I’m a ghost. I’m pretty sure you don’t believe me, but that’s cool. I wouldn’t believe me either if I wasn’t me. How can a ghost tell tales or share stories? How can a ghost communicate with the living? After all, once you die, you’re supposed to go to the…

If only people aimed a bit higher, thought the hypocrite — The world is not much of a place, Thorsten thought. Well, that’s not really right, he followed up. The world IS an amazing, wonderful, and beautiful place. It’s fantastic, if I’m honest, he thought. But people, he shook his head, people. Not that Thorsten was full on misanthrope. Nope. Still…

Professional guest slacker Buck — It was a sleepy little town. Not the type of town where Thucydides would have ever overnighted; Lucretius certainly was too big in his britches for it. But Buck — it was just the sleepy little type of town he loved. Slide in around dusk; slide out around dawn. If…

Strange things found There were plenty of puzzles in the parlor. Most of them seemed to be remnants of the 1960s or 1970s: sun faded boxes with cardboard corners ripped almost base to top; horrific color schemes depicting the latest in 1967 or 1972 children’s fashion with different holiday portraits…

Delusion embodied goth — This is one in the Humboldt Vignette series. It may help to read the Introduction framing the series if this is the first vignette you’re reading. “Woe is me,” could have been Apocalyptic Anthony’s motto. Perhaps even simply “Alas.” Instead Anthony, known as Apoc to anyone on the Hill who…