Widow’s Watch by James H Duncan

The walk through the coastal forest had taken longer than any of them expected, but there it was, just as Jason had said it would be. The ancient mansion stood in an overgrown clearing surrounded by the dense, dark woods.

Beth’s Christmas Wish by Kimberly Wolkens

Christmas used to be Annie’s favorite holiday. This year she dreaded it. She tried to muster up even a tiny bit of enthusiasm, but it just wasn’t the same. Nothing had been the same since her best friend died last spring in a car accident.

I Can Fix That by Samantha Curreli

+++++Loretta sat on her loft bed, scribbling lists of alliterations for her name in her journal.

Lovely Loretta
Lucky Loretta
Loony Loretta

Deep Marks by Ali Jones

The first time it had happened, and he’d really seen her, he’d been trawling the pools, tracing his knuckles over crusted rocks, trailing his fingers in the water.

Sundown Town by Richard Wayne Horton

+++++Those are big horses out front. Never seen horses like that. Course we’re your average tourists passing through. You get a bunch of us I bet.

Playground by Scáth Beorh

+++‘I know where a weird playground is, Scooter.’

Ambleside by Tim Fellows

The old man leaned on the wall and looked at the house. It was, he had to admit, not the prettiest house.

Eddie by Danielle Matthews

The jar of pennies made a disconsolate rattle as it disgorged its contents onto the threadbare carpet. He counted them quickly, and thick black eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Not enough.

Taps by DC Diamondopolous

Peter crouched in front of the attic window and gazed down on old man Mueller’s cornfield. The plow, unhitched beyond the stalks, turned north like he meant to continue but got interrupted.

Jimmy’s Going Places by James H Duncan

The basement office is where Jimmy spent the last hour of his day, not because he was busy filling out all his work orders or safety checklists, but because he knew his boss almost always left after lunch and didn’t come back till morning.

Shared Bodily Warmth by Thomas Tyrrell

Few things are bleaker than Dartmoor when the winter nights draw in like wolves around a campfire.

Annalisa! by Scáth Beorh

Tessie ran and ran and ran in big, wide circles. Her flaxen hair blew like laughing wheat, her Brandeis-blue dress covered with snowy polka dots that shifted this way and that in the crisp Atlantic breeze of the early year. Tessie was like a butterfly—you couldn’t catch her, but she was beautiful to look at.