A word from Victor Phan:

Terrenia
by
Eric Bonholtzer

The acrid smell of rotting flesh assailed Micha as he stepped on board the shuttle. The rancid stench was pungently strong and in the narrow confines of the ship‘s docking bay, Micha felt overwhelmed. The young scientist felt the bile rise in the back of his throat as he took one cautious step into the corridor. All his instincts screamed at him to run away, to turn tail and get the off the Terrenia as fast as possible because obviously whatever had happened here was something terrible, but Micha had little choice in the matter. He’d been careless with his fuel supply. Routine is the mother of laziness, Micha thought bitterly, trying to peer through the darkness engulfing the docking bay corridor and discern what was causing that horrid smell, even though he had a pretty good idea what it was. The comlink had registered no significant signs of human activity in the two hours he spent monitoring the seemingly deserted ship, debating on whether or not to dock, and attempts to reaching the Terrenia via holocom were met with no reply. If I’d only checked the fuel chips before I left... Micha thought, and shook his head. He’d been on his way home, a well-deserved return trip after a year studying the habitation possibilities of a newly discovered planet when things had gone wrong. His ship, the Lexington, had unexpectedly run low on power. Despair had filled him instantly and then, as if appearing out of now where, Micha had spotted a ship. The Terrenia, a huge vessel floating inexplicably in open space, locked into dormant orbit as if waiting for something or someone to come aboard.

The Taxidermist
By
Eric Bonholtzer

From the second he’d laid eyes upon him, Carl had thought that there was something strange about the taxidermist. And that was before he’d found the severed finger. The proprietor of The Stuff of Legends Taxidermy was a short bulbous wreck of a man, an ogre-like figure who sported a fiery red 80’s mullet and several days of unshaven stubble. His markedly unkempt appearance made the taxidermist seem deformed, the man’s stomach bloated beyond belief. The taxidermist had abnormally plump fingers, surprising given his trade, and Carl couldn’t help but feel an instant repulsion. When Carl entered the shop with his prize hunted buck in tow, he had almost turned around and left when he saw the man behind the counter. A strange sense of unease had filled him at the sight, but after driving miles with a dead deer in the bed of his truck and there was no way Carl was going to turn back just because of some simple misgivings.

Body Bag
by
Eric Bonholtzer

His wife was in the bag, well, what was left of her. Vincent had been able to get rid of one of the hands when he’d stopped for gas, providing a very hungry and very scrawny dog with a decent meal, and he knew that if he could just make it to Forester City, he’d be in the clear. His brother, Trevor, an undertaker, would burn up the leftovers in the crematorium oven, and then he’d be home free. Being the close brother that he was, Trevor was more than willing to help, especially knowing what that wretched wife had done to little Timmy.

Just as Vincent’s blood was beginning to boil, the thought of what his wife had done making his skin blister, he heard the squeal of tires approaching from behind. His own car had broken down a few miles back, and a brief look under the hood confirmed the fact that the engine had finally died once and for all, the wife having always insisted any money saved for a transmission overhaul be spent on herself instead. With at least another thirty miles to go until he reached Forester City, Vincent stuck out his thumb, hoping to herald a ride, knowing that the sooner he disposed of his wife’s body, the better. It was only too late that he realized, his thumb sticking out like a homing beacon, the runnel of dust settling and the tires screeching to a halt, that he’d flagged down a county sheriff.

^{2,401 words}

WAITING FOR DEATH

by Victor Phan

Brian and Dan sat against the cabin wall. Their pallid faces panged with hunger and exhaustion as both men looked to be on death's doorstep. Wooden planks with nails and makeshift bindings sealed the windows shut. Remnants of a violent brawl left the furniture scattered all over the floor. Flies swarmed around the thick brown coagulated bloodstain coating the wooden floor leading to the barricaded front door. Brian breathed heavily and summoned the strength to move slowly towards the window. He closed his eyes hoping that when he looked out, he wouldn't see the horror that kept them locked away like prisoners.

Brian reopened his eyes and cautiously peaked through the crack in the boards. It was too dark to make anything out. The cabin was in the mountains, far away from streetlights. The moon was the only source of illumination, like the way it was for primitive man. In the age of iPads and iPhones, how ironic it was for Brian to be reverted back to days of homoerectus peering out of his dark cave, hoping not to see predators stalking in the moon light. Unfortunately for Brian, the predators he feared were much worse than saber-toothed tigers or feral wolves. Far worse. Primitive man had it easy.

Dan stirred towards Brian and weakly spoke through his dried blood encrusted lips, I don't know why you even bother.