the words and worlds of John Robinson
Gene watched the tattoo artist, one Sid Sinowski of No Mercy Tattoos & Body Piercings, mix Luanne’s ashes into the ink. The tattooist grunted from time to time as he worked, scratched at his thick neck which was covered in art like the rest of his exposed skin (save for his scruffy face). Even the …
Jordan Hinshaw was three years old when his dad abandoned him and his mom, Gail. By age ten, he had no living grandparents. His mother had two sisters with whom she was not on speaking terms. She didn’t even know where they lived, or if they were dead or alive. His mom had mentioned great …
The crowd for Gladys Cobbridge's estate sale was composed mainly of curious neighbors wanting an inside glimpse of the woman's decrepit house and to peruse the daily items she touched with her, possibly, murderous hands. They would buy a relic if the price was right. With so low a turnout, a bargain was inevitable. Pots …
Author's Note: This story is inspired by events which happened June 9th-10th, 1912. Historical accuracy has been attempted, but artistic license was also implemented. All errors are my own, be they historical or grammatical. A rooster crowed from a backyard coop somewhere down the dusty lane in the moments before the first rays of dawn …
The room is big. It is as big as a house. It is filled with caskets. They go as far as my eyes can see. I am four years old and it is Tuesday June 9th, 1981. My dad, the deacon of Center Free Will Baptist Church, died the previous day, on June 8th (my …
Scott sat in his car in the garage. He had buckled his seatbelt out of habit. The garage door was closed and, through the little rectangular windows set into it, he watched the trees in the wind blown night. They danced violently against the sky which was illuminated red/orange by the fires that had erupted …
Joel had been unconscious for the better part of two days and on the third his eyes fluttered behind their tissue-thin lids as he spoke his last words: “...they don’t….” His voice croaked the words through a dry throat, squeezed them from his white-caked mouth. He spoke them and died, passing easily from the world. …
The skin around the boy’s neck was bruised to black from the tightness of the iron collar. His eyes bulged and he had to open his mouth wide to capture a breath. Three poles were fastened to the collar, long enough so the men who held them were out of reach should the boy try …
The night his father died, Jeff Olliet's lungs were full of the same crepe myrtle and Spanish moss that teased his nose now in the full swelter of day. He leaned on the tree, listening to the congregation in the church singing about the sweet by and by as the river accompanied their chorus. He …
The decision to lance the boil on his face didn’t scare Gerry. Why visit a doctor and pay good money for something he could easily do? Holding his knife (the one with the coon hound on the grip-- his nicest, cleanest pocket knife), he readied himself for the first slice into the ping-pong sized protuberance. …
Curio Macabre 