My flash fic ‘Fishing’ about Lovecraftian internal bleedings is now up on the Tales to Terrify podcast, read by K. G. Cross. This is my first ever podcast-story, and I’m ridiculously excited about it.
You can listen to it here.
I love sock puppets. I’ve loved them since I was a kid and certain that my parents were the only ones genius enough to put a sock on their hand and make it talk. These days I’m plotting ways to get to write about Fraggles – glorified sock puppets and my favourite 80s monsters – and also a story about possession and knitwear. ‘Puppet‘, a flashfic inspired by the brewing knitwear story, is now available in 101 Fiction’s Devils and Demons issue.
Snowball wants to go to outer space.
“The stars,” it says, as Limping Lotta looks at the void opening at the tip of her toes. “They’re made of fire!”
“Won’t they burn you?” Lotta once asked.
“Dragons don’t burn!” Snowball scoffed at her. “Our scales are fire-proof.”
“But you’re made of plush,” Lotta said. Later her father dabbed her scratched cheek with soap and water. “How did you get these?” he asked, but did not believe her when she told him. “Snowball is just a toy, Lotta. But if he scares you so much, I can take him to the charity shop tomorrow?”
Snowball was sitting right next to them.
Lotta shook her head.
Snowball Wants to go to Outer Space, in: Jersey Devil Press (2017).
Read Snowball Wants to go to Outer Space here.
Cover by Joseph Brooks.
Snowball Wants to go to Outer Space received an honorable mention in Spark’s contest “The Fantasy is Here; The Future is Now”.
By Line Henriksen
The snow rises and falls out there, on the frozen ice,
It’ll be a white Christmas, and we’re all packing our bags.
gathering and dispersing like shattered teeth stirred by
In the kitchen, father is preparing the roast, and gran is stirring spices into the glögg.
It pulls up shadows,
I set the table, and my siblings decorate the tree.
a sense of depth in the veils of white.
“I see them now,” sister whispers, sitting in the windowsill, her red bows wilting at the sight. We pause at doors and windows and see them too,
The snow peels back, revealing bones and tattered
cloth whipping around slow feet, steering towards the
well-lit windows that shine like guiding stars.
and suddenly everyone moves faster than before. The table is set in no time, the last bits of clothes packed, the candles lit by trembling hands, and in a flitter of scarves and coats, we depart just in time.
The guests are here.
We watch from the car as every window fills with them, warm light spilling out on the snow from between withered ribs and cracked skulls. Torsos sway stiffly, and legs kick upwards in dance, knocking grins from gnarled shoulders. As we drive off, we hear the beating of music, and the tapping of hardened feet.
I fear them, the bone-white Christmases when the lake freezes over, and the dead come back to claim the house for a night.
“The shadows turn the handle, and as the door opens I see –
Nothing. Nothing at all. Just the deep dark of the void, framed by the open door. It seems like I’m no longer lying down, but floating directly above it, watching the darkness unfold. And I wait, and they wait, and we all wait as something gets read to try on its legs.”
Stilts, in: Clowns – The Unlikely Coulrophobia Remix (2016).
Edited by Bernie Mojzes and A.C. Wise. Published by Unlikely Story, LLC, Berwyn, PA
Illustrations by Bryan Prindiville.
Buy Clowns – The Unlikely Coulrophobia Remix here.
He’s got both hands in the tank, eyes focused on a point above the photographer’s head.
“He liked birds,” people sometimes say when I ask them how he spent his days, and so I imagine him to be looking toward the sky, his hands in the tank, his eyes a creamy white.
“What about fish?” I once asked. “I have this picture of him with his hands in a fish-tank, holding a – ”
“No,” someone said, shaking her grey head. “Not at all. He particularly disliked jellyfish. There was quite a few of them at the beach by his summerhouse, you see. I remember them, he said. Ghosts in the water. All boneless and white and silent as the grave.”
She went quiet. Then –
“Sometimes the jellyfish would come for him, or so he believed,” she added. “They crawl out of the water and they wait, he said. They did, too. You see, the dog … it never quite learned to guide him around them. He’d come home and wash his bare feet, the look on his face … well. He just preferred birds, is all.”
I often look at the photograph: him with his hands in the tank, and his sightless eyes raised toward the birds in the sky. Bright colours and hollow bones. The chirping and the singing.
On the back it says:
Here it is, as requested.
You and the giant jellyfish.
I wrote ‘Jellyfish’ and ‘See’ around the same time and always thought of them as connected. ‘See’ was made the cover of Northern Light 6 and ‘Jellyfish’ was published by tNY.Press as part of theEEEL, both in 2015. Since then, tNY.Press has been swallowed by the web-void, and I therefore decided to rehome ‘Jellyfish’ here, this time together with ‘See’.
See. The cover of Northern Light 6. Edited by Elsa Bouet and Tara Thomson.
Buy Northern Light 6 here.