Short Stories

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Sunny Days Inside

The cave twins were not allowed inside the store to help the cave mother gather food. They had to huddle in the corner of the parking lot far away from other kin groups and watch over the cave baby sleeping in the stroller. While they waited — a very long time — they discussed what cave kids must have kicked around instead of a soccer ball.

“Probably a woolly mammoth skull,” Alek said.

“That wouldn’t roll very far,” Ivan said.

But Alek was on the right track. When they looked up “what are soccer balls made of,” they learned that the inside of a soccer ball was actually called a bladder. 

“We need a bladder,” Ivan said, and they both looked over at the grocery store. 

They ended up kicking a stone around. 

“This probably is Stone Age soccer,” Alek said. “Hunter-gatherers only used stone tools, right?” Both boys pictured the tools they’d seen online. Paleolithic spears and axes.

All at once they came to the same realization, which often happens with twins.

“What are we doing kicking this stone around? We should be hunting!”

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War at the Snow White Motel and Other Stories

The swimming pool is shaped like a heart. No, wait — it’s an apple. Of course! The poisonous apple Snow White took a bite of that sent her into a coma. Sort of weird, really, when you think about it. Who’d want to swim in a poisonous pool? No one by the look of it. The pool is empty. All that delicious coolness just lying there, sparkling in the late afternoon sun.…

Poison or not, alligators or not, I’m hot and I want into that pool. I head straight for the diving board, take as big a bounce as I can off the end and cannonball into the water.


I drift down into the blue coolness, my eyes wide open. Glug, glug, glug. There is only watery sunlight down here, as if the sun was a big yellow china ball that someone smashed into little shards and sprinkled on the blue tile floor. My goggles aren’t on tight enough and water seeps inside, so with a little kick off the bottom I drift to the surface.

“Hey, you!”

A voice booms above me. I grab the lip of the pool. I also grab a mouthful of water, which makes me cough and cough. There is a large pair of hairy feet planted right beside my hand. I look up, my vision all swimmy through goggles full of water — way up, past a pair of Superman legs, a pair of yellow bathing trunks with palm trees on them, a chest big enough to pitch a tent on, to a face glaring down at me as if I am a toad and the only thing stopping him from squashing me is that he doesn’t have his toad-squashing boots on. Then I see the comic book in his hand. It’s sopping wet.

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“We would make perfect murderers,” said Sanu, who was one year older than Jafar…

“What are you talking about?” Jafar asked.

Sanu held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

“No fingerprints!” he said, laughing.

They could laugh now, but when Jafar first started sanding, his fingers got so sore and bloody!

“Get one more drop of blood on one of my chairs, you little cockroach, and I’ll send you back to your family in a garbage sack!” Boss had yelled at him.


Oak Street was not the busiest street in town, but lots of people still walked down it, and they all looked at Bea, sitting by herself on a bench in the middle of a school day.

Bea didn’t worry about the old ladies. She had sat on this bench before on her days off and the old ladies left her alone…

The dangerous ones were the yoga ladies…

The yoga ladies were busybodies.


Mike hears the outer door of the Administrative Segregation pod shut and lock. He is all alone…

His eyes are wiped and his face is dry by the time he hears the Ag Seg door unlock again and the peep-hole covering in his own door slide open.

“You all right in there, 75293?”

Mike knows the voice of CO Jenson.

It is the voice of the devil.

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Tales from the Fringes of Fear

Tales from the Fringes of Fear

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Tales from Beyond the Brain

Tales from Beyond the Brain

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