“I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts.” Evers laughs at himself. In part because of how absurd it is to say that out loud. To feel compelled to remind himself he’s a rational person. Mostly though, he laughs because it calls to mind the Cowardly Lion’s timorous refrain: I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do believe in spooks. “I don’t believe in spooks,” he says, trying on the impression. Then—as if to convince himself—he

Mona steps out the back door of the Hotdish Diner absolutely swimming in Carl the Line Cook’s coat and digs out his pack of smokes. She pats around the pockets and digs in her apron and looks up. Sticks her tongue out. It’s supposed to snow tonight. It was all anyone could talk about. All day long. Every trucker on every stool at the counter, every gaggle of bluehairs in every booth: Did you hear it’s supposed to snow tonight? Gonna get some snow, can you believe it? Oh, it’s

The widow swan had followed him. Tinker was sure of it. Forget the fact that birds didn’t do that. Stalk people. Hold grudges. Seek vengeance. They couldn’t do that. Birds had little gumball brains. It was an absurd idea to even consider, and yet, there it was. Waiting for him at the end of the little dock that swayed in the chop of the lake like a huge loose tooth. Three hundred miles from where he’d left it, honking and flapping around the lifeless pile of its partner. Tink

A Short Story by Jeremy Gardner For a hundred and eight years the Norman Hotel stood sentinel over the town of Barlow, like the gnomon at the center of an enormous, ominous sundial. Old-timers called it “The Bank” or “The Norm,” but to their children (most of them now in their forties and fifties) it had a number of more dismissive nicknames, “The Blight,” “The Thumb,” “The Tomb,” “The Eyesore,” and most derisively: “That Big Pile of Shit on Central.” Their grandparents would

THERE IS A MONOLITH IN THE KITCHEN OF MY HOME. I do not remember how old I am, or if I could even call this my first memory because to organize those first sparks into consciousness would be impossible, but I know I am old enough to open the fridge, or more specifically, the freezer. My cousin Ashley is babysitting me and she’s asleep on the couch - not out of derelict of duty, it had to be well past midnight, but even in my childhood I was a night owl. So I was awake, and fo

This morning my beautiful little blue-eyed angel (aka JackJack Doppelgänger) elected to start his engine at 5 am. He was wide awake and spinning around in his crib like a whirlybird. On that note, Nando said, “I’ll go make coffee.” I said, “Well… I’ll start the list, and then let’s have our 5-minute morning meeting.” I began adding to yesterday’s list of tasks to complete. It included items like; write my May Haven article, update my fashion styling website, fly to the moon a