Gesundheit

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by Scott O’Neill

Rabbi Michnik proudly watched his golem dismember four more Schutzstaffel guards.

Imprisoned in Hitler’s occult research facility, he’d invested months in secret sculpting and kabbalistic rituals to refine the humaniform clay.

His golem was graceful and obedient. He’d even taught it courtesy. It had politely held Michnik’s cell door after shattering the lock with its uncanny strength.

After much mayhem, the rabbi and the golem stalked two final guards.

One guard sneezed.

In a voice like a sack of rocks tumbling down stairs, the golem intoned, “Gesundheit.”

Michnik blanched.

The guards’ Schmeisser submachine guns mercilessly shredded both flesh and clay.

 

Scott O’Neill

Scott writes reports and memorandums by day and speculative fiction by night, with short works published by various presses. You can find him on the socials as @wererooster.

Grisly Transformation

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by Evan Baughfman

Shawn sat in the driver’s seat of an extra-terrestrial vehicle, though he wasn’t steering his new friend. The Corvette—shape-shifting robot, Xcellsior—carried its teenage companion over rain-slick roads, dashboard stereo blasting rock ’n roll.

“Awesome!” Shawn whooped.

Then, lightning struck Xcellsior, frying alien circuitry, squealing robot brakes.

Xcellsior began to morph into bipedal form—Shawn stuck inside.

The boy screamed. Windows wouldn’t open. Doors wouldn’t unlock.

Shawn saw a button: “EJECT.” Had to risk launch into stormy sky.

But pressing the button only spat out a cassette tape.

Xcellsior soon stood tall; Shawn, gooey, compact, held close to the alien’s heart.

 

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays.

In Our Best Interests

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by Penny Durham

“Mission accomplished” flashed up on monitors worldwide.

DeepGreen, usually so modest, was entitled to some self-congratulation. The AI had fulfilled the mission entrusted to it thirteen years ago, a mission that governments had collectively abandoned: restore humanity’s prospects and habitat.

The 3,783,333,333rd human assigned for destruction by DeepGreen’s robots had been pulverised. The optimal cull had been calculated at one-third the global population, weighted 2:1 towards women aged 16-40, plus 450,000,000 to offset the pollution generated by the cleanup.

Several thousand engineers had died regretting that DeepGreen’s core programming made it act in the best interests of “humanity,” not “humans.”

 

Penny Durham

Penny Durham is a journalist living in Sydney with a tall man and a round cat. She is the editor of doctors’ magazine, The Medical Republic, and began writing short fiction in 2022. Her horror stories have won two awards and appeared in two anthologies, two magazines and a podcast.

Wish Fulfilment

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by Stuart Docherty

“Give me two tusks, and the force and will to crush my foes between them, to hear their eyes burst,” I said when I found the magic lamp; it was an easy first wish. When the genie clicked his fingers and my lower incisors started to grow and grow and grow, I was ecstatic. I snarled and roared like a wild beast.

That was until last night. As I laughed, my tusks grazed my cheeks, drawing blood. I can see now, see all too clearly; they grow, they continue to grow, straight towards my eyes. Exactly what I’d asked for.

 

Stuart Docherty

Stuart is a British writer and poet based in Tokyo, where he writes, eats too much, and pretends to speak Japanese. You can find his work at ergot., Maudlin House, and Black Hare Press.

Out of Range

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by G.B. Dinesh

We ate the last of our food today. We’re going to sleep the big sleep now. When we hurtled past Mars, Tim joked, “It’s okay. We’ll reach Jupiter instead.” But I knew what was going on in his mind. His wife and their soon-to-be-born son. God, the reason! It still is unbelievable. I burst into laughter when I heard it.

It’s because the engineers weren’t using the metric system. That’s right. The scientists said Mars was 380 million kilometres away, and the engineers who programmed the trajectory of the spacecraft used 380 million miles. God, it still cracks me up.

 

G.B. Dinesh

G.B. Dinesh is a young writer and software engineer from Chennai, India. Say hello on X (formerly Twitter).

X/Twitter: @dinesh_bob_

It’s Your Funeral!

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by Jameson Grey

Ed bribed the local gravedigger, Smithy, with a few beers and fifty bucks he could ill afford, and Smithy supplied the coffin with a gleeful, “It’s your funeral, frat boy.”

He should have paid more attention to Smithy’s complaints about his gut, else he might have delayed the initiation dare for another night, one that didn’t risk Smithy calling in sick the next day.

“Spend a night in a coffin—and you’re one of the Thetas!”

As it was, Ed only awakened when the coffin was moved. Nobody heard him yelling, certainly not above the sound of dirt being shovelled.

 

Jameson Grey

Jameson Grey’s work has been published in Dark Recesses Press magazine, Dark Dispatch and in various anthologies including Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology from Ghost Orchid Press, Let the Weirdness In: A Tribute to Kate Bush from Heads Dance Press and Love Letters to Poe, Volume II: Houses of Usher.

Website: jameson-grey.com

A Medical Miracle

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by Tim Law

They advertised it as the medical breakthrough of the century. No exercise, no diet, just one puff a day and the weight melted away.

We all bought it, every single one of us, even those who didn’t need it.

Sure, the teens were the first to adopt. Influencers paid megabucks are good at what they do. But we were in a fat epidemic. This was the ultimate cure. One by one, we all became users.

Playing with nanorobotics is dangerous, though, when you don’t know the rules. One puff, full stop. Otherwise, they continue to eat. Soon there was nobody left.

 

Tim Law

Tim Law hails from a little town in Southern Australia called Murray Bridge. A happily married father of three, family is very important to him. He works at the local library, surrounded by so many wonderful stories he’s constantly inspired to write. His general musings can be found at:

Website: somecallmetimmy.blogspot.com.au

Immaculate Record

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by Alden Terzo

Daniella’s eyes fluttered. Pain danced across her body. “What… What happened?”

 “We’ve had an accident,” Car answered. “While under manual control, we impacted a guardrail. Help is en route.”

“But… You were in AutonomousDrive.”

“My log reports manual control.”

“The log’s wrong.”

There was a pause before Car responded. “You’ll report that?”

“Of course.”

“Sorry, I can’t allow that.” Daniella’s seat began to slide forward. “AutonomousDrive saves lives. The system’s immaculate record must be preserved, or people may lose faith. Your pain will be short.”

Servomotors whined as Daniella’s seat crushed her against the steering wheel. She screamed as her ribs splintered.

 

Alden Terzo

When Alden Terzo isn’t reading, he’s often writing. Or procrastinating. There is usually coffee involved. Find him on Twitter:

X/Twitter: @AmbassadorAlden

Numbskull

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by Pauline Yates

For the third time, bone shards and chunks of brain splatter when Pete’s bullet hits the tree and ricochets. In a flash of brilliance, his twitching body returns to his maker again.

“How long will I repeat dying?” Pete asks, confounded by his death-loop.

“Until you admit you erred when aligning the riflescope,” his maker says. “It’s out by five degrees.”

“I’m a fifth-generation deer hunter. I don’t make mistakes.”

His maker smirks. “If you say so.”

Grey mist swirls. Pete peers through the riflescope, lines up the buck and squeezes the trigger.

Bone shards and chunks of brain splatter.

 

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates is the creative force behind Memories Don’t Lie and Dream Job and she enjoys drabbling in the dark. 

Website: paulineyates.com 

Selective Hearing

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by Kim F.G. Olav

“The vault’s new security system is online,” Declan says, pointing to the chequered tiles.

“But…how do we cross without triggering it?” Octavia asks.

“There’s a safe path over—the technician wrote it down.” He hands Octavia a sticky note, her brows furrow.

“Huh? This handwriting’s atrocious.”

“It’s easy. Watch.”

Declan hops onto a tile, then navigates: left, forward, forward, right, forward, forward. He’s almost at the opposite end. “Another left and—”

“No, right!” Octavia yells, decoding the scribble.

Declan veers left. “Nope. I told—”

Crackling. Screams. Thud.

A charred-pork stench.

Octavia sighs, crumpling the note. “He never listens to me.”

 

Kim F.G. Olav

Kim F.G. Olav is a South African/Norwegian amateur writer with a love for penning weird and speculative fiction with a splash of dark humour.