Enjoy this reprint from Joan Aiken’s short story collection The Monkey’s Wedding: and Other Stories from Small Beer Press. Francis Nastrowski was a young Polish officer. He had once been rich, but was so no longer. Some of the habits of his bygone …

The following story appears in Figures Unseen by Steve Rasnic Tem, out this week from Valancourt Books. Steve Rasnic Tem’s writings have garnered numerous awards including the World Fantasy Award, British Fantasy Award, and Bram Stoker Award. via Po…

It’s the last day of autumn, and Jiteh’s twin brother is dead. He sits on the edge of his cot, thorns popping like seedlings from between his knuckles and poking through his sweaty scalp in a blood-slicked crown. “I’m scared,” he whispers. via Pocket

Have you ever found yourself on a midtown sidewalk on some warm July day when a plummeting body splattered on the pavement, directly in front of you? Close enough to feel the explosive shockwave of hot liquid air, pelting your trousers with meat pel…

Two women who have been friends since they were children—one a recovering alcoholic brought up by parents who believe they’re alien abductees, the other an orphan with an eating disorder—contend with a secret that might doom their friendship. So her…

A futuristic murder mystery about detective partners—a human and an enhanced chimpanzee—who are investigating why a woman murdered an apparently random stranger on the subway. “Doesn’t look like a killer, does she,” Huxley remarks. Cu shrugs a hairy…

The Gods were circling when the sun rose, nine long patches of black that did not brighten with the sea as the sky lit up. I watched Them, Their knife-blade fins like polished onyx slicing the surface, formation shifting but the huge old matriarch a…

Properties of Obligate Pearls By L. S. Johnson You have to know what to look for. Younger, definitely — stones from the elderly are heavy and black, decades of layers dulling the luster. No one wants the weight of a grandmother’s worries around thei…

Gonzo arrived in an assault of brass music and spilling banners rippling the pelt of cannon smoke where her feet would’ve been, taking up the hotel entrance in all its marble and chrome—its expensive anachronisms and the people paid to stand next to…

Wake up, killer. For a year, two, you’ve been the static hum of space, floating, spread out over a solar system, asleep, invisible. Girl born on Helio 70, you. via Pocket

Long ago I dreamt things to myself because, when I talked to people, I had nothing else to do, most of the time. Robots were easy. I could loan them cycles and bandwidth to temporarily accelerate them, or just download them and read them completely …

I was sixteen when the viz came. The spiral went crazy for a while, shooting, soldiers at the corners. But then, like everyone knows, it went back to normal. By twenty I was looking for ghosts in the vaults. via Pocket

There had been no meat for too long. Mother’s pups, now weaned off her milk, whined and yipped when she returned to the den, her jaws and belly empty. The squirrels and rabbits had gone, and nothing remained but parched desert and scorching heat. vi…

The stories all start the same way. A man goes fishing at night, and because the weather is calm and the tide is moving fast he guides his boat to the glittering vee between the two riptides that meet at the foot of the lighthouse. via Pocket

They made a game of it, taking their girls downstairs to the basement where there were no windows. The father had games for the girls down there. On Friday nights, he would drink beer after work, playing records for them. via Pocket

Saturday. July 11, 2015. 20:47: I arrive home from a friend’s family party with an army of dessert. via Pocket

I’m staring at the clock. Just staring at it, waiting for it to tick off a minute at which point I will have exactly one hour left of this hell. My brother the crazy artist says I’m not living my life. He says that I’ve sold my soul. via Pocket

My daughter is born into the whore spit snarl of a Cape Hatteras hurricane. Beautiful and waxy, her delicate scent distilling the shedded taint of my own sweat, piss, and blood. Blue nostrils flare as tiny lungs struggle to fill, but for this, I app…

Dino’s at the hatch, jigging up and down like he does when he’s worried. “Table Seventeen, the Lantoran’s getting antsy!” I flip the trout end-over-end in the pan: “Tell the lovely cephalopod that his trout is being sautéed in ox butter and I will n…

When we turn thirteen, we witch-children must sing at the Witches’ Sabbat. It is how newly of-age witches are introduced to our ancestors, my grandmother said. Taking puffs of her pipe, she told me about her own Sabbat, in the same woods I would hav…

Please stop screaming. [110dB—adult human is distraught.] I assure you your offspring is just fine. It appears to be entertained by the dust ‘bunnies’ in my holding tank. Oh—please stop screaming—it has found those plastic keys I sucked up last week…

I clearly remember the first time I saw The Lion King. It was July of 1994, me, my toddler, my newborn, and my mother in a classic big-screen theater. I remember being awestruck by that song, and that stunning opening scene. Mom? She said, “It’s…

The precise date and time of the appearance of the Sjöberg Portal is indeterminate, as Ms. Marta Eriksson, on whose property it appeared, noticed it only by happenstance when, upon peering out her study window, she saw the back end of her sheep (Lud…

Three months after the two men had pushed a needle into his thigh, Sheru learned something new about being sad. It happened just after the last of the strange dreams. They were not the kind of dreams that you’d expect a dog to have. The dreams he’d …

For as long as I can remember, Mythili has said she was going to leave. Even when we were children, she would tell Kumar and me that she was leaving the next day and we would never see her again. via Pocket

Sahar, moving softly through the river valley, made sure to listen. The sound filtered into her helmet from the external mics, and she imagined this must be what hiking on Earth must be like. via Pocket

How much is enough? When is it time… for the end? She’s just a reporter. This is just an interview. via Pocket

The interpreter’s voice is weak like a little bird’s, coming from a child’s lungs, but her diction is strong and certain like an adult’s. The Envoy speaks in his Earthian language and Henon words flow from Sam-Sa-Ee’s mouth. Across the table sits th…

Vapour coils along the bough, drifting away in little skeins of dissipating light. Tobias grins. Luminous breath: sure sign of irrevocable infection. “How do you feel, my son?” He looks up at the white rectangle glowing at the throat of the padre’s …

The First Annual Honesty Day was a complete bust. Yes, even I acknowledge that. We all lived through the turmoil, so we all know of what I speak. No one foresaw the tsunami of crushed dreams and ruined marriages and prosecutions. via Pocket