Today I’m doing something a little different and if you all behave, maybe I’ll do it again. For all you folks snowbound in the northeast today, I’ve pulled together something special for you! It’s short fiction Saturday!
- Tor.com announced this week that every Wednesday through 2013 they’ll be releasing a new short story. Here’s their first entry: Last Train to Jubilee Bay by Kali Wallace.
- After the sickness and quarantine almost destroyed the city, the traders arrived creeping out from the sea to live off the memories of those people left behind; getting them addicted to the serum these strange creatures manufacture in return. But now it’s been more than five days since they have come for their daily visit. And Lucy is determined to find out why.
- Substitutes by Colin P. Davies is available over on Daily Science Fiction
- Sometime after sunset on a blustery evening in late summer, with the offworlders’ orbital station a small bright misshapen moon over the choppy water of the river and the glittering barges of the loyal rich fighting at their moorings, a slim girl came skipping over Westminster Bridge like a leaf carried on the wind. She danced down Belvedere Road, her pale face bobbing though the crowds, and ducked into the alley beside the bookies.
- Patricia C. Reade shares Mad Hamlet’s Mother over on Apex Magazine.
- Her son was mad. She had been certain of it since the cursed night when he turned the players’ play against her husband, killed old Polonius in her chamber, bespoke his father’s ghost, and at last set off for England.
- Nightmare Magazine features Sacred Cows by Sarah Langan
- Clara Maloney peered down the long Brooklyn block. She and baby Sally had been waiting in the cold for twenty minutes, and still no sign of Pop. Figured. Even to pick out his wife’s casket, the old man was late.
- And Nightmare’s sister publication, Lightspeed Magazine has Prolegomenon to the Adventures of Chílde Phoenix by Marly Youmans.
- Perhaps you’ve heard an anecdote about a child named Cresencio who was skipping barefoot between hills of corn when a shallow bowl in the field, long turbulent with mutterings, broke into pieces. Cresencio spied a tongue of smoke, like the mockings of a demon; he bent, staring into the jagged mouth that was about to spatter the nearby trees with sparks and set his childhood on fire.
Finally, don’t forget my February offer: if you’re an author and would like me to purchase a copy of your book, leave a comment on this blog post.