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The Visions of Koto-Ryin

lovelylj — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 15:00:43 +0000

The Visions of Koto-Ryin, is a collection of short stories that takes place after Return 2 Earth, when the assistant of an Elder, Koto-Ryin receives visions of her Deltorian ancestors from more than a hundred years ago.

These five short stories are about the Deltorian Warriors, also known as the Delta Four who must protect Queen Lora and the citizens from Deltor from the ravenous bodiless beings known at the Revkar, the evil aliens called the Skyro, and any other creatures who are against the realm.

Koto-Ryin doesn’t know who to trust when she begins to receive these visions of her long hidden Deltorian history. She approaches the soon-to-be Oracle Nolan from the planet Xanar. And together the two travel to the past without being seen or heard and witness the events of the battles of these warriors.

Vision I: Battle at the Revkar Portal

Vision II: Attack of the Skyro

Vision III: The Vadarian Nightmare

Vision IV: The Return of the Skyro

Vision V: Double Crossed on Kitnar

Author Website

The Visions of Koto-Ryin

$4.99

77 pages

The Visions of Koto-Ryin

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Hard Lessons

BooksForABuck — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 15:00:25 +0000

Ashes of Memory It was a punch in the gut seeing Simeon Carr pacing down the hillock into Carford Dingle. The shock broke Philip's stride and he stubbed his toe, nearly sprawling through the heather. He caught his balance at the last second and his running shoes pounded onto the stone path of the old trod, which ran through the moors here. Following the slowest first year into the gully, Philip saw four other sixth formers waiting, standing by the school boundary stone. Philip frowned. He'd read the literature, dug up by the new Headteacher, but this didn't look at all like the ritual described there. And Simeon's presence suggested this ceremony was based on the sort of thing that had got Philip's mother killed. He wanted to stop, to turn back, to ignore this whole thing, but as a prefect at Carford House, he was forced to keep an eye out for the firsties on this cross-country run, making sure none of them got lost up on the moors. Simeon was actively hiding his presence. Philip could tell when his gaze slid away. Like a bulldog, he shook his mind clear from the external influence. He'd seen that before the day his mother died. Why hadn't they stopped her? Why had she been so stupid? Then there was the traitor's voice that whispered, because she didn't care. It didn't help Philip to know that the Church only pulled Simeon out of retirement for cases it thought were nothing. The man had been on that other hillside five years ago. Granted, Simeon had tried to stop the events--Philip hoped he was in better practice this time. A grouse erupted from a stand of bracken, startled by Simeon's passage, and flew into the darkening sky. That was all Philip needed--wet and complaining first years. At least the moors needed the rain, it had been weeks since even drizzle had fallen, let alone this promised drenching. The first year stood laughing at the four sixth formers led by Head Boy, Alec. According to the pamphlet, each first year was to run the boundaries of the school and give a good wallop on a drum set at the boundary markers. Tradition said that Beating the Bounds would drive off evil spirits. So what was with the pine branch Alec held? What was with the three drummers? Alec laughing in the library--a place he rarely entered--gathered with his friends over old ledgers. Philip's unease at seeing Simeon turned to terror. Alec lifted his pine branch high, while the other three beat their drums. 'No!' He yelled his certainty into the wind that suddenly clawed down the gully. 'You mustn't do that! You need to stop!' The wind pushed his words back into his mouth and tried to thrust him out of the gully. He fought back. Alec saw his struggle, and laughed--a high gloating note carried on the wind, which combed fingers through the summer--dry grass and whistled through the upraised pine branch. It was last year's drop; Philip ducked the brown needles flying like darts towards his eyes. He expected Alec to use the branch to give the first year a good thrashing. Listening to his half-brother cramming for the exams to follow Simeon into that branch of the Church, Philip had reluctantly absorbed old traditions. One of the original forms of Beating the Bounds had walked boys around their village boundaries and hitting them on the head at each marker stone. He knew of darker forms. Instead, Alec held the branch high. 'No!' Philip shouted, but the wind caught the words and whisked them away once more. Deep inside him, Philip knew that Alec was wrong, though he couldn't say how he knew. He tried to take another step into the gully. Defeated, he cupped his hands to his mouth. 'Alec! That's the wrong way! Stop!' Alec flung his head back, staring in ecstasy at the louring sky. Even over the wind beating at his ears, Philip heard Alec's words. 'Let there be blood on the boundary stone!' The first year stopped laughing. Incredulously, he started to turn away from Alec who towered over him with the branch. 'Aaa-lec!' shouted Philip. 'Sim-e-on! Stop them!' Slowly, Simeon turned to look up the hill. Philip saw the lightning spike start to the sky to meet the fork darting down. 'No!' he shrieked. If only he knew how to push the lightning away! No! He would never learn that! Oh-so-slowly, Simeon raised his hiking stick--his mouth moving at stop-motion speed. The wind pressed against Philip's downward momentum, driving him back up the hill. Step by step he fought the wind with all his physical strength--and that wasn't enough. Inch by inch the spike advanced. Weighted down with millstones, Philip lifted his arms, trying to cover his head, trying to turn away. Down in the gully, Simeon leaned into a slow-motion sprint towards the boys. For the first time Alec saw the older man. He lowered the branch--as if he were using a wand to cast a spell. And the spike touched the sky. Lightning arcing down to strike his mother as the spell lurched out of her control. Her screams of pain, screams of terror from the other cult folk, filled Philip's ears. Light exploded in the gully. The wind stalled. Philip landed face first in the heather, buried under the sound of the thunderbolt. Heat ran over his back, scalding his neck. He pushed his head up and squinted into the gully. The fire dried his eyes just looking. He thought he could see bodies lying on the ground. He'd heard of people stunned by lightning but surviving it. He had to get them out of there. Scrambling to his feet, he tried to take a step forward but the heat from the fire pushed him back. He raised an arm to shield his face and tried again. And Philip saw his mother reaching out burning arms to him, screaming in agony. Horrified, he turned away instead of trying to help her. In the fire he saw a burning face; it looked like his mother. Horrified, he turned away. Screams sounded outside his head. Hair blazing, Alec stalked out of the gully, carrying a now burning pine wand. His eyes burnt from within. 'There's Philip!' said Alec. 'Get him!' He lowered the burning pine until it pointed straight at Philip's chest. Behind Alec, three burning figures stumbled out of the fire; their mouths open, screaming in pain. Staring, Philip remembered his half-brother saying that the only way fire could control a human was to burn them, destroying them utterly. Where their feet planted, the bone-dry heather burst into flowers of flame. Burning arms raised and lowered, banging on the blazing drums. Philip edged away, then turned and scrambled back up the last part of the hillock, using hands as well as feet. Screaming in pain, the burning drummers chased him. Philip charged onto the open moor, heather lashed at his shins as his legs sprinted for the horizon. He cast a look over his shoulder while his feet kept pounding. Behind him, three figures of fire spread out, carrying their deathly life with them. The widening fire began to play with thermals. It blew a wind straight towards Philip, driving the flames through the parched moorland. 'Philip!' shouted Alec. 'Come back here!' Philip hoped the fire would be reported. Right now, however, he needed to run, hopeless though that seemed. The hot wind breathed on the back of his neck. He didn't think he could outrun this building wildfire. They're following me aren't they? Another glance back showed him the burning drummers herding the flames in his direction. Could he lead them round in a circle, so that the fire went onto already burned ground? His legs fell into the regular stride he used for long distance running--a very different one from the panicked sprint. He took a slight turn, but not enough that the fire creatures could cut him off. Overhead, the clouds darkened further as smoke from the fire lifted and merged with them. Why wasn't it raining? Lightning flashed over the sky, but the promised rain refused to drop. A check told him the fire creatures still followed. The main fire spawned little dancing devils. Ahead was a fence--and a gate. Beside it stood a collection of fire brooms, but Philip knew the fire was too big to beat out. As he vaulted the fence, a siren howled through the smoke. Relief. Someone had reported the blaze. Running burned in his leg muscles--he was fit, but the ground was uneven. Fear of twisting an ankle in a rabbit hole concealed by heather added to his terror. If that happened then he was a goner. He didn't want to burn. His mother had burnt when she lost control of the ritual using Philip's half-brother. She only had you to marry your Dad, said the traitor's voice. To know your half-brother was properly brought up. Bringing him up to save the world, by magic. All Philip wanted to save was his own skin. Another slight turn, another glance--the fire and the creatures still gave chase. Then his feet pounded on the trod. It went in the direction he wanted; he hoped it was a continuation of the path he had tripped over earlier. Running on the stone surface was easier--the path was open, not covered by vegetation. He could watch for uneven slabs. Behind him, the fire was gaining ground. Suddenly Philip realized the limitation of his plan. He staggered to a stop. Behind him the fire raged, but not enough time had elapsed for the older fire to die away. All around the trod, little fire devils sparked. The main fire bore down on him, singing its triumph. Not a hundred meters away, he could see unburned ground and a road wide enough to be a firebreak. All he had to do was run through the fire ahead of him. His mother screamed in agony as she burnt. He took a step forwards. The fire reached hot little fingers for the uncovered flesh of his face and hands. He turned his mouth and nose away. The winds driving the fire had come full circle. A huge, flaming tornado was forming--and he was at the center. He was going to burn. The flames leapt and clawed at the only way through. Why wasn't it raining? Then Alec walked down the trod, his hair and arms blazing. 'Someone has to die today, Philip. And the man in the shadows stole away our chosen sacrifice.' Philip backed away. 'It won't be me.' 'Blood must fall on the boundary stones.' 'The fire engines are here. They'll get the fire under control.' 'You put all your trust in technology, but what of the old powers, Philip?' Alec stepped forward. Philip took another pace back; as the fire advanced on him, he could feel the heat from the old burn. 'There are no old powers.' He coughed as smoke wafted his way. The spell out of control, his mother screaming as she burnt. It should be raining. Particles from the smoke should be accreting the water droplets. Seeing Philip's upward glance Alec said, 'We can stop the rain. The heat from the fire vortex evaporates any falling water. Stand still, please Philip.' Alec took another step forward. Philip's running shoes were melting to the stone trod. 'Alec, stop this! Let the rain fall,' pleaded Philip. Please let it rain, so I don't have to burn. 'I will only live as long as there is fire, you know,' said Alec. Philip swallowed but his throat was dry from the run and the heat. 'Yes, I know.' 'Philip!' Another voice shouted. 'Come through!' Philip risked looking behind. Simeon stood at the other end of the fiery corridor. On either side of the trod the fires burned, with heat enough to boil water, baking the pathway. The Church people hadn't saved his mother. 'Philip!' shouted Simeon, over the crackling flames. 'I'm holding them off as best I can. Run through!' It was only 100 meters. He could do 100 meters in seconds. His mother had screamed as she had burnt. 'Philip!' shouted Simeon. 'I can't hold it back much longer!' He stood with his hands lifted over his head, palms out--the image of Moses parting the Red Sea. They might not have saved his mother, but they had saved his half-brother from the altar. Alec surged forwards and grabbed for Philip. Philip dodged. I'm not going to burn. 'Stop him! He has to die,' shouted Alec. 'We must keep the flames alive.' Philip leapt through the fire, kicking off his melting running shoes. His bare feet pounded on the overheated stone of the trod. Ahead, he could see fire fighters whacking at the burning embers, as others unreeled their hose from the flame-red fire engine. He fixed his eyes on the dark, tarmac road. And Philip ran. Alec had gone silent. Philip didn't dare look behind. The heated path wanted to burn his feet. He had to ignore the pain. Why wouldn't it rain? And Philip ran. He saw the flame devil spawn off. Twisting and swirling through the air, it was driven towards Simeon. A fire fighter knocked him out of the way. Another rushed to beat at the dehydrated heather. No longer bound, the sea of flame rushed back to engulf the clear path on which Philip ran. He heard the screaming. And the beating of drums. His foot caught on an upraised slab and he sprawled onto the overheated stone. His hands blistered and he could feel his tracksuit bottoms starting to smolder. A burning drummer leaned towards him. Hands dropping charcoal drumsticks, held together only by force of habit. 'Philip!' Alec's voice was a scream now. 'You've got to die. Please, stop the pain.' 'Release the clouds!' Philip said. Four pairs of burning arms reached for him. But something held them back. He saw another face in the fire. 'Mother!' he whispered. 'Call the rain, Philip!' The crackle of the fire added the remembered impatience to her voice. Why wouldn't it rain? Despite Alec's boasts even this heat couldn't evaporate all that water, it should melt the ice crystals sooner. This was science not magic--if he'd had any saliva left he would have spat the word. No! Not magic, which meant that it should be raining. Mother's hold on the burning boys was slipping. Philip looked up. The long hose was just sprouting water. 'It will be too late,' whispered Mother. 'Call the rain or you will burn.' 'But you'll die if I put out the fire!' The fire tutted, just like Mother. 'I'm already dead.' The smoke crawled into his lungs and he coughed. And coughed harder. Simeon shouted, 'Philip! Run!' Burning arms reached out to embrace him. It should be raining! 'RAIN!' screamed Philip. The air filled with sound: rocks slamming into rocks in an avalanche, the din of demolishing a tower block. It drowned out his impassioned plea. And then it rained. The sky dropped the full load of water that Alec had been holding off--all at once. A lake of water landed on their heads. Alec screamed in agony. The burning drummers were silenced as the water washed away their remaining ash. Philip turned his hands over to feel the cool water on his blistered palms. Threatened with drowning now, he pushed up against the heavy load on his head and shoulders. He managed to get his feet on the ground and staggered upright. Water hissed off the overheated pavement. All around, the burning heather swam as the parched ground failed to absorb the sudden deluge. It wasn't magic--he didn't do that mystic stuff. He'd been hallucinating from dehydration. There. That was the scientific reason for seeing his mother in fire. He stumbled onto the unburning ground. Simeon reached him as the first impact of water eased. He swung Philip up and carried him to the waiting ambulance.

Cassingle: Five Stories

jimhanas — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 08:36:17 +0000

A follow-up to 2006’s Single, Cassingle is a new collection of stories by Jim Hanas that originally appeared, individually, in Fence, McSweeney’s, Bridge: Stories & Ideas, and Twelve Stories.

Toronto’s Eye Weekly recently wrote of Cassingle, “No matter the cut, this is writing that speaks American, in all its complexity.”

Cassingle: Five Stories

Free

33 pages

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Thoughtcrime Experiments: Nine Stories

thoughtcrime.experiments — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 11:06:30 +0000

Free anthology of quality sci-fi & fantasy
Detective thrillers, political satire, family drama, fables, fable deconstructions, the mysteries of debugging: there’s something in this anthology for every fan. Contains nine original stories and five original artworks.
We found awesome fiction, bought it, and released it online under a Creative Commons license. We learned a lot, so the appendix, “How To Do This And Why,” has submission/rejection statistics, our budget, and some behind-the-scenes musings on process, supply and demand.

Some excerpts from the stories that got us over four stars on GoodReads:

Day-to-day life with a sponge golem was pleasant.
-“Daisy” by Andrew Willett (audio version)

Anyone who’d ever seen the Martian Ambassador would recognize it, the way he wielded it like his staff of office.
I frowned at Seeth. “So how does the Ambassador’s staff wind up broken on a street in the Crops, when the Ambassador is dying peacefully in his hotel room?”
“I guess that’s what I need you to find out.”
-“The Ambassador’s Staff” by Sherry D. Ramsey

Sarita kept feeding her, one bite after another. “You were the one who insisted on breast-feeding. Joshua and I would have been fine using formula. They’ve duplicated the ingredients found in breast milk, you know. Perfected it two decades ago.”
“It’s not the same,” Kate insisted. “I can’t prove it, but I’m sure it isn’t.”
-“Jump Space” by Mary Anne Mohanraj

Xanathan Kurtler didn’t die because of greed. Not his own, anyway. It wasn’t greed that made him plant those trees.
-“Goldenseed” by Therese Arkenberg

The technically proficient could breach the best software security systems by deliberately inducing errors in the hardware. Couldn’t the rational induce faith in themselves the same way?
-“Single-Bit Error” by Ken Liu

The crack of leather that followed hurt more than my own whipping.
You might think we’d never be dumb enough to eat Jilly Jallys again.
-“Friar Garden, Mister Samuel, and the Jilly Jally Butter Mints” by Carole Lanham

Those and more, available as HTML, PDF or print-on-demand physical book. Plus mobile editions:

A hand-crafted ePub edition by Marshall T. Vandergrift.
ePub, Kindle/Mobipocket, Microsoft Reader, and Sony Reader editions by Arachne Jericho.
Many, many formats at manybooks.net.

Thoughtcrime Experiments: Nine Stories

Free

180 pages

Thoughtcrime Experiments

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Five Stories

NedC — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 11:18:40 +0000

The Memory House
“I’ll leave you my fantasy,” he said. “It’s all I have to leave you in any case.”

Ip Dip
Ip dip, sky blue, who’s it…?

Fulcrum
Fulcrum, n. (pl. –ra). (Mech.) point against which lever is placed to get purchase.

Snow
Doesn’t anyone die for love nowadays?

That Celeb. Smile
Trouble is, any photograph worth taking, costs.

Five Stories

Free

54 pages

Two Short Stories: Woman Eating an Apple & Rainstorms

Rosanne Dingli — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 15:00:59 +0000

In these two short stories, Rosanne Dingli contrasts life in Europe with that in Australia. Textures, tastes and sights are vividly explored, to become indistinguishable from emotion. Each story is accompanied by a recipe: food is a vital ingredient of culture and how we identify place and people.

Rosanne Dingli is an author to whom inspiration means location and experience.

Two Short Stories: Woman Eating an Apple & Rainstorms

$1.50

32 pages

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Uncategorized

suelange — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 19:42:16 +0000

Sue Lange again engages the mind as she entertains the senses through Uncategorized (publ: BookViewCafe.com), a collection of randomly genius short stories. Re-defining the aspect of “Theater of the Mind,” this progressive sci-fi author takes advantage of new multi-media tools that technology affords the modern reader. In this, her latest book, the short story meets old-time radio buckled up in a time machine and blasted into the future. In this thought-provoking collection, Lange grabs the reader with an “audio download” and segues into her eclectic set of short stories with the aggressive delivery of a beat poet and the timing of a stand-up comedian. Her Uncategorized readers are certain to be a good crowd, for they will find themselves laughing out loud and at the same time nodding in agreement. You can find Lange at her website.

Uncategorized

$1.99

280 pages

The Area 51 Option

BooksForABuck — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 15:00:15 +0000

A NATIONAL EMERGENCY "How did you get this wound in your arm, Detective Brown?" asked the doctor. "I was chasing hoods on the docks," I said. "A guy came at me outta nowhere with a machete. Nicked me on the arm before I plugged him in the head." "Lie down. This is gonna sting." My cell phone rang. "Hey, Brownie. Smiley here. Heard you got cut. Bad?" "Nah. Just needs some stitches." "Your stiff's right in front of me," Smiley said. "I started the autopsy. You sitting down?" "Laying down. What's up?" "Something's very strange. The back of his head shoulda been blown off. But it ain't. There's no blood anywhere. Stuck my finger in the hole you blew in his forehead. Instead of brain tissue, I felt something weird. I looked inside with a light. I don't know how to say this." "Say what?" "The guy doesn't have any brains. Something else is there." "What?" I asked. "Looks like duct tape." I hung up. Smiley jokes a lot. But I wasn't in the mood for a Saturday night comedy routine. My phone rang again. "I ain't lying," Smiley said. "There's no brains in the guy's head. Just wads of duct tape. I'm about to open his chest. I'll let you know what I find." "I ain't laughing, Smiley. So, cut the crap already." I hung up on him again. When the doc said, "All finished," Smiley called a third time. "I swear on my mother's eyes," Smiley said. "I've seen weird stuff in my life, but nothing like this. He doesn't have a heart. The only thing there is a plastic box. I opened it up. It was filled with wads of duct tape." "Did you tell Homeland Security?" "Yeah. They snickered and hung up. Would you ask your FBI buddy to come over and take a look so he can verify this?" I figured if Smiley was willing to go so far, something was definitely wrong. "I'll call him right now," I said. "See you at the morgue in twenty minutes." * * * * "What do you think, Smiley?" I asked, tapping the duct tape inside the cadaver's open skull with my pistol. "I ain't sure. How do you explain a guy who's walking around with no blood in his body and duct tape for a brain? And more duct tape where his heart should be?" "Maybe he's an alien," I said. "Could be. Actually, he ain't a he. There's nothing down there except a big hole. I ran my hands inside." "What did you find?" "More duct tape." "Damn! Bad enough we got terrorists, illegal aliens, gangs, overpriced gasoline, war. Now we got a Duct Tape Monster. At least I know how to kill them, if any more show up." The doors swung open revealing Dave, my FBI contact. "Hey, Davey," I called. "How's it going?" Instead of answering, he opened his coat, pulled out a machete, and swung it at Smiley's neck. I pulled my pistol and shot Dave in the head. If Smiley hadn't ducked, his head would've been on the other side of the room. "Quick!" I yelled. "Check the wound!" "There's no blood," Smiley said, pulling a wad of silver-colored duct tape from Dave's head. Aghast, I dialed the police panic number. In minutes, the morgue was a madhouse. The mayor and her staff, a Homeland Security team, and police brass ran in circles, yelling on cell phones. "What do you think, Smiley?" asked the Police Commissioner. "We got a helluva problem on our hands," Smiley replied. "We don't know who's infected, why, or how it happens." "But we know how to kill them." I said. Somebody screamed. The Police Chief's severed head whizzed past my right shoulder. "Lookout, Brown!" somebody hollered. I twisted just in time to see Her Honor, the Mayor, charging at me with a blood-soaked machete. I shot her right between the eyes. "She pulled it out of her briefcase," the Commissioner yelled. "Search every briefcase in the room! Round up everybody who has a machete! Post armed guards wherever they sell them!" "Search all incoming ships and aircraft!" said a Homeland Security agent into a phone. "Tell citizens to be on the lookout and report anybody who's carrying a machete." "There may be thousands of them," somebody shouted. "How in the hell are we gonna identify them?" "We'll have to X-ray the heads of everybody in the nation," Smiley said. "It's gonna be a logistical nightmare. We'll have to do it at thousands of places. Combat-ready troops will have to stand guard at every X-ray machine. The moment a monster is identified, they'll have to shoot the damn thing right on the spot." "Problem is," a police captain said, "the guy next door might already be one. Maybe a sweet grandma is about to hack off a little kid's head. No doubt day care providers are infected. Same with our moms, religious leaders, congressmen." "And our wives," I mumbled, checking my ammunition supply. The room grew silent as everyone pondered the horrifying implications. Suddenly, everyone bolted for the exit. I raced home. With pistol drawn, I entered my apartment. Pointing the pistol at my snoring wife's head, I said, "Wake up, Helen. Whadda ya say we run over to the hospital X-Ray Department? We won't stay long. Afterward, we can have breakfast at Denny's...maybe."

Flash Fiction 40

Mark Gladding — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 15:00:21 +0000

In May 2009, Editor Unleashed and Smashwords partnered to sponsor The Flash Fiction 40 Contest. Any writer could post a story of 1,000 words or fewer on the Editor Unleashed forum, and the members would get a chance to read and rank all of the stories.

More than 280 writers took up the challenge and posted a story. It was a dynamic experiment in what is quickly becoming the new wave of publishing: crowd sourcing and open review. Both the forum members and editors who made the final cut chose the same story as the Grand Prize winner—a dark, astonishing piece of magical realism titled “Fairy Tales” by Laurel Wilczek. You can read about Laurel and her inspiration for her flash fiction in profiles on both Editor Unleashed and at the Smashwords Blog.

In this anthology, you’ll find “Fairy Tales” as well as 39 other winning stories from the Flash Fiction 40 Contest. These stories encompass every genre—from literary to horror and beyond—and are 40 outstanding examples of the rapidly evolving flash fiction form. Savor the stories one at a time or spend a few leisurely hours reading the collection in whole. I know you’ll enjoy reading these 40 great flash fiction pieces as much as I did.

-Maria Schneider, Editor Unleashed

Flash Fiction 40

Free

135 pages

Password Incorrect

namenick — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 15:00:34 +0000

25 short, sometimes funny and sometimes mean stories ideal to rediscover the joy of reading a book as shiny and beautiful as a brand new cell phone.

A look from a distance at the absurdity of our present day lives: fights with the less and less comprehensible equipment, pursuit of the latest technological news, pitfalls of our modern lifestyle, useless inventions and issues racing in all directions at a breakneck speed.

A lot of entertainment and a little food for thought. Just perfect for the moment when you’re finally bored with exploring the alarm settings on your new iPhone.

Nick Name’s Password Incorrect is a selection of short stories addressed especially for iPhone users. The book was designed to be downloaded for free to iPhone, which among its many other features seems to be also a great e-book reader.

Opposite to devices specifically designed for e-book reading, which still look unattractive and suffer early stage problems, iPhone with it’s large color screen, smooth interface and millions of users around the world has the real power of rediscovering the pleasure of reading books - so that we could hear a louder “bye, bye” to paper.

The time for the reader’s change of mind is perfect. With Stanza application, which allows to read books in ePub format on iPhone/iPod and Feedbooks’s Online Catalog of free publications, a typical gadget-hunting, forward-looking consumer, who perceives reading paper books as an outdated way of spending time - can rediscover book reading, and even more - reinvent it.

[excerpt from press release]

Password Incorrect

Free

73 pages

CompletelyNovel.com Launch Anthology

Mark Gladding — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 15:00:53 +0000

An anthology of brand new short stories to celebrate the launch of CompletelyNovel.com. CompletelyNovel are proud to present twelve imaginative, humorous and innovative short stories written by talented new writers. This anthology contains the winning entries of CompletelyNovel’s launch competition, asking for stories inspired by the phrase ‘And now for something completely different.’

They’ve all got more talent in their little finger than I’ve got in my whole body — Cathy Adams, budding journalist

It’s good, it’s very good! — Anna Lewis, CompletelyNovel.com

CompletelyNovel.com Launch Anthology

Free

85 pages

The Shattered Teacup

Mark Gladding — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 15:00:05 +0000

“Newbury! Thank God you’re here.”
Sir Maurice Newbury swept into the hallway, his overcoat billowing open behind him as he marched across the marble floor towards his friend. His expression was serious. “Don’t thank God, Charles. Thank the cabbie who agreed to take my fare this close to Christmas.” His face was ruddy from the biting cold and his breath was shallow with exertion.
He began removing his black leather gloves, one finger at a time, eyeing the older man for any clue as to why he’d been called from his bed at such an early hour of the morning. Sir Charles Bainbridge, his grey moustache twitching with irritation, glanced over Newbury’s shoulder as if he were expecting someone else.
“Miss Hobbes?” He looked flustered.
Newbury shot his friend a stern look. “Charles. It’s Christmas Eve!”
Bainbridge nodded in acknowledgement, as if the date had only just dawned on the Chief Inspector. He glanced at his pocket watch. “Quite so, old man. Quite so.” He shook his head. “Well, Christmas or not, I’m afraid the situation here is rather grave.”

The Shattered Teacup

Free

16 pages

Magnificent Desolation

Mark Gladding — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 15:00:08 +0000

Watch your step. You’re not the first one through the door, but we know what you’ll say when you get out there. Fourteen short stories of dark fantasy.

Necrogarchy
Kora
The Last Burden
The Day They Let Bernard Leave
Adelaide
Voodoo ver. 1.0
Of Sorcery and Seasoning
Bottom’s
Things No One Should Know
These Modern Times
Room 814
Grey
The Excavation
With Such Permanence As Time Has

A very enjoyable reading experience; a broad range of characters and plots, most a bit on the darker side of life but some happiness and sunshine mixed in for flavor. I recommend this book to anyone with a touch of macabre to their sense of humor, or a reader looking for something a few steps off the beaten path of so many standardized plots.

By J. Adams

Magnificent Desolation

Free

168 pages

Magnificent Desolation