A new kind of literary pulse

Fred tiptoed into his room and slid into his desk chair, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he opened his laptop. Typing as quietly as he could, he logged onto Artium Obscurorum and... [+]

Jess was only ten when the first pods washed up on the shore. She’d been standing with her toes dug into the sand, letting the cold Atlantic Ocean swirl around her ankles, daring herself to venture... [+]

Probably I shouldn't have looked in that NO ADMITTANCE HIGH VOLTAGE DANGER OF DEATH door. I was loitering on the ramp to the #7 subway train at Grand Central Station. I didn't want to go home to... [+]

It came to him suddenly, as he ran down the street screaming and on fire, that he was making a spectacle of himself.
After all, this was a modest neighborhood of well-maintained lawns and sensible... [+]

Of the over 5,000 numbers in the English language, it is the number 14 alone that has come to hold a special place in my heart. I’m not a superstitious woman, or a woman at all for that matter. I... [+]

“I killed a man before, you know.”
It’s 3:12 pm, an awkward time for us to be preparing food. I’m not sure if we’re making a late lunch, an early dinner, or just afternoon tea. I’ve... [+]

Freddie left the red and white cannon at speed. He whizzed over the open-mouthed crowd in a graceful crescent arc and was quite frankly bored, bored, bored. 
The large frayed net loomed up... [+]

“Yeah,” Darius said into the phone as Jessica, the receptionist, made no attempt to disguise her eavesdropping. “I just finished the work-trade shift and will take a class with Hannah. Afte... [+]

Randall stood before his bathroom mirror – gazing at the enormous, glistening dome that was his head. Creams, lotions, infused oils, battery-powered skull caps; he had deployed them all in his... [+]

There’s nothing I love more than eating. Mmm, yes. Fat Boy loves a good meal. I enjoy the crunch, the squish, even the quietest sizzles as I grind every little particle between my molars. I... [+]

It was a slow, massive roar. A dense wall-of-sound that couldn’t possibly be made by one person, no matter how many microphones were hooked up to how many speakers. A scratchy, grainy blend of... [+]

It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put... [+]