THE HANDS OF SALAMANDRE [PART TWO]

THE HANDS OF SALAMANDRE [PART TWO]

“Those who speak of art as a truth, as a thing to know and understand in complete, bring a corruption to society far deeper reaching than any criminal mind could hope to create.” – Salamandre, Excerpt from Opening Ceremony to the Grackle Honeycreeper Ballet Company’s Performance of Tender Skies It wasn’t

MR. TOBBLER’S SUNDAY AFTERNOON

MR. TOBBLER’S SUNDAY AFTERNOON

It was barely noon on Sunday when Mr. Tobbler noticed three things about the man walking beside him: First, that he had a large, white pimple on the left side of his cheek. Second, that he was dressed entirely in black. And third, that his shadow, which should have fallen nearby, was

THE ENCHANTING LIFE OF FLANNIGAN BIXBY

THE ENCHANTING LIFE OF FLANNIGAN BIXBY

It was only slightly raining when Timothy Dinwiddle began his usual walk to the train station but still he wished he hadn’t forgotten his red umbrella with the purple dots. The umbrella was a present from his ever-traveling sister, Bertrice, a purple-spotted souvenir from her August trip to Vienna, where

A DATE NEAR DOWNING STREET

A DATE NEAR DOWNING STREET

The taxi door fluttered open, a bright flap of yellow against the sluggish October wind. One last look to the driver with graying teeth and gangly, corn-husk hair and Daniel Plinkers peeled himself out of the car. (This after sitting for twenty seven minutes in downtown traffic as the taxi meter skipped

IN THE LAND OF WORROMOT

IN THE LAND OF WORROMOT

To the one who knows it all, I salute you. I admire you. I’m even jealous of you. (Don’t tell.) You should know that I used to be one of you. I used to understand the deepest threads of philosophy and the longest ribbons of words a voice can speak.

FREDDIE RUSTLER AND THE MAGICAL MEAL

FREDDIE RUSTLER AND THE MAGICAL MEAL

Here’s something you might not know: If you’re meeting a magician for breakfast, you must never order soup. The act is very much like using an umbrella to kayak stormy waters or dressing in clown costume to mow an unsightly lawn. It is simply not done. Some say the soup

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part Three]

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part Three]

Another white wine, chilled so her fingers ran down the glass to clear away a light layer of frost. How he knew – when she didn’t say – that she only drank Sauvignon Blanc could’ve been a mystery worthy of Premier Private Detective investigation but something about a missing painting or a dangerous message

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part Two]

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part Two]

“Perceptions are like waves. They ebb and flow with the moon.” This was one of the many strange things Mr. Dupoil told Miriam while they waited for Sandoval Jorgi to return home. He also told her, “Men who wear gloves shouldn’t be trusted.” And, “Never eat refrigerated cheese.” They had

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part One]

THE CASE OF THE MISSING VEUVIAN COLPETTA [Part One]

Miriam Baxter lived life on the periphery, or so she told anyone who might ask. Really, she lived at 55 Snowflake Drive in a skinny building wedged between tall pines and a railway, and made from ten little apartments neatly stuffed inside a dark brick frame. With prim type –

THE WHISPERS OF WHEAT

THE WHISPERS OF WHEAT

“I wake up every morning and say to myself, ‘Son of a bitch, I’m still alive.'” It was the farmer, John Dittlesby, who said this between falsetto snivels of his wicker rocking chair. Before that he sat in silence, staring at an upturned floorboard on the porch that wrapped a dilapidated

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