Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More
by Jeff Folschinsky
I stay, because they don’t know the danger. I stay, because if I don’t they’ll die. They think they’re alone, but they’re not. I’m here, so the rest don’t dare come. I feel them though, just on the outside looking in. I feel their hungry eyes lusting after them.
They dare not enter though. This place is mine, and they know it. My piece of heaven, my piece of hell, my piece of death, and I am god here. Here I make the rules. So I stay, so that they will be safe. I stay, so no other will die.
That voice in your head.
It’s not yours.
There’s a ghost in the machine.
You are the machine.
Who is the ghost?
Who thought that?
Who is doing the thinking here, after all?
(A dark room. A dark room. A dark room.
Me, my eyes closed.
So and so is dead now, you know.
and you, too, will be soon.
So and so is dead now, you know.
And I will be, too.
And you, too.
It doesn’t matter. It’s still true.
We’re the ghosts.
THE PESKY GHOST
by Mark Bate
This is the year I stop the eerie clatter taking up what should be my restful nights. I couldn’t take the skittering in the attic anymore. I abhorred the chittering noises from walls. I detested the breaking of the beautiful urn housing my mother, God rest her soul, as it slid off the roof and took a cannonball right into the driveway, exploding into a million pieces and a puff that resembled a tiny Hiroshima. With much ire and my life savings I caught the ghost… of a squirrel… that now sits on my mantel… God rest his little soul.
by Sean M. Kozma
Well, fuck. I guess I’m a ghost now.
I mean, I think I’m dead. Nobody I knew seems to see me anymore, even when I’m yelling right in their faces. And I have extreme difficulty interacting with solid objects. More specifically, I no longer appear to be solid. Let me tell you, that’s disconcerting.
Here’s the kicker: I don’t know why I’m a ghost. Being recently deceased doesn’t come with a handbook any more than being recently alive did. Don’t remember what happened, either. I was going about being me, and then… this. Don’t even remember when I noticed. Or what not this was like.
But here I am. Life goes on, I guess.
Or, you know… not.
GHOSTLY COSTUME CONFUSION
By Taylor Ashbrook
Halloween 1976. Sixteen, and I could finally drive. Car full of friends. Excited, laughing, searching for the costume party. Completely lost, my eye catches a ghostly sheet at the gate atop a narrow drive. Hallelujah! Crept up in first gear. Friends chanting, “Trick ‘r Treat…”
Serious man in white robe and pointed hood, holding a large black rifle, explains we are in the wrong place. Edged the car back down the hill, drove away. In silence. The American Centennial, and we faced armed KKK in the suburbs of San Diego, California. Haunts me to this day.
by Tyler Tanner
He saw her on aisle 7.
The familiar thrill jolted through his body, like so many times before. Only this time, he made the decision to act on his impulses. He’d been a good boy. He deserved it. All he had to do was wait. To move to another aisle would be folly. She might leave and therefore be gone forever! So he waited ….and waited. He could smell her scented hair from here. It was intoxicating. He made a casual pass by her and could glimpse the tattoo peeking from her flank. Someone was approaching. Too close. Too Close! He mustered up all of his strength swatted a box from the top aisle with his katana, making it crash. He knew the way of the blade and it paid off now.It startled the interloper, who left confused. “Good riddance, filthy Christian!” he muttered under his breath..The announcement said that the store was about to close in five minutes. She hadn’t moved! It was like she wanted him to take her. Lights started to shut off. His fingers twitched in anticipation. The overhead music stopped playing. And now they were alone. He adjusted and smoothed his trench coat and made his way toward his prey.
“Hello Milady” he said in a deep baritone voice. Bowing low with one leg outstretched and doffing his fedora.
Snowdrop Swirl was his for the taking. The guys in his subreddit were going to be soooo jealous! Nobody had seen one before! Only in pictures found on the internet. It should not have been here. You can only get them in Europe. Wal mart must have screwed up! He had the colors for the mane and tail. Even though Snowdrop part of the extra long hair series, he had enough. The trick was going to be the tattoo. If he got the tattoo right, his cosplay would be all the rage at the convention next April. He brushed aside the tail to get a better look.
He tried again.
He missed again.
The recollection of his death pierced though his soul like the Sword of Gryffndor replica that took his life. Dammit Ethan! I told you it wasn’t a toy. Now he was destined to walk these endless aisles and forever be alone. For there are no bronies in purgatory…..
by Chelsea Sutton
When does something start to breathe?
An inanimate object.
A house, let’s say.
There’s a moment when a house stops being a house and takes a breath.
What do you call it?
And what about when a house is emptied out suddenly, when it is ripped open, when it is stripped of its function? What is the word?
When I was little, I rode my bike past this word every day. It sat with cracked shutters and weeds winding themselves up its walls. Hornets buzzed above the front door. This word watched me as I rode to school and back, to the store and back, to a friend’s house and back.
Its weeds overgrew the sidewalk and moved toward the street, as if it were reaching out for me, spindly arms of giant foxtails wanting something.
I thought it was angry at me. The house.
For being in the world. For moving around.
For not paying it a visit.