by Michael Kingswood Steph ran her left hand through her hair, and wished she hadn’t cut it short the previous week. She hadn’t realized how much just running her fingers through it, and then being able to give it a little tug—just a little—was soothing when she was irritated or upset. Now there was barely…
Category: Short Story
Work Release
by Michael Kingswood “I really don’t want to do this.” Billy looked across the drop ship to where the kid sat, strapped to his crash couch by a four-point sling of webbing, and could identify completely. The kid was young, maybe twenty years old. Brown-haired, with yellow-green eyes. In shape, but not bulky, and wearing…
Cave Diving For Dummies
by Michael Kingswood Harry adjusted his lips around the hard rubber clenched between his teeth and inhaled. Dry air that tasted slightly of plastic entered his lungs with the corresponding click-hiss of his regulator. Deep and slow, controlled breaths. Don’t draw down the tank too soon. The mantra from his SCUBA instructors echoed in his…
Abe’s Liquors
by Michael Kingswood Betty sniffed back tears and wiped the back of her right hand across the bottom of her nose. It had gone runny from crying so hard. She squinted into the early evening darkness, her left hand flexing on the scarred and fading brown leather that wrapped the steering wheel of her Camry,…
A Man of Faith
by Michael Kingswood The shriek that left the girl’s mouth was guttural, profane, and inhuman. A roar from the Pit of Hell itself, something that her vocal cords could never have produced on their own. Joseph knew the sound well; he had been evoking it from demons for years. The girl was fifteen, wearing a…
VIP Treatment – A Dustin Cofield Adventure
by Michael Kingswood Most folks have heard the term “Christmas in July.” The suburban town where I’m stationed is run by smart-alecks, though, so Lockwood has “Christmas on the solstice.” Because symmetry of timing and rigid thinking. What most people don’t know is the concept, whether fun or annoyingly pedantic, derives from a real necessity…
Kicking The Anthill
by Michael Kingswood Kevlar and ballistic plating doesn’t help worth a damn against magic. Sergeant John Singleton really wished he’d known the suspect was going to turn out to be a wizard. He would have called for Special Magics. Instead, SWAT showed up, and they never had a chance. John’s police cruiser sat cross-ways across…
Hermes’ Kringle
by Michael Kingswood If someone had told Brian’s 8-year old self that he would one day be outside the world fixing Santa Claus, he would have laughed and called him crazy. But then, when he was 8 years old Brian hadn’t really had a notion that there really was an outside of the world. It…
Smoke and Embers
by Michael Kingswood Woodsmoke filled the air despite the stiff breeze blowing in from the east. It seemed to rise from everywhere, and never mind the determined efforts of the fire department personnel, who had labored for hours to contain the fire. Where once this had been a non-denominational neighborhood chapel—white and pure exterior finish,…
Give A Dog A Bone – A Doggy Mystery
by Michael Kingswood Harry loped along beside his best buddy John, the grass of the park where John liked to go running soft beneath Harry’s feet and the air rife with scents: clipped grass, John’s sweat, pollen, and despite the bright sun overhead, humidity like just before a good rain. Breathing easily through his mouth…