Ferreted Away by Gwen Mitchell

The clacking of Charlene’s high heels echoed down the narrow cement hallway as she followed behind the burly institution guard.  He ambled along, frequently looking over his lump of a shoulder to ogle her.  She gave him a saccharine smile every time and put an extra flutter in her lashes, which almost had him tripping over his own feet.  Distracted was good.

When they’d reached the halfway point, he hunched over and fumbled with the jangling loop of keys on his belt.  Charlene pulled a small compact mirror out of her gaudy pink shoulder bag and pretended to check her hair and make-up. The guard didn’t notice the tiny red light on the camera at the end of the hall behind them winking out.  So far, so good, she thought, and snapped the compact closed. Read more

Teahouse of the Fat Full Moon by Mari Mitchell

No clock was present in the DarliJ’s House of Tea, but still the minutes ticked by as James sat alone behind the counter.Enthusiastic rain poured outside as he drank a cup of Pingshui Gunpowder. Intensely aromatic steam warmed his face and mustache. The tea’s slightly smoky flavor had a lemony aftertaste.

The bell above the door jangled as a sopping wet woman entered. James watched her shadow glide across the linoleum floor as she made her way to her usual table. Sometimes one of her two brothers would join her, but most times her boyfriend sat across from her. He with his red, unruly hair, unkempt clothes and his wild nature fidgeted, longing to be free from the restraints of a public house of tea. She with her well-behaved, chestnut waves framing her heart shaped face, a tidy dress of periwinkle, and her patient-as-peach attitude. Read more

If the Shoe Fits by Michelle R. Rasey

Everyone knows shoes make the witch. The finer the point, the higher the heel, the more wicked the witch.

When there are sales, we can be downright lethal and today’s clearance sale was no exception. Someone had already been hexed into stone. Myself, I’d just elbowed past a witch with thick cankles and even thicker legs only to have her snatch away the very shoes I’d been eyeing. Read more

Desperation’s Dance by Melissa Ann Long

Sarah tiptoed through the stacks of boxes filling the spare bedroom, searching for one box in particular. Her heart raced as she scanned the make-shift masking tape labels, and a deep breath did nothing to keep her from feeling like she might pass out. One by one, Sarah began lifting boxes to make a direct path towards the closet. With each box she mumbled positive words of encouragement. “You can do this,” she coached herself. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Although that wasn’t entirely true. There was plenty to be afraid of; lost souls haunting her dreams, their voices echoing in her head day and night, the more desperate ones latching onto her, feeding from her life-core. No. There was plenty to be afraid of.

Hands shaking, Sarah turned each box so that she could read its contents. Living room, living room, bath, kitchen…and then she found it, behind a tall stack, barely visible, peaking out from the mirrored closet.

Mom.

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