One more previously unpublished short story, this time in SF. Enjoy. Fifth Mind an SF short story by Harvey Stanbrough 1 I couldn’t quite believe I was in Clear Lake, Iowa. Actually, I wasn’t even aware of it for the first twenty minutes or so. When you’re on the road as much as I’ve been the last three days, one whistle stop looks pretty much like all the rest. So I don’t always notice the city limit sign on the way into each small town, but unless it’s the destination, who cares? A gas stop is a gas stop. A …

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Continuing with previously unpublished short stories. Nothing wrong with any of these. I just wrote them, then set them aside and forgot them while I was busy writing something else. Enjoy. Cowboy Country a Dark Scenarios short story George Measely walked along the shoulder of State Road 13 in New Mexico, and he looked anything but at home. Instead of boots he wore black leather Italian loafers. Instead of jeans, he wore dark grey trousers, stained slightly darker with sweat in the vicinity of his narrow, black leather belt. His light pink shirt, which stretched over his belly and protruded …

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This is the second in a series of previously unpublished short fiction, so no cover but a story some of you will enjoy. A Long Way Down A Dark Scenarios Short Story by Harvey Stanbrough   I parked my pickup in the last slot at the end of Denny’s. There were other slots closer to the door, but during a previous circle around the restaurant, I’d identified an area with several empty booths. It was perfect. And you can’t get much more anonymous than eating breakfast in Denny’s. Plus my pickup would be just outside the window from my booth …

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The next several stories I put up here will be previously unpublished. I might get around to publishing them more broadly and I might not. Either way, you’ll get to see them here. This first one is from a submission to Dean Wesley Smith’s Cave Creek anthology. Although he accepted another story I sent, he rejected this one and said it seemed like part of a longer story. As it turned out, this story at least infomedmy novel, The Portals. How “Best” Is Defined 1 Wearing the light, airy dress and the white leather thong sandals she liked to wear …

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Back to my own short stories, or rather, short stories written under my own name. This story is derived from one of the novels in my Blackwell Ops series of books. Chapter 1 Six stories below me, right on time, Federico Parizzi is making his way casually through the crowds that always choke the modern but narrow sidewalk in the late morning. The sight is a contrast in ages. The sidewalk is teeming with shoppers and business people as in any major city in late-morning. But this sidewalk is bordered on one side by ancient buildings, and on the other …

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This is the third in a series of short stories by my personas. This one is by Eric Stringer. Click the link to see Eric’s bio and another short story he wrote. For almost three weeks, the only thing I’ve had to look forward to, really, was writing in this journal. Now that the time is almost up, this probably will be the final entry. I’ve saved the most significant entry for last: what struck me most was, after a time, I couldn’t hear them screaming. I couldn’t hear them after the first few hours, really. If I let my …

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This is the second post in a brief series showcasing my personas. This one is by Nick Porter. Click the link to read Nick’s bio and a bonus short story he wrote. Three days we’d been in sweaty jungle, lying low. The pleasant scent of decomposing vegetation clung to every molecule of air. Every sound was dragged to earth, broadened and muted. Just me, Jim Barnes, and time. For the solitude, we might have been fishing up along the Moss River back home. I smiled at the gentle thought. There it would be just the two of us, or just …

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I wanted to showcase some of my personas’ fiction. This story is magic realism, from the pen of Gervasio Arrancado. Click the link to read Gervasio’s bio and another of his short stories. Enjoy. The cantina in Agua Rocosa was the usual thick-walled adobe building, dimly lighted through small, deep, open windows on three sides. There was one window on either side of the only door, which opened to the east. There were two more windows on each wall. The bar, a heavy wooden affair topped with burnished mesquite, ran along much of the west wall. To the north end …

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No cover for this one. Oddly, although I wrote this story sometime back in early 2020, I haven’t published it yet. Well, not until today, here, in this limited venue. Enjoy. Well, if that’s the right word. And stay tuned. When I found this one I found a few more that are previously unpublished too. H Louisiana is chock full of secrets. That’s what I’d always heard. Especially southern Louisiana, the land of the Cajuns, that very special place called Acadia. There are alligator-infested swamps down there, and cyprus trees growing right up out of the water. There are bayous …

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for Jack Williamson, with reverence A few minutes after 10 a.m. four short days after Martin Andersen turned 76, he confidently approached the Age Exchange. He reached for the door handle, then frowned. He stopped and stepped back. He’d expected something impressive. Maybe a heavy hand-carved mahogany door, or maybe something sterile and clinical, like brushed stainless steel, but certainly not this. This was a weathered wooden door with a large window set in it. At some time in the past, the door had been painted green, but the paint was chipped and peeling. He looked away for a moment …

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