Peter Wood is an attorney in Raleigh, North Carolina where he lives with his surly cat and patient wife. He has had stories published in Asimov’s, Daily Science Fiction, Stupefying Stories and Every Day Fiction.
Carrying the water-stained box of wineglasses he had found under a stack of Bach Bimonthly in the basement, Simon stepped into the cramped galley kitchen of the decaying townhouse N.C. State University provided him and his wife, Tara. He’d hoped for… Continue Reading
Dr. Juan Suarez, the inventor of eternal youth, stepped from the Rolls Royce and studied the cinder-block church. Father Pablo Suarez, the priest who greeted the inner city parishioners after mass, was not happy to see his own father. Dad… Continue Reading
Mike wished Dad and Robert would stop jabbering. He laid down his cards. “Straight flush.” Robert tossed his hand in with the discards. “You got me, Chief.” “Come down to Tampa and I’ll show you a professional game,” Dad said. “Senior… Continue Reading
The phone meowed twice. It had never made that noise before. Why would anyone call at three a.m.? Eric picked it up, but there was nobody there. Mr. Ruffles stopped licking his fur and stood on his two hind paws.… Continue Reading
Donna and Mark sat down in a booth in the backwoods Georgia restaurant. The bench seat oozed stuffing, despite being repeatedly shored up with duct tape. Donna dropped her bulging tote bag on the concrete floor and glared at her… Continue Reading
Professor Cornwall stepped into N.C. State University’s basement physics department lab and stared at Garcia, the discoverer of time travel. Hunched over his work station, the boy genius fiddled with a mobile phone. The faint sound of Day Tripper leaked… Continue Reading
Shimmering like a mirage, a man strode down the backwoods highway towards Tim. The stranger was dressed in black, not comfortable attire for August in North Carolina. Tim slouched against his mud-splattered pickup as cars whizzed by. His brother had… Continue Reading
“Ernest Hemingway could have been the twentieth century’s greatest writer, but a drunken matador shot him in Pamplona, Spain in 1926. Things would have been a hell of a lot different if he had lived.” Jake limped across the living… Continue Reading
Commander Goorecs covered his scaly hide with his thick imperial cloak as he suffered though his first Earth winter. He wished he were home relaxing in warm swamp water beneath the bright midday sun, not overseeing this backward planet’s occupation.… Continue Reading