K. Marvin Bruce

  Heading due west, using the sun as his source of information, Terah could tell Lindsey was so full of secrets that he’d never really know her.   He was envious of the guys at Dickinsheet—how were they doing now?   Were they still expecting them back with provisions?—they’d met her when she was willing to talk.   Almost as if she could read his mind she said, “The guys will be fine.   They have rules about stuff like this.” “You mean provisioners not returning?” “Once you’ve lived this life long enough you’ll realize there are no guarantees.   Every plan’s provisional.   You ever notice how some people seem to be magnets for misfortune?   Society doesn’t wanna hear about ‘em.   Nobody wants to think that they might end up jobless, homeless, or abused.   But it’s daily life for lots of people.” “So they won’t mind?” “Mind?   You think they’re sittin’ around mopin’ that we’re not there?   Hey, if we can ever help ‘em, we will.   The rule when yer not in Dickinsheet is you say nothin’ to

  Hurriedly tucking himself in, the snuffling behind him caused an urge to do the other kind of evacuation.   Although his eyes were adjusted to the dark, having been awake all night, the moon had completely sunk below the horizon.   Shapes were vague.   Terah knew the fishing hut was directly behind him a few yards.   He’d walked straight here.   Sound in the dark took on a reality of its own, an urgency amplified by the lack of light.   He had to turn and face it. It was a bear.   A black bear.   It was sniffing at the fishing hut door.   The garbage bag of baked goods was in there, and this creature was hungry from hibernation.   It wasn’t a huge bear, but the thing about even a small bear was its natural weaponry and lack of social restraint.   Terah stood as still as the tree he’d watered, although he knew the bear could smell him.   He recalled reading that the scent radius for a human, when it came to bears, was measured in miles.   What must a city smell like to such a nose? Wh

  Lindsey kept them moving.   Analomink was a place Terah was certain he’d never heard of.   Lindsey knew where to find provisions, however.   Enough to get them through the night. “Will Wednesday attack?” Terah asked. “How the hell should I know?”   Lindsey finished off the scraps and had Terah heave the trash bag over his shoulder like a pauper Saint Nick.   He was still impressed that Lindsey knew which places put their baked goods out for garbage collection if they didn’t sell during the day.   Like any unspoiled lake Analomink had attracted developers, but out past the Rod and Gun Club no roads gave access.   It was still cold, but at least the snow was gone. “There used to be fishin’ shanties out here,” she said.   “Places for guys to stick their rods and shit.” Darkness had fallen and they had to make their way carefully.   Terah had left his flashlight at Dickinsheet, supposing they’d return.   A half-moon gave half-light.   The wind had driven the clouds away, but full radiati

I like corvids.  Not the disease, the birds.  Often I sit and listen to the jay's strident call and I smile because I know they, among the smartest of birds, are saying something worthwhile. My short story, "The Hput," has just appeared in Corvus Review .  Here's the link: Hput . This story, like much of fiction, is based on actual events.  A hput is a real thing, but I believe, only three other people on the planet know what it is.  Of those three people one of them has lost touch with me.  Hputs are real.  I saw one just over a year ago. Tales exist of children who develop their own personal languages.  Nobody but their twin/friend can understand it.  The idea of a secret vocabulary isn't something I invented, but I do make use of it.  It makes for a good story. The characters in "The Hput" appear also in "Friday before Senior Year" and in The Space between Atoms .  They are part of a diegesis I'm building.  A universe, if you will.  Writ

  Terah looked around hungrily for Caileigh.   Instead a massive gust of wind blew a tree down across the abandoned road with a cannon-like thud.   Quick calculation revealed they would’ve been smashed had they kept walking. “My god—how did you know?” Terah asked.   “Did she warn you?” “Who?   Caileigh?   No.   He did.” Heart still clattering like a xylophone, Terah peered ahead and saw no one.   “Who?” “Wednesday.” That didn’t help Terah’s heart.   “Wednesday?   But how?” Tentatively, Lindsey led him forward.   The maple with its still naked branches, covered the entire road and they had to negotiate a way through the tangle.   Terah followed his young leader. “He followed me from the asylum,” she said simply. “But ghosts haunt places, I thought.”   Suddenly he felt ill-equipped.   Not having paid much mind to ghosts, nymphs, and other superstitious things, he’d never read the serious books on the topic.   They weren’t published by university presses. “Often they do,” Lindsey said.