the words and worlds of John Robinson
Say your prayers...'cause Santa Claus comes tonight. Well, here we are-- it's Christmas Eve and this is the final installment of The Naughty List. I hope you've enjoyed the journey thus far, I know I have. And I hope the ending doesn't disappoint. As always, all errors (grammatical, technical, etc.) are all mine. Maybe this …
Here comes Santa Claus-- Run! We're on the countdown now to the big day. Is it just me or does it feel like Christmas gets here with a major quickness when you're the one buying the gifts? Anyway, as I finish some last-minute shopping, and attempt to recover from it, here is the third, and …
Santa Claus is real...real pissed. Here is the second installment of my Christmas slasher....
I've was lazy in November, at least as far as Curio Macabre was concerned. Sometimes you just need to take a break, a sabbatical, a vacation or whatever name you put on it. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving, and, equally, hope all of you are anticipating a wonderful Christmas. This December I thought …
Everything went well until the townsfolk began shooting. Franco, Horace, Jim, and Augie came out of the bank with three saddlebags burdened with cash and coins, and their faces loaded with smiles. They didn't bother with bandannas since their wanted posters, which bore no actual resemblance to them, hadn't made it this far west. Danny, …
The story of one family's tragedy and the secrets it revealed.
I don't write a lot of poetry anymore. I used to once upon a time, but my poetic muse has largely left me in the last several years. Every so often words or phrases invade my head, or something happens and bits and pieces work into something resembling a poem. These three, more or less, …
A young child on Christmas night during the Roaring Twenties learns from her immigrant grandmother that some customs from the old world should not be forgotten...
When two strangers have a conversation over drinks in a bar the future is changed in drastic ways.
“Loretta,” her mother called from the living room over the rattle of the window unit. “Loretta!” she yelled when she received no answer. Loretta stood outside on the steps, smoking a cigarette. She could feel the cool of the kitchen coming through the screen door, teasing her as the sun poured down its heat. Bugs …
Curio Macabre 