by Madeleine Tomasoa || "What do you think of the sea?" Charles says, suddenly.
by Cory Roberson || Eve materialized, all raven hair and glowing lips, from the rib of a man
by Susan Hatters Friedman || The twins are finally asleep
by Terri Mullholland || Marion wakes early in the morning, before dawn, to the sound of foxes screaming.
by Suzannah Ball || They were gradually gathering on their walk.
by TSJ Harling || No-one was there. Not the estate agent, nor the potential new flatmate Amanda, nor any current occupants.
by Melissa Maney || Ivy awoke to the sound of midnight footsteps outside her window.
by Jennifer Coffeen || Sharon was stirring kirsch brandy into her whipping cream when she first heard the hiss.
by Chloe Weare || There is glitter in the bathtub.
by Sheila Kinsella || On a rainy Sunday afternoon in October, I pour myself another glass of red wine. Whiskey miaows and shifts on my lap, settling down as I sit back, glass in hand. The quizmaster on the TV prattles on in the background, a backdrop to my thoughts. Cocktail hour arrives earlier by the day.