by Jim Stitzel | Nov 13, 2016 | Stories
This entry is part 1 of 35 in the series The Rusted BladeThe little girl entered the forest, armed with nothing but her courage, her grim determination, and the rusty sword strapped to her back. There were monsters in those woods – she could hear their howls,...
by Jim Stitzel | Aug 18, 2016 | Stories
A spark of green faelight flitted through the nursery window as the last rays of day faded from the sky. At its a center a faerie, no bigger than a single mote of dust. It flew around the room once, twice, three times, before finally settling on the edge of the...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 7, 2016 | Stories
I lay down for bed and turn out the lamp, but I still can’t sleep. It’s the light behind my eyes that keeps me awake. The room may be pitch black, I may cover my eyes, squeeze them shut as tight as I can. It doesn’t matter. There’s still that...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 5, 2016 | Stories
Damion stands at the edge of the woods, just inside the treeline. His attention is focused on the house 35 yards away, the house that is surrounded by a teeming mass of the living dead. He hears screams from inside, cries for help from the poor souls trapped within....
by Jim Stitzel | Apr 6, 2016 | Stories
He is a tiny man. Under four feet tiny. Balding pate. Small eyes. Round, tortoiseshell glasses. Tattered brown suit. Nothing to look at, certainly, not that anyone is looking. He glides through the crowd, clearing a path without word or gesture. People move aside for...
by Jim Stitzel | Feb 17, 2016 | Stories
There were things we worshiped before the new gods. Things of the dirt. Things of the dark. Things that moved and swarmed and crawled in the spaces beneath our feet. We feared them, even as they ignored us. To them, we were the worms. And less than worms. We were the...
