Blog Archives
Edition 8: Digging In The Deep by Tonia Brown
When miners lose their jobs and start disappearing, it’s chalked up to desertion. Thomas knows better. He starts digging, but perhaps the family line of work is not the safest pursuit in these dark times… SY
“He’s my pa,” Thomas said. “I just want to know where he is.”
The officer nodded at him, but said nothing.
“I ain’t seen him in three weeks,” Thomas said.
“He isn’t in there,” the cop said. “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Thomas looked past the officer, into the darkened recesses of the mine beyond. “I know that. But…I mean…isn’t there anything you can do?”
The officer looked up to him, more exasperated than concerned. “Look, kid. A lot of men have supposedly gone missing in the last few weeks. Not just your father.”
“I know.” Thomas was sort of worried about the other guys too, but mostly about his father. Jack Barns was the first to go missing weeks ago, then Roger Wells a few days later, then Marcus Downey, then Jeremy Stills, then Donald Walker. The list went on and on.
Edition 8: Dreaming of You by Felicia A. Lee
Mira begins to dream of a house and family that aren’t hers. She dreams of them constantly, and it becomes scarily real, especially when her own reality seems to be slipping away. When Mira’s mother suggests that she is not who she thought she was, the dreams worsen. Does her mother’s secret hold the key to escaping the tedium of her oppressive nightmare? SY
Back in Serbia, people never talked about their dreams. Nana said that to do so was not only rude, but bad luck—and, as she always said, wasn’t there already enough bad luck in the world?
But here in Los Angeles, it sometimes seems as though people can talk of nothing else. In high school I took a psychology class and one day the teacher asked each of us to share a recent dream. This was just after we moved here, and I didn’t know Americans liked to talk about their dreams. For me, this felt like being asked to stand naked on top of my desk. When it was my turn, I lied and said I couldn’t remember any.
I was scared too for another reason: the teacher asked this of us just after the dreams started. It was as if she somehow knew.
Now that I’ve been here a few years, I don’t mind talking about my dreams so much. Amy and Caitlin, my roommates at UCLA, said that talking about their dreams made them feel better. I hope you don’t mind.
Edition 8: Tea In The Secret Garden by Emma Newman
Leonie and Geoff delight in their afternoon tea in the secret garden. Sometimes, when people want to keep their secrets, it’s best to leave them alone. A hard lesson, for some. SY
Leonie wondered whether to start with an attack, and then be soft, or whether to draw him close and then, when he was truly relaxed, deal the vicious blow. Both had their merits, but neither was original. So she simply stirred in the sugar, picked up the tea cup and saucer and sat back in the chair.
She crossed her legs, making the nylon rasp, drawing Geoff’s eyes to them. It made her smile as she took her first sip. Exquisite; both the tea, and the hunger he couldn’t hide.
“Do you want to keep the corporation running?” he asked. “Or are you going to break it up and strip the assets?”
Years of cigar smoking and whisky had made his voice husky. Ignoring the bags beneath his eyes and the waddle of fat hanging from under his chin, she could still sense his vitality.
Edition 8: The Traveler by Laura Haddock
When you’re travelling in the infiniteness of space, the smallest miscalculation can result in a nightmare. So it was for Carl, looking for a quiet break. His error would send him to one of the worst places to end up: Earth. SY
It was the damn Dot Bug screwed it up.
Carl used the first two days of his vacation to plot his course with paper and pencil, just like great-great-great grandpa did it. His calculations were accurate—even beautiful. Travel computation was an art, really. Auto-plotters were for cretins.
But…
The tiny Dot Bug did what Dot Bugs do. It scuttled into Carl’s note pad and settled in between a 3 and a 5 to suck on the paper-pulp.
It looked like this: .
Decimals make a difference in space travel.
Edition 8: Chinaman’s Bluff by Cat Sparks
A woman and a boy are travelling alone in hostile Australia, seeking their future in service to an unknown benefactor. It can be a dangerous place to be, the Australian bush, the very place to find ruffians and outlaws. Only with a little help from an unusual friend will Juliana and Arthur make it in this foreign land. SY
Juliana Morris was a long way from home and even further from civilisation according to the poorly-sketched map she’d acquired from the Captain of the Mary Elisabeth. Just follow the river windin’ all the way to Wharftown, he’d said, which seemed like a reasonable proposition, only there hadn’t been any river flowing into the ramshackle port where the captain had set them down. A port so small it didn’t even have a name. Shielding her eyes from the sun’s harsh glare, she surveyed the pitiful landscape with dismay. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. The inhabitants had a hard-bitten look about them. None of the women she passed would return her smile. Juliana’s life in London had been far from luxurious. She hadn’t known what to expect of Australia, but somehow she’d expected more than this.
Juliana and her small son Arthur spent a restless night in a cramped and none-too-clean inn one street back from the docks. The Mary Elisabeth and her captain sailed on the morning tide, leaving them both to fend for themselves in a strange, inhospitable land.
Edition 8: Fairest Fowl by J. B. Rockwell
When you offend the gods and snub tradition, things can go badly wrong, and they can occur in the most unlikely places and circumstances. Rockwell’s story was a worthy finalist in the 2012 Story Quest Short Story Contest and it was worth the wait to include her story in this special edition. GH
All the world was burning, and as she stared at the devastation below, Keiko knew that her beloved chicken was to blame.
She’d found him on the lower slopes of the mountains, huddled miserably in a stand of bamboo, his feathers dull and dirty, missing in places as if he’d molted out of season, and torn away in others where he had fought with some other creature and survived at least, if not won. She’d taken pity on the poor, half-starved bird, and tucked it under one arm as she turned and followed a narrow path back to the village that was her home.
The hills were steep hereabouts, and were densely covered with cedar and pine and cypress, and the ubiquitous stands of bamboo. She could just see the roofs that marked that sprawling collection of homes and barns and shops as she descended toward the flatter lands where the village and the surrounding fields lay. She supposed it wasn’t really a village anymore. What had started as a small farming community had grown over the past few decades to become a bustling market town. But Shimizu was still a farmer’s town at heart, and she a farmer’s daughter.
Edition 8: A Man And His Parasite by Cat Rambo
To be the wife of the only man on Earth with an alien is a lonely existence. It disgusts Aye, yet she is curious and envious. Is Carl meant to be the one exploring the universe or will the creature just leave her without a husband? SY
The doctors thought Aye’s presence made Karl calmer, kept him stable. They monitored her health with impersonal politeness, never looking at her face, mainly so she wouldn’t drop dead on him, which might drive his blood pressure up.
She was an appliance, she thought, used to keep his body a pleasant and hospitable place where the parasite could thrive.
It felt wrong. Aye was used to being in the spotlight. In school she’d led the popular crowd. Who she liked (or didn’t) had been central to everyone’s opinion. Nowadays the list of who she didn’t like was ignored.
Dr. Taro, who supervised the parasite’s growth and reported on it daily, was high on her list. She read his findings on Karl, though. “Subject’s readings within normal parameters. Parasite appears the same.”
Or, ominously, “Subject in pain. Parasite appears unhappy.”
Edition 9: Trophy by Jason Lairamore
Wilbur isn’t exactly a nice guy, and you could possibly excuse him because of the sexual politics mentality of the early 20th Century. Possibly. Sometimes, however, fate plays an off-beat game, and unexpected results ensue. GH
I arrived at the bank early, as usual. My driver opened the door to my new 1927 Packard as I checked my pocket watch. 6:00 a.m. I’ve got a good driver in, whatever his name is.
“A fine morning, Sir,” the doorman said.
I ignored him and rushed into the foyer, past the teller stations, up the stairs, and into the office where my desk waited loaded with ‘real’ work.
I worked for a while then lit one of my Cubans. I took one good puff and my young wife stepped into my office, unannounced and as bold as you please. Her presence made me cough on the fine smoke.
“Wilbur!” She shifted weight right then left then back again. With every movement her exquisite muscles played on her long legs. The dress she wore, though long enough to cover her proper was too tight by half. My heart skipped a beat and I almost dropped my cigar.
“Priscilla whatever are you doing here?”
Edition 9: Cattails by A. P. Sessler
The speculative fiction market, including SQ Mag, doesn’t publish enough pieces that have humorous bents, or are light but twisted. Not easy to execute well in my estimation. A P Sessler’s ‘Cattails’ fits the bill perfectly. We have a story that opens almost like a Stephen King meets Brothers Grimm, but read on, and it becomes something so much more… GH
‘The Duende’s Garden’ © A P Sessler
The stiff, wide-eyed opossum traversed the rugged rows of severed wheat stalks that remained of the early September harvest. With flashing teeth and swiping claws frozen in time, the critter’s gray body glided across the harsh grooves of furrowed earth much like a snake would, only one without a limber bone in its body.
Edition 9: Born Again by Nu Yang
Horror is about making the reader uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, whether it is with the sledgehammer of shock, or the subtle descriptive form that creeps the reader out as the narrative progresses. Nu Yang does the latter very well indeed, and we are pleased to have her return to SQ Mag in this story about a supernatural event that is closely tied with one of the most tumultuous events in US history in this century. GH
The note came on a Monday.
Dear Mr. Fisher,
I would like to meet with you sometime this week to discuss Maribel’s behavior in class. Please contact me at the school at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely, Mrs. Allen
When Ryan asked his daughter what her fifth grade teacher wanted to speak about, Maribel shrugged. “I think it might be about this history report I did.” She was huddled over her homework at the dining table. “She told me to see her after class when I turned it in.”
“What did she tell you?” Ryan asked.
“Just that she didn’t like what I wrote.” Maribel chewed on her bottom lip. Her green eyes stayed downcast.
Ryan leaned against the kitchen counter. “Do you have the report with you?”
SQ Mag 
