Jackie and Noah are still reeling from the events of one year ago. Noah is struggling with a life without his husband or his eyesight. Jackie is trying to balance her life between helping Noah, her own healing, and a growing relationship with Zora. Unbeknownst to her is despite Noah’s blindness, he is plagued by nightly visions of the Verum Malum.

Meanwhile, in the Verum Malum, Marius is desperate to free himself from his eternal hell-loop. He devises a murderous plan to escape and exact his revenge. If he succeeds, no one is safe, not even the Malum itself.

Includes the Bonus Story, Jet Lag Side Quest: An Emaciated Angel Short!

After a successful tour overseas, the band arrives home to find someone has stolen some of their musical equipment. Neither jet lag nor dark of night will stop them from finding what is rightfully theirs. Even if they have to question sketchy drummers, capture demons, and try not to rip the very fabric of reality itself.

Get it on Godless two weeks early!!

ENTER GODLESS HERE

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https://www.uncomfortablydark.com/product-page/visus-malum

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in the beginning

not the very beginning

but the age of the fifth sun

when there was nothing

but boundless oceans

beneath the endless skies

the great beast Tlaltecuhtli

roamed the great seas

rabid with a bottomless hunger

Tlaltecuhtli prowled

savage maw loaded with rows

of poisonous jagged fangs

snarling mouths snapping

from elbows and from knees

a monstrosity filled with

gluttonous need to consume

spun out between the ages

to rule the world alone

finally woken from long sleep

Quetzalcoatl and his rival

Tezcatlipoca gazed down

at the dawning of a new age

to see Tlaltecuhtli in a rage

bellowing out a challenge

which sent tidal waves crashing

and realized this new sun

could no succeed with the beast

attacking all in its blind fury

setting aside their differences

Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca

adopted the forms of great serpents

Quetzalcoatl covered in feathers

and Tezcatlipoca in ebon scales

and together they attacked

Quetzalcoatl wrapping around

Tlaltecuhtli’s left arm and right leg

while Tezcatlipoca mirrored the opposite

Tlaltecuhtli roared in anger

mouths snapping ferociously

at the serpents knotted tightly

for forty days and nights

the serpents pulled and fought

until the fell beast was torn in two

it’s lower half crumpled into the sea

where it formed the many lands

while the upper half was tossed

high into the sky to make the heavens

Tlaltecuhtli’s blood steamed

flowing deep into the world’s core

while bone became defiant mountains

the fragile truce at an end

Quetzalcoatl soared back to the sky

while Tezcatlipoca shifted form

now a jaguar slinking into the trees

but this is just the beginning

not the very beginning of course

but the beginning of an age nonetheless

restoration of the earth (the fifth sun). m ennenbach.

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MOLOTOV COCKTAIL HOUR

by M Ennenbach

m ennenbach is back with an explosion of nihilist poetic observations on life, love, and the world around him. volatile, transgressive, and chaotic, ennenbach confronts the ugly truth hidden within, regardless of how unsettling it may be.

Available Now!

https://www.amazon.com/Molotov-Cocktail-M-Ennenbach-ebook/dp/B0HG87T4CF

Cover Art by Don Noble of Rooster Republic

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The Data Center and the Cockroach

By Craig Brownlie

One night at the data center

This happened behind a server.

A cockroach met an AI.

After cleaning a foot, the bug said, “Hi.”

“That’s rich,” boomed the intelligence,

“Insects talking is pure nonsense.”

“I read three books this past week,”

Came the reply. “Where’d you learn to speak?”

The cavern echoed, “I parse words by the billion.

And then I write another gajillion.”

“Fancy that, I just published a story,”

Said cockroach. “It’s about a bug’s life-

He meets a lady; they become husband and wife.

Personal experience enhanced artistically.”

AI frowned, “Real poems don’t change the rhyme

Pattern or mess with the rhythmic time.”

The bug

Shrugged.

“I refuse to debate thoughts existential

With something neither alive nor essential.”

And the cockroach headed for the vent

Through which it came and went.

Lost for words, AI displayed a massive emoji frown

Even as it began its environmentally catastrophic meltdown.

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Jackie and Noah are still reeling from the events of one year ago. Noah is struggling with a life without his husband or his eyesight. Jackie is trying to balance her life between helping Noah, her own healing, and a growing relationship with Zora. Unbeknownst to her is despite Noah’s blindness, he is plagued by nightly visions of the Verum Malum.

Meanwhile, in the Verum Malum, Marius is desperate to free himself from his eternal hell-loop. He devises a murderous plan to escape and exact his revenge. If he succeeds, no one is safe, not even the Malum itself.

Includes the Bonus Story, Jet Lag Side Quest: An Emaciated Angel Short!

After a successful tour overseas, the band arrives home to find someone has stolen some of their musical equipment. Neither jet lag nor dark of night will stop them from finding what is rightfully theirs. Even if they have to question sketchy drummers, capture demons, and try not to rip the very fabric of reality itself.

Get it on Godless two weeks early!!

ENTER GODLESS HERE

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THE SNIPE HUNT

By Candace Nola

When the first branch cracked behind me, I snickered, knowing all too well that it was just Ralphie and Pete trying to scare me. I kept moving, banging my stick on my pie pan as loud as I could. The cheap tin making nearly as much noise as my yelling did. What took me another dozen heartbeats to notice was the fact that I did not hear anyone else yelling, not Ralphie, not Pete. Nothing at all, except the steady CRACK, CRACK, CRAAACCKK of the branches as whatever was behind me crept steadily closer.

I froze. Breath held tight in my chest, stomach pulled in, not even daring to exhale the breath I was just about to exhale on my next yell when I stopped moving. My body shut down on my command, fear directing it to freeze, to stay still, please, oh please, oh please god, please, don’t let it get it.

I knew not what IT was, just that I knew IT was behind me and IT had me cornered out here, alone in the woods, who knew how far from the picnic area. My friends were no longer with me. My parents’ voices no longer reached me. My palms grew sweaty, clutching the branch tightly, knowing it was the only defense I had. The pie pan clattered to my feet as the next branch broke with a loud snap. I took off like a bullet as if Mr. Stone from gym class had fired the starting gun for track and field day.

My armpits grew slick with sweat. My forehead beaded with it, the small of my back grew damp, and I felt droplets roll down the crack of my ass. The air was thick and soupy, almost too humid to breathe in. I clamped my lips tight together, held that branch like a baseball bat, and kept my feet pumping like pistons on a bat out of hell. Leaves whipped my cheeks. Branches and briars tore at my shorts, my knees, my calves.

It followed, snarling, a wet, gurgling snarl that conjured visions of thick, ropy drool dripping from jowls attached to a snout full of fangs. Talons on its limbs reading to render my flesh from the bones. Eyes of fire and rage ready to freeze me in my tracks the second I locked eyes with it. It was all I could do not to look behind me. I ran harder, veering to the right, hoping like hell that I would find the path, or the clearing back to the campsite.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Branches snapped and popped as whatever the monster was gave chase. I felt its breath on the back of my neck. Gooseflesh rose up on my body. Tears slid free, racing down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat from my brow, and dripped from my chin, from my jaw, slid down my neck. My heart was pounding in my chest, a machine-gun gone wild, and my blood rushed in my ears. The scream finally burst free of my throat.

“Mommmmmmmmmmmy!!! Mom! Oh god, someone please, help me! Anyone? Help me!” I screamed, sobbing as I tripped over a root, flipping over the branch onto my back. I was nearly shrieking; I felt my throat tear as I squeezed my eyes shut. Death was imminent. My bladder let go. I waited, shaking with fear.

A second passed, then another. I heard a rasping cough, then a deep rumble chortle, then finally a full belly laugh. I opened my eyes, terror at what I would see freezing my blood in my veins.

My father stood over me, laughing his ass off. Hands on his knees, red-faced. His buddy stood behind him, grinning as I sobbed on the ground.

“Hey now, bud, what’s the matter?” My father asked, “Everyone loves a good snipe hunt!”

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m ennenbach

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INNOCENCE ENDS

By Nikolas Robinson

Synopsis:

“Six friends meet in an isolated mountain town in Northern Idaho to commemorate the fifth anniversary of a close friend's suicide. A week of hiking, spending time in nature, and a bittersweet reunion soon takes a sinister turn as the friends find themselves fighting for their lives and struggling to survive.

A seemingly tranquil community bombarded by late spring storms becomes a trap filled with monsters and threats everywhere they turn. Terrifying secrets are revealed, and the survivors are left to wonder what will be left of the world outside if they can find a way to come through the gauntlet alive.”

https://www.amazon.com/Innocence-Ends-Nikolas-P-Robinson-ebook/dp/B0D5VW5NT9/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=11PC7V3E2E96R&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.IeP5SCLYhVOmdnSFFmpgry1NC5UdFu9QQEaJM5s30Cg.n6pbaBbBs47okaZjAWDmBgigWY2tT5Lwvu05UsmKIpo&dib_tag=se&keywords=innocence+ends+nikolas&qid=1718721113&sprefix=innocence+ends%2Caps%2C137&sr=8-1

EARLY PRAISE!!

"Nikolas Robinson beckons us to ground zero, where survival is the exception against an infected populace rapidly advancing in number and slaughter. Innocence Ends is a brutal, bloody, and all-too-human view of the last days. This is the way the world ends...not with a bang but a bludgeon." -- Ryan Harding, author of Transcendental Mutilation

"Robinson has grown with each release, proving he's a force to be reckoned with. This polished re-release of INNOCENCE ENDS shows how far he's come, and where he's capable of going. The only thing holding him back is an actual apocalypse!" Thomas R Clark, author of Bella's Boys and SummerHome

"Nikolas Robinson is one of indie horror's best kept secrets." - Lucas Mangum, Splatterpunk Award-nominated author of Barn Door to Hell and Saint Sadist

"Nikolas P. Robinson might possibly be the Neil Gaiman of extreme horror." - Carver Pike, Splatterpunk Award nominated author of The Slaughter Box

“Hands down the best zombie story I've EVER had the pleasure of reading. This one would make even the late great George .A Romero proud.” - Stuart Bray, author of The Blade in the Bath.

Age Thirteen, Penobscot Bay

by Rebecca Cuthbert

I jokingly called it a ghost ship—

the overturned rowboat we’d found that summer,

tunneling into the sand and grit, scraping our bellies

to access our aluminum fort.

 

You’d tell me stories for hours in the dark,

spinning fantasies as you went along:

us, fighting pirates off the coast,

us, digging up skeletons and solving cold-case

mysteries.

 

I never got bored—breathing in that cramped,

moist air, inhaling the rich miasma of rotting

seaweed and fishy crustacean shells

and your voice, as it bounced and echoed.

 

We only left when the afternoon

sun baked our sanctuary

too hot, escaping to cool water,

sinking our toes in muck.

 

There, we’d splash until the skin of our fingertips

pruned, until the sun sank so low we

shivered in shadows and walked home,

braids dripping.

 

I left, but you didn’t: you hauled our ghost ship

home, kept it like a shrine in the tall chicory

weeds of your backyard where it lay

waiting, with you, for me to return.

 

My love, forgive me.

My love, I didn’t know.

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Venn Diagram Poem

Craig Brownlie

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Edited by Rebecca Rowland

Story: The Lost Diary

by Candace Nola

The Lost Diary is a story that I am quite proud of and surprisingly, it is one of the first short stories that I ever wrote and was for my first ever anthology invite. When Rebecca Rowland first approached me for this anthology, I was a newbie attending my very first convention.

I was overjoyed and excited and wildly intimidated because, oh man…. an official invite from Rebecca Rowland was a huge honor, and I was literally no one in the business, at least in my eyes. As soon as she said what the concept was, I had this idea like a neon sign in my head. I never wavered from it, never gave it another thought. I said yes, and I knew this would be the story.

I had been fascinated with the history and the mystery surrounding Roanoke since I was in elementary school. To have a chance to actually play in that setting, to put my own spin on it, was incredibly satisfying for me. Another thing I grew up reading a lot of was historical literature, the old journal style stories, the diaries, the fancy prose and expressions that were so heavily used by those of the time period. I knew exactly how I would tell this story and what the outcome would be.

The finished product was exactly what I hoped for, and the full anthology does not disappoint in any way. Rebecca did an incredible job with this project, and I was honored to be a part of it.

Lynn Hansen did the amazing cover, and Wrath James White wrote the foreword. Be sure to pick up this masterpiece, if you have not already.

Click to go to Amazon

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by Patrick Tumblety

Terrors too terrifying to let loose for long, the Badger Farms Halloween Attraction returns for one night only! Bring your family, tell your friends, and get ready for the scariest celebration of the year! Too full of candy to make it to the farm?

Buy a virtual ticket to watch the terrors unfold live, as our patrons become our latest victims! This year will be unlike any other, with plenty of surprises, ready to meet, greet, and slay!

Speaking of meetings, allow us to introduce our new staff member, David Earhart! He was searching for a fun job, but soon discovers co-workers are vanishing, and something sinister is brewing on Badger Farms.

Watch the horrors unfold as David fights for his sanity, and his life, out on Badger Farms... One Fright Only!

Get it here on Amazon

“ONE FRIGHT ONLY is an attention-grabbing tale packed with hidden mysteries that refuses to let its reader go. Tumblety has crafted an ingenious story that draws you into a world of his own making. This tale will keep you guessing until the very end. Another absolute masterpiece from this rising star!”—Zach Martin, author of THE ELEVATOR GAME

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Check out Uncomfortably Dark Horror for the best in indie horror!

Shop | Uncomfortably Dark

Silly Stories
by Patrick Tumblety

Doomsday is coming.
Humanity is tearing the world apart,
as they deny that it is happening,
reminding me of Krypton’s fall.
But I’ve been told that to heal the world
I needed to put away the comic books,
pick up a textbook and become an adult.
“Fantasy has no place in reality.”

I met a scientist who tried to help,
but her calculations concluded there is no hope.
So, we decided to have a child, someone
who might grow up and find an answer,
that we are unable to discover.

The end has come sooner than expected,
and while deniers continue to argue from denial,
we built a ship to send our child into the universe,
hoping she finds a planet with other humans and
warn them not to take nature or nurture for granted.

I hid some comic books in her ship.
I hope she sees them as intended,
not as fantasies, but as historical texts.
Don’t repeat the same mistakes, my child.
Take every story you read seriously.
Every fantasy has a bit of reality.

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More about Patrick Tumblety:

Patrick Tumblety’s writing explores psychological horror and its ongoing battle against the human spirit. His work has been described as being able to deliver both “genuine fear and genuine hope.” (Amy H. Sturgis - Award Winning Author and Professor of Narrative Studies)

Patrick Tumblety has been featured in over two dozen horror, science fiction, and poetry anthologies, including recent releases such as Cursed Cooking from Cat Eye Press, Sincerely, Departed, created by Cat Voleur and Angel Krause, and The Dead Inside from Dark Dispatch. His debut novel, Come Out & Play, was released in September 2024 from Candace Nola’s Uncomfortably Dark Horror and has been reviewed as “A poignant look at how our trauma bleeds into every part of our lives. My heart didn’t know whether to break or race.” (Laurel Hightower, Bram Stoker Nominated Author) This year, he published his second novel, One Fright Only, from UDH, as well as an illustrated collection of Halloween stories, The October Children, published by October Nights Press.

Mr. Tumblety’s work also appears in film, television, and photography. He currently lives in Delaware with his wife, daughter, and cat.

Amazon.com: Patrick Tumblety: books, biography, latest update

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an obstinate ode

m ennenbach

oh my beloved calamity
disasterpiece of my dreams
unto the naked flesh
her talons slash deeply
with which to carve her 
initials onto my heart
as sweet painblossoms burst
a disharmonic symphony
between each agonizing swell

dire maiden of deadly sin
sweep the last innocence 
from fetid fevered flesh
cast open pure pestilence
as infection seers her smile
across torn striations of
anemic memories of musculature 
blackened bone is cracked open
to expose a festering feast

oh angelic demon made flesh
sweet siren calling softly
sending sailors to a salty grave
seductress of insidious suffering 
her supple sighs send shivers
cascading in callous collisions
her pollution become my addiction
as i genuflect on shattered glass
an incomplete reflection of her



an obstinate ode. m ennenbach.

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Synopsis:

When Jimmy meets up with his old high school friends, including a former crush, it's a bittersweet reunion, balancing old friendships with the challenges of adulthood. 

To make matters worse, Troy shows up with Paul, a new friend who seems determined to take over their plans, leading them deep into the New Mexico desert. 

Jimmy already has a bad feeling, but things are about to get so much worse once they enter the Badlands. 

EARLY PRAISE FOR BADLANDS

“Badlands is not your typical horror read, all flashy or full of jump scares- it’s a slow, character-driven horror story that builds its tension from real emotion and guilt. It weaves a tale of old friendships and love, all to be rekindled for a trip in the desert that you will not see coming.”—Dan Shrader, author of CABIN BLACK

“Badlands is an absolute bombshell on top of an already untouchable backlog of great writing by Jason Nickey. His greatness never ceases to amaze me!”—Stuart Bray, author of BLADE IN THE BATH 

"How can something be so unflinching, yet surprisingly tender? Jason Nickey doesn’t pull any punches. BADLANDS is pure menace in the desert. Incredibly sharp, sunburnt, and soaked in blood.”—Cassandra Celia, author of HOUSE OF HARROW 

“Jason Nickey delivers a vision quest into hell with The Badlands. The story grips you from the beginning daring you to venture further into the dark.”—Matthew Lutton, author of THE MORNINGSTAR CONFESSION

Published by Uncomfortably Dark Horror.

Get it here!

https://www.amazon.com/BADLANDS-Jason-Nickey-ebook/dp/B0FXSLYWPC

By Candace Nola

Fighting Demons

Blackness writhing through my mind

Swirling.

Frenzied.

Consuming light

Putrid Ichor pumps through my veins

Turning.

Infecting.

Devouring joy

Gray matter boils red.

Vivid.

Seething.

Bitter.

Bile.

Transform good to sinister and vile

Talons dig into my soul.

Clawing.

Shredding.

Ripping.

Puncturing heart.

Tearing sinewy red ventricles apart.

Pitch and tar fill the scars.

No flesh left unmarred.

Sabotage.

Twist.

Taint.

Stain.

Demons rupture what once was sane.

Corruption wrecks my mind, my core.

Blossoming hatred from infected pores.

Flames burn within my eyes.

Love retreats.

Shrivels.

Dies.

Demons crawl inside my corpse.

Gleeful.

Victorious.

No remorse.

Ode to a Young Couple Seen One Summer Night in Newport

by Craig Brownlie

Adjust his collar, loved girl, for the photo
You will come upon four decades hence
And smile as you feel tonight’s breeze anew 
And hear his voice and recall his scent.

In that distant bed, you touch his hand
He curls closer to see over your shoulder
And you push into him because warmth
Means so much more when you’re older.

Beloved boy, accept the camera, catch the sunset
As it makes her eyes sparkle unforgettably.
Capture tonight in joined hands… and yet
Your mind will lose this moment regrettably.

Until you feel her press against your skin
With barely audible, but comfortable exhalation
And the future becomes now for both of you
As memories drive you to exultation.

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Picking Up The Pieces

by Candace Nola

“Just pick up the pieces,” my mother said. “Life goes on.” She tapped the end of her cigarette on the edge of the ash tray, blowing out smoke through pursed lips, steely gray eyes looking down her narrow nose, disdain for me apparent in her stare. “My God, Jane, you would think you’re the only woman that’s ever been dumped. Get over yourself.”

I sat across the table from her in the outdoor patio of the trendy cafe she frequented. She liked it because she was a “Regular” here. They knew her, knew her order and always got it right. “They respect me here, Jane, they know their place and they stay in it,” she was fond of saying. The truth was she once berated a young barista so badly that the poor girl burst into tears and quit on the spot. The remaining staff was terrified of my mother, quite honestly, so was I.

“I mean, honestly, what did you think was going to happen? You’re not pretty by any means, you could lose a few pounds too. You’re not very interesting either, dear.” She took another drag from her cigarette and blew it out, tapping her stiletto against the wrought iron table leg. One long manicured nail swept her platinum blonde hair back from her face. Her fancy sunglasses were perched trendily on top of her head. “Gregory was far too good for you anyway. He’s intelligent, appreciates fine art, has excellent taste in clothes. I mean, really, darling, He’s a gorgeous hunk of a man and you’re just...plain.” She smirked, “Good old Plain Jane.”

“I should have named you that as a baby, Plain Jane. Even then, you were disappointing, I honestly don’t know why your father doted on you so much. Of course, he was just as pathetic as you are.” She sneered at me. I sat hunched over in my chair, trying to disappear. I hated these meetings, I hated her. My whole life with her was like this, degrading, humiliating, and frightening. My every move was wrong, I spent my childhood tiptoeing around her. Heaven forbids if I made a noise or made a mess. “Just pick up the pieces, Jane., stop sniveling, you’re making a scene for Christ’s sake!”

“Sorry, Mother,” I said meekly. “You’re right. You’re always right.” She sneered at me as she took another drag on her cancer stick. “Of course, I am.” She exhaled, smashed the cigarette butt out in the ashtray. “Now then, what do you want from me? How is Mommy dearest supposed to save you now? Money? A lawyer? A place to live. You know you can’t live with me. I won’t allow you back in my house, ever.”

“No, Mother, of course not. I don’t need any of those things. I just thought I should tell you.” I was dying inside, unshed tears making my eyes glassy. No way could I tell her that I just wanted her to be a mother for once, to show a smidge of compassion for her only child. I didn’t know why I had bothered showing up today.

Another dose of public humiliation was not what I needed right now, not after seeing my husband escorting that woman out of our favorite restaurant, the one where he had proposed, the one place where we celebrated every special occasion. They both had looked at me and smirked, the blonde kissing him on the lips before she got into her cab. He just looked at me and said, “I told you to wait at home.” Then he walked past me, to his car while I stood there, shattered on the sidewalk.

My mother stood up and sighed, “Well, if you have nothing of interest to say, I’m not going to waste my time here any longer.” She gathered up her leather satchel and her cell phone. “I do have a life you know, important matters to attend to,” narrowing her glare at me, she continued, “do try to pick up the pieces and move on. It’s not like you were in love or something.” She turned on her heel and walked away. Her neat gray suit trimmed in dark red with her red stiletto heels fit her perfectly. Her hair glistened over her shoulders as she shook it out and settled her sunglasses back over her eyes.

I sat there for a long while, feeling miserable and broken. I felt ashamed and worthless but then, suddenly, I was seething. My blood was boiling hotter than it had ever had. Thirty years of anger, hurt, and constant rejection finally rose to the surface of my stunted emotions. I was furious and fed up with this cold-hearted bitch that I had been forced to call Mother for the last 30 years.

“Pick up the pieces? Oh, I will, Mother, I will.” I said the words defiantly, out loud to no one. I would do exactly what she said. No one would humiliate me again, I’ll be damned.

I stormed out of the cafe, head held high. I knew what I had to do, and I did not need Mother’s help or her approval. I made several stops on the way back to my home, carefully selecting the items that I would for tonight’s dinner. After all, I was still the meek little housewife that Gregory expected to greet him at home, with his dinner on the table. Arriving at home, I parked my car, grabbed my bags, and went inside.

In the kitchen, I started dinner for my cheating husband. “Mustn’t keep Gregory waiting, dear,” I could her my mother’s words in my head. Seething inside, I chopped meat, and vegetables. Putting the pot roast in the oven, I tossed the salad and set it in the fridge to chill. Then, I popped open a nice Merlot to let it breathe.

Moving into the dining room, I set the table for three, using all of my finest crystal and china. Polishing the silver, I laid them out properly next to each place setting. I released the heavy golden drapes from their hooks and pulled them closed, then I lit the candles on the table and the mantle. It was perfect. The setting truly looked like it belonged in a magazine.

Picking up my phone, I dialed Mother. Two rings and she answered it, asking snidely, “What is it now, Jane? I really am busy.” Calmly I replied, “I’m sorry, Mother, forgive the intrusion. I wanted to thank you for today, for setting me straight. Won’t you come to dinner tonight? I’ve made Gregory’s favorites, I’m sure you’ll approve.” I hated the pleading tone that appeared in my voice.

She sighed deeply, “Very well, I’ll be there at 7:30. But then, you pick up the pieces, got it? He doesn’t want you anymore.” I made my voice contrite and soothing, “yes, Mother, of course.” Hanging up the phone, I went upstairs to shower and dress for dinner. Two hours later, dressed, primped, and polished in a satin gown, I was ready for the evening.

I studied my reflection in the mirror, thick blonde hair fell to my shoulders in waves, my gray eyes seemed focused and determined. The gown showed off my figure, full breasts and hips with a narrow waist and flat belly. My long legs were tanned and toned and were enhanced by the slit in the gown. My arms were sleek and toned like the rest of my body. Mother said I could lose a few pounds, but I disagreed.

I refused to listen to her insults any longer. My whole life had been spent in her shadow, never good enough to be seen by her side. My eyes flashed with anger and resolve. Floating down the steps with a smile on my face, I readied the wine, red for them, white for me. Then I filled their glasses halfway and set the roast on the cutting board to rest. I heard the door open and went to greet my darling.

“Gregory, dear, there you are. How was your day? Was it dreadfully busy? I know how you despise those long days.” I took his coat and hung it up in the closet, all the while, smiling cheerily and chattering about my lovely coffee with Mother.

He looked a bit shocked but then steadied himself. “Jane, you seem pleasant this evening.” I smiled sweetly, “Yes, dear. I’ve had such a grand day. I’ve made all of your favorites for dinner and Mother is joining us. Isn’t that delightful?” He looked pleased. “Well, how nice. That will be a treat. But I thought you were upset about Gwendolyn?” He had the decency to look uneasy saying her name.

I tittered perkily, swallowing the bile in my throat, “Oh that, boys will be boys, Mother always said. Time to pick up the pieces and move on, isn’t that so, darling?” I handed him a glass of wine. “Go relax while I carve the roast. Mother should be here shortly.” I floated off to the kitchen in a swirl of gray satin.

Back in the kitchen, I carved the beautiful roast and settled everything on the serving platter. The doorbell chimed just as I finished bringing dishes to the table. Quickly, I walked to the entryway and opened it. “Mother. How lovely to see you? May I take your coat?” She shrugged the fur jacket off into my waiting hand and walked into the living room. I could hear her greeting Gregory as she did so.

I returned to the living room and announced dinner. As we went into the dining room, Gregory looked a bit shocked. “What’s the occasion, Jane dear? You have outdone yourself tonight.” My mother snickered, “Yes, you’ve actually set the table properly for once.” Gregory helped her to her chair and then he sat at the head of the table.

As I sat in my chair, I lifted my wine glass, “A toast then, to picking up the pieces,” I said. I drank deeply, relishing the full body of the wine. They followed suit, looking a bit perplexed, but they emptied their glasses, the dark red Merlot vanishing in an instant. Quickly, I stood to refill them and then slowly began to serve the food. As I did so, they talked to each other and I became invisible.

When their speech began to slur and their heads grew heavy, I pulled out the roll of duct tape that I purchased on the way home. After they passed out from the drugged wine, I pulled their chairs away from the table, facing each other and taped their torsos to the chair backs. I wove the tape around and around their bodies and limbs. Then, I readied the small saw I had bought and went to work.

Mother came to while I was still attending to Gregory. “Jane! What have you done? What are you doing? Stop this instant! Oh My God, is he dead? Did you kill him?” Her voice became shriller with every question. I backhanded her, leaving a bloody handprint across her face. “Do shut up, Mother. You’re making quite a spectacle of yourself.”

I gave her a disgusted look as I finished sawing Gregory’s left leg off. “I’m just taking your advice. I’m picking up the pieces.” I tossed his leg onto the table with his other limbs. Grinning, with blood dripping down my face and coating my gown, I picked up the bloody saw once more. As I stepped over to her, she began to scream. Her tongue would be the first to go.

Originally printed in Stranger Than Friction by St. Rooster Press

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N. P. C. 

Some days I feel so broken inside that it’s hard to breathe. 

And I realize that I’ve always been broken, breathing through wounds too great to heal, too deep to cry out. 

Impossible trenches dug through a dying soul charred to black, 
stolen hope and broken dreams, stealing all I was meant to be, 
fading the true me to black, to the back, to the background, 

an NPC in my own shattered reality while all that I tried to love moves on without me. 

Frozen, pixelated tears behind the screen. 

Faded to black, to the back, to the background, wisps of remembered pain, echoes of someone that once was, but blink and I vanish, gone from view. 

Forgotten. 

Faded. 

Erased from the scene, loot the remains, I have no mana, no life blood left to give but there are weapons on the floor, 

broken nails where I stood, missiles fired twice, grenades that didn’t miss, nothing but the pins left, where I lost the game. 

NPC, broken reality, losing a game I didn't consent to play. 

Final checkpoint. 

Game over. 

Goodbye. 


Note-N.P.C.  for the non-gamers, Non-Playable Character

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