Empty Resort Games
The off-season at the Sea Crest Resort is a strange kind of quiet.
New stories
Newest first. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
Stories
Latex and Low Tide
The griddle at The Locker never really cools down in November, it just gets less use.
The Cob Festival Whisper
Zara here, thirty-nine, and I'll get Aaron's age in there soon so nobody has to do math later.
The Lantern Rite
The lantern went lit at the mountain lodge at nine sharp, and Lexie Hooper was ready before the old man finished the blessing.
keys to the walk-in
I turned twenty-five on a Tuesday, and I closed the restaurant alone.
The Last Newsletter
My birthday was in three days, and I was spending the morning before it crawling through a broken escalator in a dying shopping mall in…
Wrong Porch, Right Now
My name is Gerald, I am fifty-four years old, and until eight months ago I lived a life of quiet dignity in a suburb where the only thing…
One Final Wave
Mason was restocking wax bars behind the counter when the bus hissed to a stop outside, and there she was.
The Belay Partner
The text I sent at 9:40 on a Tuesday night was, in hindsight, pretty forward.
The Choir's Secret Ingredient
Luca was twenty-eight years old, recently divorced, and standing in a church basement holding a sheet of hymn numbers like it was a…
The Layover Agreement
The thing you have to understand about me is that I plan things.
The Talent Show Confession
I work at the Heritage Museum in town.
The Spite Hike
My phone buzzed again in the cupholder.
Oyster Days and Off-Season Ways
My mother's family came over from Jamaica in nineteen fifty-something, and I've told that story so many times I could do it in my sleep.
What I Kept Hidden
My name is Leanne, I'm thirty-four years old, and I own the only auction house in Fort Baines.
The Bake-Off After Hours
Tulani sat in her apartment on the Sunday evening and listened to the quiet.
Barn Dance Slow
Evelyn Mackey clocked out of the feed store at six fifteen on a Tuesday, and her whole body felt like a sack of chicken feed by the time…
Last Call on Lot 7
Dottie punched in at the gate at ten minutes to nine and the guard booth smelled like old coffee, the same as every other night shift she…
Colony 7 Estate
Glenna Swenson had better things to do with a day off than fight strangers over furniture.
The Night We Weren't Ourselves
I drove up to Redwood National Park on a Friday afternoon in late August, twenty-four years old and tired in a way that sleep wasn't going…