The Liquid of Her — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2OELEGR

The Barrette Girls — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2PhrZJW

Obtrusion Rate — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2OGFg1O

I Know All of His Names — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2PkqniP

Lares Familiares, 1981 — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2OELsr7

Reenactment — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2PjO3no

House, Orchard, Well — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2OMC9VS

The Heart is a Lonesome Hunter — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2PoB43W

Amber Liquid, Whispering — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2OFtnJw

The Heart Seed — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2IGdCwe

Presque Vu — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2CwVoNG

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When Leopard's-Bane Came to the Door of Third Heaven — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2IHU3E1

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The House of Illusionists — Liminal Stories via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2zYwdBb

The House of Illusionists is a short story by Vanessa Fogg, published in the fifth issue of Liminal Stories in August 2018.

A story about the distances technology fails to bridge.

Some kids do that---they imprint on empty objects, they give them stories and opinions and a will, until they feel half-inhabited even to grownups, who have to pretend that they care how Chrissy’s blanket feels about things for so long that one day when Chrissy’s at school they step on the blanket and apologize. I did it with anything, when I was young; my toys were always in the middle of some intense plot that nobody outside could understand.

One Saturday night six months ago, my husband and I attended a party where we saw three women wearing the same dress. To save those present from embarrassment, I will not identify them by name, car…

Author : Jae Miles, Staff Writer My dad was a spy. A really good one, according to mum. I couldn’t get her to understand. How could he have been any good if he got caught? It meant there was a bett…

Author : Terry J. Golob I ride the slow rails on the trashed echelon in a dying sector of the multi-city; the rotting, moss-covered penthouses glow fuzzy green in an opalescent fog. Crusty, white-s…