Short Story / Fantasy

Bori strained his legs and lungs to keep Keresh in sight. His friend wove through the trees with the focus of a fox marked for death. The excitement that had fueled Bori at the beginning of their run from the village had worn out. The waning day snuffed the soft light filtering through the trees, and the pleasant calm of the sunlit forest would soon give way to the blanket of night. The bright greens in the canopy would mature to a verdant velvet with only the barest suggestion of moon and star beyond. Then, they…

Pomona Sprout stepped onto the platform and set her tweed valise on the ground. She took a moment to stretch fully in the open air, allowing the clustered bunches of people to pass her by. She smiled up at the cloudless sky, and it gleamed as blue as bachelor’s buttons. The train had stifled her, for it had been cramped with far too many people — mostly Muggles — who had decided to holiday near the Cairngorms for the summer. Muggles always felt twice the size of wizards to her, with their loads of luggage and general aura of magic-bereftness…

The month of October means a few things to me:

(1) Autumn is finally here in full swing.

(2) The holidays are around the corner.

(3) It’s time to watch (read: nostalgically bask in) Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, again.

Sorcerer’s Stone has a Nightmare Before Christmas effect for me, in that it feels like a Halloween and a Christmas movie wrapped into one. Probably because both holidays are explicitly celebrated within the plot… but also because it’s got moments of creep and terror softened by long-lasting friendships and joyous celebrations. …

by Megan Garner

Granny always kept that doll on display.

Posed prim on a shelf, nestled deep into cushions, sitting pretty on a step of the staircase: a different perch for each time we visited.

“Rum Raisin loves company,” Granny would joke through her quirk of a stained smoker’s smile. “And she always waits so patiently.”

As patient of the dead. The thought tickled the back of my mind, teasing darker images of past visits to Granny’s house into my head:

The scent of cigarettes mixing with sweetness.

Flecks of ash on chairs and little black circles burned into the…

Fantasy / Humor

Markus Hang-Nail made his way through the Thickendense Forest, a fleshy jack rabbit slung over his shoulder. He — the goblin, not the rabbit — preferred to be known as “Mark.”

Mark had been tasked with procuring that night’s dinner by the leader of his gang, Ignati Hang-Nail, an old, grey-haired goblin with many a slaying and pillage to his name. He also happened to be Mark’s father, and the two boasted an impressively dysfunctional relationship with enough head-smacking and arm-twisting to make any fellow goblin greener with envy.

Mark had spent the entirety of the morning…

A little bit of the Witcher 3, a little bit of Grand Theft Auto V …and maybe even a little bit of Persona could create the perfect Harry Potter experience.

Hey, Warner Bros! It’s me, Megan!

…………………. yeah, okay, I’m not Megan Fox. DID I FOOL YA FOR EVEN A SECOND? Source: IMDB.

Like most annoying millenials with too much time on their hands (read: crippling bouts of anxiety and depression caused by a socially induced sense of dread and worthlessness), I am casually obsessed with Harry Potter.

Usagi: Shadow of Urbunnia

Intro

I’ve thought of keeping a dream journal for awhile, now, for story inspiration or just to later reminisce about how weird and insecure my brain is. BUT, instead of tucking some Target brand “leather” journal into a dusty corner of our bedroom, wouldn’t it be so much better if I shared these with the fellow twisted souls on the Internet?

This series shall henceforth be dubbed “Guys, I had the _____ dream” and that blank could be filled in with “coolest,” “funniest,” “weirdest,” or, OF COURSE “scariest.”

If you want, I would love to hear…

Subhead: When Your Marriage is Great, but You Still Have Commitment Issues with your Hopes and Dreams
Sub-subhead: What the Sh*t Am I Doing?

Coming in hot from the Yellow Co. Tour in downtown Fullerton on April 7, 2018. Written under a sad grey sky in San Clemente, CA in a small one bedroom apartment with the washer running and my wife researching public speaking gigs in our squeaky recliner.

Revisiting the hot, smoggy armpit of central and northern Orange County is something my wife and I still do often for church, family and friends. We’ve jettisoned ourselves to the…

Megan L. Garner

Writer, gamer, foodie, queerio.

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