“So, children,” he said. “What kind of story would you like to hear?” The kids looked stunned for a moment, then pandemonium broke out. A redhead raised her hand. The library storyteller nodded. “Yes?” The girl was full to bursting with eagerness. “A Christmas story!” “Yay!” George Butler smiled. Despite all the grim things you … More A Merry Christmassy Tale by Alex S. Johnson
She wanted all the details. You could tell when they did. “Underwater…” “Underwater vampire scope,” he said, efficiently clipping his syllables so she would think he was that kind of man. His tie, nicknamed “Museum to be Destroyed,” wobbled in the dark, the dazzler of reptile brains; but maybe not hers…at least right now. “Oh.” … More Underwater Vampire Scope by Alex S. Johnson
Floating and Flying is Easy. From a dream perspective, it’s sufficient to remember, “Oh, I can fly” to get a good altitude and keep it. Animals Speak Our Language. Yes, cats and dogs know our language too.
Harry looked from side to side, then down the long table. He saw that most of the other guests seemed equally puzzled what they were doing there. Worried glances, hunched shoulders and experimental moves with the green cloth napkins and silverware; fiddling with neckties or necklaces; the exaggerated show of ease displayed by the deeply … More The Soup of the Damned by Alex S. Johnson
beginning with the thrones of winter then to expire in some spectacular fashion unforeseen, with madness writhing through the pores of the collective see them wear the one hat and speak with one forked tongue fashioned to spray like a peacock colors, bubbling waters, the eye in the prism we waited for them … More beginning with the thrones of winter
Once again for Chris Ropes An old man shouts at clouds. “You cumulous crumbums, misty mandarins, vaporous varlets!” Stridently, he shakes his fist. The clouds squeeze a little rain on his head. It spatters and drips on his pate. He rushes under his porch and shapes some old newspapers into an impromptu hat. Then … More Old Man Shouts at Clouds by Alex S. Johnson
I found Gaspar Villon once more in his study. “Old friend,” I said, “you’re such a scholar. Your unflagging devotion to your books and lore presents an astonishing model for the rest of us. How do you do it?” “Well,” he said, leaning on his elbow, which failing, he lodged a rock under his arm … More Gaspar Villon by Alex S. Johnson