by Jim Stitzel | Jun 28, 2024 | Stories
This entry is part 7 of 7 in the series The Clockwork DesolationThe fissure hangs in the air, suspended over red sand and glass. It warps the air around it, folding it into intricate patterns and waves. Electricity reaches out in slender fingers, groping for...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 27, 2024 | Stories
They entered the basement of the old theatre. It was dark, damp, and musty. The place had been abandoned for years and so was in a profound state of disrepair. They flicked on their flashlights, beaming them across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Water puddled in...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 26, 2024 | Stories
It’s 8am, and there is a dead saddled horse in my bed. Mind you, it’s a very small horse, a miniature pony, if you will. But it is fully saddled, complete with bit and bridle, and it is most definitely dead. Two questions immediately arise: 1) just how in...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 19, 2024 | Stories
This entry is part 5 of 5 in the series AvaAn infant, if you can call it that, toddles into the ground floor of a broken skyscraper. The child is naked, but it carries in its hands a white tennis shoe. The infant-creature is warped, misshapen, its skull distended and...
by Jim Stitzel | Jun 18, 2024 | Stories
This entry is part 4 of 5 in the series AvaThousands of birds swarmed through the sky like a great, migratory organism — swelling, shrinking, pulsing according to an invisible rhythm only they could feel. They flew over the countryside, darkening the sky for long...
