, Issue V

windows at the base of the house. Since I could see  thing around you wasn’t quite as it seemed. I 
my destination, I immediately vanished from my  watched this guy drill holes into tiny fragments of 
shadows to the basement in order to find a place to  bone—finger bones, by the way—and then thread a 
hide before he came down.  string through them to make a necklace. Who did 
The moment I materialized, the stench of blood  that kind of shit? It reminded me of my time growing 
threatened to take me to my knees, and I bit the in‐ up in New Orleans with all the Voodoo shit. He put 
side of my lip to distract the hunger. What was  the necklace on and reached for more bones and a 
worse, the blood belonged to the girl. I smelled that  long hollow stick, then began filing some of the bone 
sweet nectar coursing through her veins beneath  tips to points. I’d planned on stepping out of the al‐
petal soft flesh a few nights before. My fangs wanted  cove, but decided I needed to watch this shit a bit 
so badly to penetrate her skin, and I would have if it  longer. Study your enemy closely so you know what 
hadn’t been for her clinginess annoying the fuck out  you’re dealing with, right? Exactly. The blow dart 
of me. She’d followed me out of the club and into  contraption was a weapon I hadn’t seen in a long 
the alley—my final destination before phasing out of  time. It’s rarely used anymore and really not that 
there. I’d left her standing in the alley with a pathetic  effective unless you’re practically on top of the per‐
pout on her face. Obviously, wolfman here picked up  son and damn good with it, and mostly you see it 
where I left off.  used in indigenous societies, not here in American 
My eyes scanned the room and fell upon a once  civilization. But here this guy sat working on his little 
bloodied table now cleaned with ammonia because I  bone darts with the bamboo or whatever gun sitting 
could smell both, a tray full of various instruments  in front of him on the table. 
that only belonged in a butcher shop or something,  Where the fuck was Trent when I needed him? 
and then I saw the small alcove and immediately  This wasn’t Voodoo shit. 
phased to it as he came down the stairs.   Ho’kee—that’s his name—pulled a small baggie 
Bad idea. That’s where the freezer was.   from his jeans pocket, walked over to a shelf and 
That’s also where the scent of blood was strong‐ picked up a pottery shard, then walked back to the 
est. Part of me wanted to open the freezer just to  table and sat on the stool once more. He carefully 
clarify the assumptions running rampant through my  pulled a lock of blonde hair out of the baggie, and 
mind. The other part of me—if I’d been human and  then proceeded to wrap it around the shard. 
had a conscience—would’ve thrown up at the mere  I made every attempt to force Trent into seeing 
thought. Well, I’m not human anymore, and I’ve  this by screaming at him through the mind link that 
never had a conscience, so my hand went to the  we still shared. Finally, he responded. 
freezer door to lift that shit open.  Dude, what the hell? I’m in the middle of some‐
I stopped myself when I heard his weight shift  thing. 
and heading in my direction. Fuck. My body swirled  I don’t give a fuck. Are you seeing this shit? Be‐
up in a shift of molecules, transforming to a fine mist  cause you really need to, bro. 
and rising to the ceiling, where I waited and watched  Hang on … I waited with my usual impatience 
as he entered the alcove and opened the small cabi‐ until he came back with some info. Of course, he still 
net next to the freezer. He removed a brown leather  wasn’t seeing what I saw before me, which pissed 
satchel, closed it again, and headed back to the table  me the hell off. Okay, his name is Navajo. It means, 
where he’d left his kit. I solidified once more next to  “abandoned.” 
 Page 29

Volume I, Issue V
And this is relevant why?  through his fur on the left shoulder blade. He nearly 
My vision shifted abruptly and I could feel Trent  lost his footing on the table as he yelped, but he 
inside my head as my own vision was thrown, it  quickly regained balance and lunged for me, taking 
seemed, to the back of my head and I was looking  me to the ground. My blade tumbled across the floor 
down a tunnel. Because he’s a fucking skinwalker,  as my left hand held those fierce jowls away from my 
you jackass. See that shit on the table? That’s how he  face by the throat. I kicked a leg up, catching him in 
“charms” his victims before he kills them.  the side with my knee, and rolled him off me and 
“Mother fucker,” came out in a soft whisper.  onto his back. Once I had him held down, I raised a 
Ho’kee turned toward the alcove, spotted me  fist and introduced it to his face a few times. He 
with his iridescent eyes, and leapt off the stool. Liter‐ snapped at my hand, catching my wrist until I 
ally. Mid‐air, he changed. Not like a werewolf or  punched him with my left fist. His legs kicked and 
wolfman. One second he was a man, the next he was  feet clawed at me in an attempt to push me off, but I 
a wolf flying through the air at me and his jeans were  wasn’t going anywhere. 
hitting the floor in a muffled thud. I phased to the  “What’d you do with the girl, you sick fuck? Did you 
other side of the basement as he slammed into the  eat her?” I punched him in the side of the head 

March 2010
far wall.   again. “Is that necklace you made a fucking trophy or 
Oh shit, Trent’s voice said inside my head. He’s  something?” 
gonna be a bitch to kill. I’ll look it up quick. Keep him  Ho’kee snarled and snapped at me before his 
distracted.  face started changing again. Before I knew it, Ho’kee 
Distracted? Fuck. I stared down the snarling wolf  the man lay beneath me. “What would you know of 
in the alcove. “C’mon pup, wanna play?” I reached  it, vampyre? You do not know my people or my na‐
for my Kimber 1911, and before I got to it, Trent was  ture. You have help from elsewhere coming to you.” 
telling me a bullet wouldn’t stop this fucker unless  “Why her?” I demanded, ignoring the latter part 
dipped it in white ash. “Fine,” I said as I removed my  of that statement, my fingers tightening around his 
hand and brought it to my side. The foot‐long blade  throat, his doing the same around mine. “I don’t 
on my arm shot out and I caught its hilt in my hand  need air, fucker.” 
and waved it back and forth in front of me. Ho’kee  “Why not her?” he choked out. “You would have 
the wolf growled, his blank eyes following the shin‐ killed her had she not annoyed the hell out of you.” 
ing silver in my hand, feet padding softly on the con‐ “That’s not the fucking point! Everyone thinks I 
crete forward and back, back and forth. Hurry the  did it.” 
fuck up, whatever you’re doing!  Ho’kee let out a strangled laugh. “Of course. You 
Ho’kee left the alcove, slowly heading for the  don’t wish to honor her with revenge. You merely 
table’s opposite side. His upper lip curled to show  wish to reclaim your innocence.” 
me large white fangs.  I growled at him. “You’ve no idea how far from 
“I’ve got those too, fucker,” I said and bared my  innocence I am, Ho’kee.” I leaned in closer to his hu‐
own fangs.  man face. “But just for shits and giggles, yeah, I’ll 
Whoa, did you see his eyes? I didn’t think that  take the revenge because I didn’t plan to kill her ei‐
part was true. They’re totally opposite of the normal,  ther way.” My fangs jutted down and in a swift 
reflecting when in human form and not when in  move, I had his jugular in my mouth, pointed tips 
ani—  piercing the flesh, allowing his blood to flow over my 
I growled at my twin and the wolf simultane‐ tongue as I sucked. Sucking was a sure way to kill 
ously. Shut the fuck up and tell me how to kill him!  him. 
Trent went silent as my vision returned to nor‐ Of course, my twin had perfect fucking timing. 
mal while I faced off with the skinwalker. I didn’t  All right Shawn, here’s what you need … WHAT THE 
have time to wait for him. The wolf launched itself  FUCK ARE YOU DOING? Don’t drink his blood! Shit! 
onto the metal table, claws screeching in that nails‐ I lurched away from Ho’kee and dropped him to 
down‐the‐chalkboard sound, wreaking havoc on my  the floor. What, why not? I got a mental image of 
sensitive ears. He was awful damn close and not  Trent with his face in his hands, shaking his head. 
fearful of my blade.  Meanwhile, Ho’kee made a weak attempt at rolling 
Hey, are these assholes immortal?  to the side, but failed miserably. 
As far as I can tell, no. Silence again as Ho’kee  Oh Jesus. Oh shit. Trent said, and then repeated it. Is 
started his crouch. I jumped forward and sliced  he dead yet? 
March 2010 Page 30
No, you stopped me before I finished. I pulled the  vamp’s system up something awful, and didn’t allow 
knife from my leg. But I’ll take care of that right now.  us to heal the way God—I mean, the way we’d nor‐
I slid forward, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked  mally heal. Nico said it was some mineral or some‐
him back to me, pulling him up so I could lay my  thing she’d had yet to identify, but she’s a smart girl, 
blade across his throat. “I’m just gonna pretend  so I didn’t think it’d take much longer for her to fig‐
you’re a vamp. Decapitation usually works on every‐ ure out. The brains in that gorgeous little body 
thing.”  upped the turn‐on factor. I rarely met a woman who 
Ho’kee yelled, but it quickly turned into a gurgle  was smart and hot … and put up with my shit. 
as my silver blade sliced through his flesh and vocal  “Up on the table,” she said and patted the cush‐
chords. That didn’t stop the initial sound from escap‐ ion, the paper crackling beneath her hand. 
ing the house.  I shrugged out of my leather jacket, dropped it in 
Get to her NOW! Trent screamed.  the chair, and hopped up on the table. “So, you’ve 
Volume I, Issue V

I tossed Ho’kee aside, snatched up my other  heard of skinwalkers before?” 
blade, and phased the fuck out of there before the  Her fine brow arched. “It’s a Navajo legend, 
cops broke down the door.  Shawn, and I live in Arizona. How would I not hear 
  about them?” 
~ ☯ ~  The grin hit my face at full volume upon hearing 
I landed in her living room, as usual. She used to yell  the sarcasm in her beautiful voice. God, I loved this 
at me for that. Nico came running to my side as soon  woman, but I’d never tell her. She knew it too, and 
as she saw me and helped me up, though I wasn’t  used it quite often against me. The grin remained 
really hurt that bad. Normally, I wouldn’t come to  even as she started cleaning my wrist. Pain didn’t 
her for something so minor, but I’d told her earlier  bother me so much. I had a high tolerance for the 
I’d stop by tonight. Plus, there was Trent and what‐ shit. 
ever the hell he was worried about.  “It’s healing quickly,” she said after tossing a 
“What the hell happened?” she asked, grabbing  couple of blood‐soaked gauze pads in the trash. 
my arm and pushing the sleeve up to look at the  “Makes me wonder why you’re even here.” Her eyes 
wound on my wrist. I figured the blood dripping  flicked up for half a second before returning to my 
down my hand gave it away. I was going to have to  wrist. 
have her carpet cleaned again.  “Told you I’d see you tonight,” I replied. “Can’t 
“Hey babe,” I said and reached for her hand. “It’s  break a promise, can I?” 
just an animal bite. Not that bad, really.”  Her full lips turned up at the corners as she 
“What bit you?” She sniffed the air. “You smell  wiped the last of the blood off and inspected the 
like a dog.”   bite. It was closing slowly, but it’d be okay soon. 
“Funny you should say that, it was canine.”  “You need blood?” 
Her chocolate eyes searched my face for the  I shook my head before realizing she probably 
typical lies I’d tell her because she knew I wouldn’t  couldn’t see that. “No, I’m good. Made a nice meal 
show weakness, even in front of her. “Was it a were‐ out of him.” 
wolf?”  She froze, looked up at me, and stared into my 
“No, a skinwalker.”   eyes. “Shawn, you didn’t.” 
She gasped, placing a hand over her mouth, and  “What? Trent freaked out too,” I said. “What’s 
then she pulled me back into her “operating” room.  the problem? Is it gonna kill me? I feel fine.” 
“I didn’t think there were any of those left.”   Nico broke away from me and tapped at the 
Nico had one hell of a set up in her house. She  keys on her laptop. “Shit, Shawn, I’ve heard stories. I 
was the vamp healer, and the only one of her kind,  mean, I’ll look it up, but … Oh God.” 
so she’d get visitors from all over the world. The rest  I hopped off the table, walked up behind her, 
had to knock on the door, or they’d find themselves  and placed my hand on her shoulder. “What’d you 
with a sword at their neck. Yeah, a beautiful vamp‐ hear, Nico? Is something gonna happen to me?” 
healing witch who knew how to use a sword. Just  As the computer began its search of whatever she’d 
thinking about it turned me on. I’d stumbled across  typed into it, Nico swung her chair around to face 
her a few years back by way of an associate of mine  me and pulled me down to her until I knelt on the 
when I’d been hurt real bad with some new‐fangled  floor. Her hands brushed across my cheeks and held 
shit one of the slayer factions created. Fucks a  my face still as she stared into my eyes.  
 Page 31

Volume I, Issue V
“Shawn, if you drank his blood, you—” she swal‐
lowed and pulled me closer “—you may have taken 
on his power.” 
My brow went up. “What do you mean?” 
She blew out a breath and rested her forehead 
against mine. “Please understand when I tell you 
that skinwalkers are not good people, Shawn. 
They’re evil. One of the worst kinds of evil. In order 
to obtain the powers of a skinwalker, one must kill 
an immediate family member.” 
Personally, I didn’t think anything could be much 
more evil than what I saw in Hell not so long ago. 
“So, you think I’m gonna kill Trent or something?”  Ben stood rigid against the wooden post. 
“No, but no one has ever drank the blood of a  Nothing held him in place, but he knew one 
skinwalker before, so I don’t know what it’s going to 

March 2010
false move could mean his demise—a messy 
do to you, and I certainly wouldn’t know how to heal  one at that. On his head sat a large red apple, 
that.” 
glued down to a flimsy paper hat, which was 
I brushed her long brown hair back, tucking it 
tied onto his head. His father stood across 
behind one ear. “Let’s not worry about that right 
now, Nico. I feel fine, really. Tasted just like any  this temporary stage erected in Templeton 
other human.”  Park. He held a handgun in a loose grip. Even 
“You sure?” Her eyes held a worry I’d never  though Ben had used the bathroom not ten 
seen, and that made part of me uneasy.  minutes ago, he felt like he might tinkle down 
I nodded. “I’m fine.”  his leg at any moment. Good thing Momma 
My face held steady, eyes staring into hers,  and Ginny were at home in case he did. 
breathing normal for the most part—sometimes I  
forgot to breathe. I wasn’t going to tell her about the  Mayor Gregg stepped out onto the stage. 
itch in the center of my chest—inside—that had me  "Ladies and gentlemen, please, can I have your 
wanting to jump out of my skin and run through the 
attention?" Every time Ben had been to some 
forest in pursuit of a doe. Mind you, the forest is an 
sort of town meeting, it took forever to get 
hour and a half from Nico’s house, but I could phase 
there in a matter of seconds.  everyone quiet and listening. 
Cianán would be proud. I gained a new power all  Today, though, they shut up good and quick. 
on my own. I’d just have to hope that the evil shit  Was that good or bad? Did he want this over 
didn’t come with it. I’m fucking dark enough as it is.  with or not? 
 
© 2010 NL Gervasio "The Tellian Law is not one we bring up frivo‐
lously," Mayor Gregg said. "When it went into 
the books many years ago, it was needed to 
save this town from heathenism and pagan‐
ism, both directions our 
ancestors were headed towards. The solution, 
it turns out, proved very effective." 
 
Ben had only seen one Tellian Law ceremony in 
his ten years. Farmer Ron Paddock had blown 
his son's head off with the very pistol Father 
now held. Ben remembered every detail of 
that day. In the past week, 
since Father had been sentenced to the cere‐
March 2010 Page 32
mony, Ben had woken up in a cold sweat each  Father looked out over the crowd. "I said I go 
night with the vision of Jeremy Paddock's head  fishing. It eases my mind and relaxes me. Sunday 
exploding like an overripe watermelon. He also  morning is the only time I can devote myself to 
remembered then‐Mayor Zeal giving this exact  it, and sometimes I lose track of time. The rest 
speech.  of my family still attends. Why punish Ben for 
  that?" 
"Our town is a small one. We   
rely on each other throughout  This time the crowd broke 
the year for both staples to  into loud conversations. Ben 
get us through each season,  heard quite a few, and most 
as well as luxuries to keep our  agreed with Father. He looked 
Volume I, Issue V

minds off the hard work we're  over at Mayor Gregg, who did‐
forced to endure. Maybe most  n't look happy. Not one bit. 
importantly, we rely on each   
other to stay spiritually  "I didn't realize how many of 
grounded to avoid slips to‐ you supported heathenism," 
wards the devil."  he shouted over them. That 
  shut everyone up. "If it was 
Father moved towards Mayor  just missing church, we might 
Gregg, but Officer Turrow,  be able to overlook this whole 
Willsburg's only full time po‐ mess. After all, as Pete said, 
liceman, stepped in front of  his family attends each week, 
him. Father whispered some‐ with or without him. And who 
thing, set the gun down at his feet, and put his  knows, maybe he really does read his bible les‐
hands up to show he meant no harm. Officer  sons like he says." 
Turrow nodded and backed off.   
  The Mayor paused and looked out amongst the 
"I just want to say one thing," Father said. "I like  crowd. "But Mr. Pete Williams has failed on no 
to believe I'm a good Christian. I admit I skip  less than three separate occasions to kneel 
church a tad too often, but I make up for it. I  down to the statue of our lord and savior in the 
read my bible lessons each week, both by myself  center of town." The 
and with my family."  crowd gasped. "People, how is that an incon‐
  venience? We stop for two seconds to show our 
The crowd started murmuring, but Ben couldn't  spirituality. I gave him the benefit of the doubt 
hear what anyone was saying. Mayor Gregg  the first time, but after I noticed him hurry by 
gave a slow clap. The crowd went quiet again.  the second time, I 
"Bravo to you, Pete Williams," the mayor said.  decided to play baseball umpire. Three strikes 
"Pretending to be a holy follower of Christ. Our  and you're out. Mr. Pete Williams took a mighty 
town charter states that a good Christian gives  swing and struck out. For that, the Tellian Law 
up only one hour of his week to our lord. But,  comes into effect." 
please, tell everyone why you miss so much   
church."  "Please, no," Father said, tears streaming down 
  his cheeks. "Why do I have to endanger Ben?" 
Father mumbled his answer.   
  "You know the law as well as anyone, Pete. Now 
"What was that, Pete?" the mayor said.  it's time to pay the fine." The mayor turned to‐
  wards Ben. "I'm sorry, son, but your father 
 Page 33

Volume I, Issue V
brought this upon you. I think we all hope for 
your sake the Lord guides that bullet into the 
apple." 
 
Ben didn't say anything. He kept rigid against 
the post and looked at Father. Father gave him a 
small smile and winked, his tears already gone. 
He pointed the gun at Ben, or rather the apple 
on Ben's head, and pulled the trigger. Ben 
winced at the loud crack, but no pain came. He 
reached up and found the apple still intact. 
 
The crowd let out their collective breath. Mayor 

March 2010
Gregg stepped towards Ben and examined the 
post. "Didn't hit," he said. "I'm sorry, Ben, but 
he's going to have to shoot again. I'd have let 
you go if he'd at least hit the post." Ben nodded 
and took a deep breath. He could feel tears 
starting to leak out of his eyes, but he didn't 
want to mess up Father's aim any more by hav‐
ing him worry. 
 
Mayor Gregg stepped towards Father. "Here, I 
have another bullet you can put in there." 
 
Father shrugged. "No need, Gregg; I have five 
more loaded in." 
 
The mayor stopped. "What? You should only 
have one . . ." 
 
He couldn't finish the sentence before Father 
shot him. The blood sprayed out of his disinte‐
grated head in a red mist. The crowd screamed 
and Officer Turrow started for his own gun 
when Father ended his life with a bullet to the 
chest. Everyone pushed as far away as fast as 
they could. He motioned for Ben, who ran to 
him. 
 
"I didn't know you knew how to shoot," Ben 
said. 
 
Father grabbed his hand and led him off the 
back of the stage. "There's a lot you don't know 
about me, boy." 
 
© 2010 Eric J. Krause
March 2010
Volume I, Issue V Page 34
Cael made his way along the outskirts of camp,
snow crunching beneath his boots, which made
sneaking up and around each tent difficult. He
hopped over ties, logs and other miscellaneous
items, and avoided the small number of guards as
much as possible. One look at him and they would
know exactly what he was and why he was there.
Next to the biggest tent in camp sat a much
smaller one meant for servants, which was exactly
where the queen would be. Cael knew this because
he would have done the same thing, though he
was no king or any type of royalty. It only made
sense for the queen to choose the smaller tent, as
she was a warrior like Cael.
You’re killing your own kind, flitted through
his head. He shook the thought. No, he wasn’t
doing anything of the sort. She was a queen, he,
an assassin. One hired to kill her. End of story. But
a Nambrian … came the next doubt. He ques-
tioned why he was even having doubts about kill-
ing the cold-hearted queen of Nambria. He’d never
even met her, and she certainly did nothing for his
family so long ago. Nothing to save his father, no
one to hear his mother’s cries as they murdered his
father on the edge of the island at the black beach.
An island that once was the land of eternal youth.
It had been several years and he still didn’t know
who “they” were, but the boyhood nightmares still
haunted him. They had let him go. Allowed him
to live, wander the land as an orphan, until he’d
grown into a man. It was those years alone that
prepared him for his profession—one not chosen
by him, but one he fell into because he was good
at it—just like the men who had murdered his par-
ents.
Now, after so many years, he was the best of
his kind.
He stepped up next to the servant tent and lis-
tened with care for movement inside. When he
heard nothing, he quietly cut the thick material
from the base up, making an opening large
enough for him to slip through. Once inside, he
found himself behind a stack of crates and slowly
made his way around them. She came into view
when he peered around the stack.
Niamh sat, head tilted, eyes closed as her fin-
gers drifted through her wolf’s coarse fur. Her
sword perched against the right arm of her throne;
silver shield, lined with gold and a black dragon at
its center against the left side, opposite the wolf. At
her sides and back sat two large black iron candela-
brums, each holding seven tapered candles in seven
dragon’s mouths. A goblet sat upon the left arm of
the throne, her slender fingers barely touching its
base. Cael’s eyes searched the rest of the tent, only
to find she was alone with her guardian. He didn’t
know about the wolf. It would make what he was
about to do much harder. That and the fact the
queen should have been sleeping, not sitting on
her damn throne.
A low rumble made its way to Cael’s ears as
the wolf growled. His presence had already been
compromised. He was surprised it hadn’t hap-
pened sooner. Then Niamh opened her eyes and
looked right at him. Cael didn’t step back. He
merely took a step forward. She had seen him, and
that was enough.
“Come forth,” she said in a soft voice, so light
it floated to his ears, lifting his heart heavy of tor-

ment for so many years. He knew he was in trou-
ble then because the queen was also Fae. Even as
she sat upon her throne covered in large pelts for
warmth in this dismal, cold land, she held a radi-
ance unmatched by any other. The wolf’s muscles
twitched as Cael stepped forward again, into the
center of the tent.
“You’ve been sent to kill me,” Niamh stated.
Her soft, fair skin radiated in the firelight, and her
flaxen-brown hair showered over her broad shoul-
ders in small braids. Deep blue eyes, hinted with
purple, sparkled and smiled at him, as though she
had been waiting for him.
Cael only nodded
once, and the
smile on Niamh’s
face grew only
slightly as he took
another step to-
ward her. He
walked with cau-
tion to the center
of the tent, where
he noticed the
floor felt odd be-
neath his feet. In
that instant, he
leapt into a back-
ward flip just as the net jerked up, partially catch-
ing him and leaving his legs to dangle. He wanted
to know how they rigged it, but his attempt to
look at the ceiling proved fruitless as the net firmly
held his head in place. It was the first time in all
his years he’d been caught, and he cursed himself
as the net turned, giving him a glimpse of Niamh’s
smile a few times.
The guards ran into the tent and cut him
down, and Cael landed with a thud on the carpet-
covered earth. He was thankful for the soft landing.
Niamh had yet to move during the entire time
of his capture, but then she stood as he they forced
him to his knees before her. His eyes scanned her
form, beginning at the feet. She wore deer-hide
boots that ran the length of her long, slender
calves, but leaving her knees bare. Half her thighs
were bare as well, which was unheard of in these
parts. Covering the upper half of her thighs was a
Page 35
Volume I, Issue V
skirt that stopped at her stomach, bare also. A
small, nearly insignificant piece of hide covered her
chest, not leaving much to his imagination, but his
imagination went into overdrive, picturing her be-
neath him. He attempted to distract the image and
saw her leather cuffs on each forearm, and she had
tribal markings on each upper arm. He recognized
them as warrior signs, one that only women wore,
and they were rare symbols indeed, for there were
not many women warriors.
“Who are you?” she inquired, her tone sweet
as honey.
He said nothing. She grabbed his face and
March 2010
leaned over until their noses almost touched. “Who
are you?” she repeated in a softer tone, and her
breath floated over his lips.
Cael still said nothing as her soft fingers
squeezed his face, but he fought an irresistible urge
to kiss her.
“Who paid you to kill me?” her Fae voice
sang.
Nothing from Cael, though he fought desper-
ately to withhold telling her all about himself. It
was her voice. It had to be. He’d never even ut-
tered the thought of revealing himself to anyone
before.
The Queen stood and sighed as she studied
him for a moment. “Take him away, Sean.”
Sean pulled him to his feet. “What do you
wish us to do with him, my Queen?”
She looked at Sean and smiled. “Let him go.”
“Are you mad? I mean … forgive my impu-
dence, but he shall only attempt to kill you again.”
“He never really attempted to kill me in the
first place.” She smiled wickedly. “And it will make
quite a challenge for you to keep up security.”
Cael’s eyes flickered with a smile at her candor,
and intrigue of the beautiful woman set itself in his
mind. “Cael,” he said as they dragged him away.
She turned around abruptly and told the guards
to stop. Then she headed to him, and stopped just
in front of him. Cael stood up straight and looked
down at her. Large broad shoulders complimented
his tall frame. His long shiny black hair framed his
chiseled face and deep green eyes.
Niamh’s heart skipped at standing before such
a powerful man. “Cael? This is your name?”
 Page 36
He nodded once.
March 2010
“What made you decide to speak, Cael?”
He looked into her eyes and smiled. “So that
the next time we meet, you shall know who I am.”
“I see. The next time you attempt to kill me?”
“Of course.”
She laughed. “So be it.” Niamh waved them
away.
Sean looked at her strangely, and then walked
him out of the tent as Niamh walked away. She sat
upon her throne once again and ran her fingers
Volume I, Issue V
through the wolf's fur.
“Until next time, Cael,” she whispered, and
then sipped her wine. Sorrow clouded her eyes as
she set the goblet down once she was alone. Cael’s
appearance reminded her of the state her city and
island had become.
Tír na nOg had once been a mystical city that
sat within a vast valley on the island of Nambria,
and it held its fair share of glory days. In fact, the
city had never known otherwise. Its stone white
walls were visible from miles around, and the city
always seemed to hold a special glimmer of light,
making it easy for travelers on the island to find.
However, travelers on sea had a most difficult time
locating the city and the isle of Nambria because a
dense circle of fog always surrounded its waters,
put in place by the Fae long ago when they came
to the land.
The island’s shores had seen the footsteps of
many great heroes, but disease was one attribute
that never graced the land. Niamh pictured the is-
land in her mind as it once was. Its mountains
were tall and lush, with landscape from the bright-
est of greens to the blackest of pitch, and agate
rocks shimmered when the sunlight struck, creating
a beacon of stars the likes of which equaled those
in the night sky. On the northern shore, white sand
stretched for miles along the coast, and at the is-
land’s southern tip, the sand turned black as obsid-
ian with flecks of copper and gold reflecting
throughout the day and night. It was the land of
the sídhe, the Fae, and whosoever set foot on the
island would never experience illness for as long as
they were there.
Nambria had a diverse population of people
too. There were the Fae, who had left the emerald
isle known as Éire long ago after an invasion as
part of their surrender. Farmers and cattlemen lived
on the plains, tending to their fields and livestock;
and the common folk, who had escaped the emer-
ald isle with the Fae, lived peacefully under her
father’s rule. There were, of course, always those
perceived as troublemakers, and they were the
darker side of Nambria none wished to admit ex-
isted. But it was those dark-natured men who kept
the island safe when neighboring lands found
Nambria and attempted to take its riches. Niamh’s
father told her long ago to leave them alone. As a
warrior in her own right, Niamh understood them
well, and let them live under their own terms, so
long as they didn’t harm anyone on the isle, which
they had yet to do.
But dark days had come to what many called
the land of eternal youth, and with them, death and
disease. The reigning King of Aplasia sought to
make Nambria a part of his empire, and he would
stop at nothing to achieve his goals, even if it
meant killing Niamh of the Tuatha Dé Danann
and the last of the reigning Fae, if she would not
take his hand in marriage.
Niamh ruled as Queen of Nambria for many
years, and was to wed the King’s brother Xavier,
but on one particular bright and sunny day, a mes-
senger brought forth news of her love’s murder.
The King of Aplasia, Zachariah, brought his ar-

mies to Nambria not long thereafter, and darkness
fell over the lands. The city’s glimmer died, the
land’s green landscape froze, and Niamh left her
city with her wolf guardian Xion and a small army
to escape in hopes of defeating Zachariah another
time. She now resided in the island’s mountainous
regions, never staying in one place too long, for
Zachariah searched for her constantly. However,
Niamh always knew when Zachariah was close
because she could see him approaching in her
mind, much as she saw the assassin he’d sent.
Her thoughts turned back to Cael briefly and
why she’d let him go. A smile graced her lips as
her body warmed from the look in his eyes. She
knew he wouldn’t kill her. His destiny lay else-
where, though she couldn’t see his future in its en-
tirety. Perhaps he was the one who would save her
Queendom. She giggled at the thought. An assas-
sin to become the unlikely hero? She supposed so,
worse had happened in the past.
Page 37
Volume I, Issue V
young boy who had witnessed the murders, and
didn’t he have black hair and emerald eyes? Niamh
pictured Cael in her mind once more, and at-
tempted to look into his past, but the fates would-
n’t allow it. Had her inaction brought about the
man who stood before her earlier? Her eyes closed
and a small sigh left her lips at the thought she
might have created an assassin who should have
been a farmer, just like his father.
March 2010
“By the gods, what have I done,” she mum-
bled as she rubbed her face.
By the time Zachariah came, most of the Fae
left Nambria as well, or intermingled with the hu-
mans, where a good portion of their traits eventu-
ally died out of the line. Zachariah’s arrival sur-
prised the darker men, as with the rest of Nambria,
and none could take action fast enough before the
attacks began. If Niamh’s mourning hadn’t dis-
tracted her, she would have seen the impending
darkness coming, but no man knew she mourned.
 Page 38
It was something she didn’t allow anyone to see,
March 2010
meatballs. (Don't worry I will post the meatball instructions at a 
later date) 
lest her people think their Queen was weak, and it
 
was the reason they spoke of her cold heart as Use a 13X9 pan. You can use glass Pyrex or metal one. 
Zachariah’s control grew. Some would say the ice Pour 1 can in pan to cover the entire bottom. 
and snow covering the land was a direct result of Add seasonings (preferably all dried) Onion powder, Garlic pow‐
der, Basil and Parsley 
Niamh’s loss. Perhaps they were correct, even if
 
they didn’t understand Fae magic. Shape meatloaf into a loaf and place in the pan 
“Xion, am I the reason the land is frozen?” she
asked her wolf guardian as her fingers stroked the
fur. The wolf answered with a mournful howl, and
Niamh’s sadness plummeted into the depths of her
Volume I, Issue V

soul as she lowered her head, letting out only one

low sob. “Forgive me.” The whisper went unheard
as she sat alone with her wolf into the night, where
her dreams would foretell her fate … and that of  
the assassin named Cael. Pour 2nd can of sauce over the top of meat covering it completely. 
Add seasonings again.  *sprinkle a little mozzarella on top if you 
choose 
© 2010 NL Gervasio

 
Cover pan with tin foil and place in preheated oven. 
Remove tin foil with about 15 min left to cook. 
Cook for about 60 minutes or until meat reaches an appropriate 
internal temp. Beef is about 160, poultry is about 180. 
Continued from page 20  *Use a meat thermometer. They are a good tool, we don't want 
  you getting sick! 
listed above and begin. You’re going to add seasoning to 
taste... how much is totally up to you. No measuring. 
Add one seasoning to the bread and mix it in well, then move 
on to the other. 
 
Add your meat and mix well into the bread. I have used a 
spoon for this but the best method is using your hands. This 
gets messy of course so having a helper is a good option. =P 
 
Now repeat your seasoning process. One at a time and mixing 
 
each individually into the meat and bread mix. Again, season  Boil pasta to be ready just after your meat is done. 
to taste.   
  Move meat to a platter or large dish for serving. Scoop all the 
Add eggs and mix. Add Parmesan cheese mix  sauce from the pan into a gravy dish or bowl for serving. Mix some 
*You can also mix in a little Mozzarella if you like.  of the sauce into cooked pasta to coat all the noodles. 
   
Your mix will be pretty moist now because of the egg.  Enjoy! 
Add canned bread crumbs to help soak up the moisture. I 
guess I use about 1/2 cup or so depending on the amount of 
moisture in the mix. You don't want it too dry or too moist. If 
it's too moist it will fall apart, especially when making it into 

Dangling leaves clung to a dying tree, pirou-
etting as veined stems fought to remain on the
branch. The wind picked up, ending the strug-
gle. A few leaves whisked away. Night
splashed inky darkness across the sky. A girl
chased her jacket, held aloft by the wind,
down a barren road, illuminated by flickering
street lights and lined with trashcans and
dented mailboxes. As the wind ceased, drop-
ping her jacket, she stepped into a puddle try-
ing to catch it. She cussed, and shook her foot
in hopes of it drying quicker, water flying in all
directions.
The girl had blonde hair and blue eyes, wear-
ing nothing but a dark t-shirt and ratty jeans.
Her teeth were clenched tight to stop them
from knocking against each other; her jaw
aching. A gust of wind blew her golden, mat-
ted hair into her face. She fell to the ground
next to the tree, and let her eyes wander.
The neighborhood seemed deserted, a few
porch lights flickering. From her seat, she
could see a TV flashing the news; a silhouette
got up to close the curtains as if it knew she
was watching.
She ran her hands through the cold dirt. She
picked a handful up, most of it falling through
her fingers, tickling slightly. A pebble was left
in her palm, white and as cold as ice. She
curled her fingers around it; bringing her arm
back, she hurled it as hard as she could
across the street. It bounced in the gutter
across the road, landing on the sidewalk, then
rolled off, and back into the gutter again.
A turkey baking found its way to her nostrils,
making her stomach growl in protest. She
pressed her hands to her abdomen, shutting
Page 39
Volume I, Issue V
her blue eyes. She popped them open when
another gust of wind blew, harder this time.
The oak tree shook, groaning.
The last leaf fell, giving in to the wind. It
twirled around before landing softly in her
lap. A smile lit up her face like a child on
Christmas morning. She picked up the leaf,
hugging it close to her chest. Warmth ran
through her veins even though it was freez-
ing.
Her stomach twanged, a burst of butterflies
breaking free. Her shoulders drooping as
March 2010
she raised her eyes to the night sky, breath-
ing in the cold air, and thanking the heavens
above.
She jumped up, and ran out of the neighbor-
hood, the leaf still clutched to her chest.
Painted across her face was that big smile.
The silhouette dropped the curtain, no
longer interested in watching the grungy girl
with torn clothing. Her blonde, grimy hair
waved after her, the wind tugging gently at
it.
He sighed, and turned towards the TV,
watching it with dull eyes. Something inside
him hoped she found a place to sleep on
this cold night, something wished he would
have opened the door and invited her in,
thus she could be warm.
The smile on her face would haunt him, the
way she looked so happy to receive a dying
leaf.
© 2010 Ashelynn D. Sanford
Follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/AshelynnS
Check out her blog: http://ashelynnsanford.wordpress.com/
March 2010 Page 40
Volume I, Issue V

Poet’s Corner
The Prisoner The worse that it gets 
  I’ll soon find myself 
Pain  Wrapped in a cocoon 
            Strengthening   
Body  Will the beauty break free? 
            Weakening  It’s the hope that I see 
But that hope is fading quite fast 
Volume I, Issue V

Will 
            Fleeting   
Life  I just want to sleep 
            Feels defeating  Rest, ‘til the future I seek 
  The future that will come to me at last 
Standing on the edge of that well   
  I know it takes work 
Mind  A luxury I cannot achieve 
            Contorted  Whilst the pain 
Thoughts  Flows through me 
            Distorted   
Dreams  It’s not that I’m not willing to try 
            Aborted  A hard worker, am I 
Because all  When my body allows 
            Is purported  Me to be free 
   
And lingers on the edge of that well  But this pain, it debilitates 
  Frustrates 
I’ve grown weary  And does not motivate 
I’m tired  Toward priorities that need to be done 
My body is mired   
Halting any thought processes  Half asleep to the world 
That need to move forward  Half in pain in my own 
  Half my mind sings 
The cycle never ends  When there is nothing to be sung 
Round and round   
No hope to be found  I’d much rather scream 
And it’s the bottom of that well  And live in my dreams 
I hurtle toward  Because there I feel no pain 
   
With each day  So I yell and I shout 
There’s a sliver  Make attempts to get out 
A hope, just a glimmer  But I am a prisoner of the pain 
 
That all this will end very soon 
 
  © 2009 N. L. Gervasio 
Photo © 2009 N.L. Gervasio 
But with each passing day 

© 2010 Running Ink Press Forever Nocturne

 Page 41

Volume I, Issue V
Volume I, Issue V

Poet’s Corner
The Rain Impotence
HE never stopped it, stepped in
Relying on you
Maybe

HE misjudged, miscalculated
Giving me to you

March 2010
Mistake

HE could have, should have

Rained vengeance upon you
Most of the time
Omnipotent
I hate the rain

And yet today HE looked away, turned away

It hides the pain Leaving me bleeding around you
Ripped
The tears
HE would not rise, could not rise
The hurt Letting me feel the stiffness of you
Ruined
Masking the tracks
Of sorrow inside HE never stopped it, stepped in
Relying on the free will of you
Today Impotent

I feel

The Rain...

© 2010 T. Hoffman

Photo © Moriah Farmer  

© 2005 H. C. Zuerner

Forever Nocturne © 2010 Running Ink Press

March 2010 Page 42
Volume I, Issue V

Poet’s Corner

Leprechaun Why?
Volume I, Issue V

Lured by myth and legend.

Promises of wealth obscene. Photo © 2010 M. & T. Hoffman 

Loss.
Trickery is his sword. Such a small word
Beware of Cunning and Sly. harbors such devastation.
No explanation,
a lack of understanding,
Bargain and bet, things change too quickly.
For secrets of riches has He. In the blink of an eye
people are gone.
They turn away and
Hidden caches of gold, I'm left
Yours if you hold his gaze. with only this word.
This word
which means so many things,
Avert or blink an eye,
I'm unable to explain.
He will be gone forever more. Without choice
I am left with only
one thought,
The wily Shoemaker,
one question:
Trap him if you dare. "Why?"

© 2010 Leslie Ackleson 
© 2010 M. Hoffman

© 2010 Running Ink Press Forever Nocturne

 Volume I, Issue V
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March 2010
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Next Issue

ANOTHER ROUND OF TWORROR BUT WAIT—THERE’S MORE...

Our next issue will feature an-
other round of Tworror, our
Twitter Horror contest, as well
as the next excerpt of the FN
exclusive Tir na nOg by NL Ger-
vasio. When finished, Tir na
nOg will be a featured novella
e-book on the FN website,
among many others.
There are many changes
coming to Forever Nocturne.
Stay tuned to the blog for
more info.
Also in the next issue we’ll of- The door awaits you...
fer up some wonderfully gory
Halloween surprises, and
more great stories and poetry,
including the fifth installment
of our very own Siobhan Mac-
Intyre’s heavenly urban fan-
tasy Malakh.
Join us for tricks & treats,
spooks & scares in late Octo- Now seeking spooky submissions for
ber 2010! the October 2010 issue of Forever
Nocturne. Please inset submissions
http://www.forevernocturne.com in the body of an e-mail to
submissions@forevernocturne.com

© 2010 Running Ink Press Forever Nocturne

© 2010 Running Ink Press