"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
Every week we post six lines of a story of ours, a work-in-progress or from someone else’s work we recommend that has LGBT characters on Rainbow Snippets here https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets
For the next couple of weeks I’m going to post some things from the recent short-story collection by ‘Nathan Burgoine “Of Echoes Born.” https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37800605-of-echoes-born He is an excellent writer and short-stories just don’t get the attention they deserve. I’m putting this snippet up because the description is so vivid, and I did not know the history…
It’s late on a Thursday night and I’m watching Parliament burn down again. The heat is intense, the smoke makes my eyes water and I have to struggle not to cough.
I can’t get close enough. I’d like to figure out which wayward soul is stuck, what need or wrong has kept this echo repeating all these years. But the same quirk that lets me see these ghostly reenactments makes it too real for my flesh. I have enough scars from other souls. I don’t want to burn.
That’s from ‘Nathan Burgoine’s story“Elsewhen,” and if you’re looking up the Parliament building fire, take a moment to look up the statue of Sir Galahad. A moving, true story that ‘Nathan discusses in his introduction.
We’ll have more from ‘Nathan next week, a story that hits like lightning…——jeff
Millennia ago, an ancient race ruled the galaxy. Their power and potency remained unchallenged and the most feared of these was Astaroth. Then did the ancients rebel against Astoroth’s evil and use his own power to bind him and destroy him and to scatter his powers into oblivion.
And the legends of Astaroth spread across the Universe as tales of warring Gods., across countless worlds.
And one day, on one of those worlds, those scattered powers reappeared…
And now, when young Barry Easter speaks the name of “Astaroth,” he becomes heir to unimaginable power…the Secrets of Astaroth!
“Okay, Barry, hang on!” Bill Gray said as the balloon took off.
“I’m hanging,” Barry said, gripping the ropes attached to the balloon and bracing himself against the basket. He wasn’t sure going up like this was a good idea, even if Bill was pretty experienced for a High School kid.
Barry couldn’t be afraid of heights, he said. He could actually fly, he reminded himself.
“Take a look out there, Barry!” Bill said. “Isn’t this great?”
“Yeah, great.” Barry said.
But in spite of himself, Barry was starting to feel a lot more relaxed, even letting go of the ropes, although he kept a hand on the edge of the basket.
“Hey, how’d you get into doing this stuff, anyway? Barry asked.
“My Granddad, that’s my Mom’s Dad? He showed me. He’s been taking me up since I was a little kid. I did my first solo flight a few months ago, okay, solo with a passenger!”
“Wow.” Barry said.
“I saw that movie on TV when I was a kid,” Bill said adjusting something on the balloon. “Five Weeks In a Balloon.” He looked over and grinned. “We won’t be up that long! Hey, we were the first ones to take off at the balloon show!”
“Yeah,” Barry said. “I’m glad this isn’t a race. Hey, what’s that noise?”
“Just a little air letting out…”
The balloon’s sudden tilt and a louder rush of air cut Bill off.
“I think it’s a lot more air letting out!” Barry said as he lurched to the side of the basket and grabbed a rope. “There’s a big rip up there and…”
He looked over. Bill was curled up on the floor of the basket clutching his head where he’d hit it.
“Aw crap!” Barry said. “He’s out. Well, it’s better he doesn’t see this.” Barry took a deep breath and said “Astaroth.”
The ancient name, that of an evil alien overlord whose powers had somehow passed across centuries and a galaxy to Barry did their usual thing. There was a roaring wind which pushed the balloon from side to side and a blaze of light and the figure that stood there, seemingly wrapped in blurry gauze just wasn’t totally Barry anymore.
The figure looked down at Bill; he could somehow tell that he wasn’t injured and was still breathing. But the balloon was descending faster.
The figure stood in the middle of the basket and raised his (its?) arms. Wind rushed and supported the balloon, pulling it back the way they came and towards the ground. At the same time the balloon filled with enough warm air to keep it aloft. This wouldn’t look like anything other than a lucky landing.
The figure that wasn’t quite Barry could see the balloon show over the ridge of trees and another balloon ascending as he willed their balloon to land, gently in a huge clump of bushes.
“Can’t let them see me like this,” he thought as he ducked down and uttered a familiar word…
Barry stood there in the open field near the ridge of trees as the medic on duty tried to get Bill to cooperate.
“I’m fine! I’m okay,” Bill snapped from the folding chair as the medic dabbed more alcohol on his forehead.
“You’re gonna want to get that checked out,” the medic said. “I don’t think it’s a concussion, but it’s best to be safe.”
“Yeah, let’s be safe.” Barry said. “But I think you’re gonna be okay.”
“You’re just lucky the balloon landed back so near the balloon show,” the Medic said.
“Yeah,” Barry said. “I guess when the air started spewing out of it, we got pushed back here. Lucky we didn’t crash.”
“Soft landing in those bushes over there,” the Medic said. “We saw you coming down and ran over.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Barry said.
“They’re thinking about canceling any more flights after that big gust of wind just after you landed. That might have been part of why you got knocked over here,” the Medic said.
“Um, probably was,” Barry said.
“Hey, you guys quiet down and get me something for this headache okay?” Bill said.
“Okay,” Barry said grinning.
They helped Bill into the ambulance and Barry didn’t notice that he eyed him with a funny look, then closed his eyes realizing he was out of it right now.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: A sequel to an unpublished superhero story I wrote called “The Secrets of Astaroth,” remembering the superhero comics and TV shows of my childhood and wondering what really would happen to a kid who got super powers. —-jeff
From 2002 to 2018 there was a syndicated radio version/adaption of “The Twilight Zone,” the legendary series created by Rod Serling, with Stacy Keach as the narrator.
In addition to adapting most of the original 50s-60s episodes of the original “Twilight Zone” as hour-long (well, about 35 minute) radio shows with commercials, the series aired 21 episodes written or adapted for the radio show. Some of them had been planned for the original series but never used.
So, here’s an unofficial guide to the episodes.
Most of this fine series’ adaptions were done by the late Dennis Etchison, himself a fine author of horror and fantasy who had actually taken a class from TZ writer Charles Beaumont. The show aired its last episode in 2018 after 18 seasons and Etchison died the next year. Maybe that’s why the radio series ceased production. Too bad! A lot of the originals were wonderful!
Here then an unofficial list, compiled from Wikipedia and Reddit.
——-jeff baker
Mrs. Pierce is Praying For Me
And Cauldron Bubble
Beewinjapeedee
Free Dirt
(story by Charles Beaumont.)
Gentlemen, Be Seated
(Story by Charles Beaumont)
Missing Presumed Dead
Now You Hear It Now You Don’t
Pattern For Doomsday
Rest Stop
Snow Angel
Ten Days
The 25th Hour
The Amazing Dr. Kyle Powers
Nanobots
The Time of Your Life
The Walk-Abouts
There Goes the Neighborhood
Time Element
(Technically not an original, but an adaption of the TZ pilot that aired as part of Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse.)
Twenty-Twelve
Who Am I?
Another Place In Time
(Last radio episode.)
ADDENDA: I ought to post a link to one of those episodes. “And Cauldron Bubble” blends some humor, the theater and some spooky business. Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ytsp2OkFAs
Went to Book a Holic on West 21st Street here in Wichita, Kansas and saw this fun rack of paperback reprints of comic strips that you used to see everywhere. I remember most of these!
Nice to see them again.
I highly recommend any of the store’s three locations!
Every week we post six lines of a story of ours, a work-in-progress or from someone else’s work we recommend that has LGBT characters on Rainbow Snippets here https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
I didn’t know what a “Hi/Lo” was until I read one to review it. Alison Lister’s “No Limit On Love” is what is called a “hi/lo,” meaning it is a “hi interest, low reading complexity book” meant mainly for young readers who do not have a high reading level for one reason or another. None of the book comes off as simplified or simplistic in either its prose or its tone. I found it charming. In this snippet, High Schoolers Dan and Levi meet when they are the only ones to show up for a clean-up after the derecho storm that hit Ottawa. Both of them qualify as non-binary. Here’s a link to the book which comes out in the U. S. later this year. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1459417178/ref=x_gr_bb_amazon?ie=UTF8&tag=x_gr_bb_amazon-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1459417178&SubscriptionId=1MGPYB6YW3HWK55XCGG2
And here’s the snippet.
THE GUY SMILED AT ME as I approached.
“Hi. Are you here to help with the clean-up?”
That smile. Man.
I nodded, hoping my voice wouldn’t warble. “Yeah.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Levi.”
I grinned and took it, shaking it firmly. “Dan. Short for Danielle, but we won’t talk about that.” My name sounded strange to my ears, and I Levi 26 wondered why I hadn’t formally given it up. From what I’d heard, it was a simple process to change it on the school lists.
A little more than six lines, but after that long introduction, why not? See you next week as we explore another author’s collection. —-jeff
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I haven’t done one of these bar stories in about a year or so, possibly because the hostile and downright violent anti-LGBT mood in the country seemed to preclude a comedy set at a fictional venue similar to real-world ones that are getting attacked both metaphorically and physically. But I figured that enough was enough and so I wrote this; which is a bit of a nod to my favorite writers Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore.
The grey-haired man in the tweed jacket pointed at his glass on the bar and said. “When you got a minute, I’ll have a refill.”
“Sure,” Zack the bartender there at Demeter’s said. “Comin’ right up.”
Zack was tall and built like a twenty-something soccer player with stringy red hair that hung down on his shoulders. He reached for the bottle below the bar with his bandaged hand and knocked over the stack of plastic cups.
“Dammit!” Zack swore. “Sorry, I’m still not used to this, this thing.” He held up his bandaged hand.
“I’ll bet you aren’t,” the man said. “What happened?”
“Some homophobic assholes jumped him in the parking lot the other night, that’s what happened.” That was from Paco, sitting at the end of the bar looking muscular and young in the tank top he wore after workouts.
“Are you okay?” the man asked, looking concerned.
“Yeah, they just caught me off guard,” Zack said, pouring the refill with his unbandaged hand. “I got a couple of bruises and this hand got bashed up against a car. One of the thugs caught the worst of it.”
“Yeah, Zack got him in the knee!” Paco said, giving him a thumb’s up.
“I was aiming higher,” Zack said, wishing he’d kept up lessons at the Dojo when he was in high school.
“I didn’t realize there was much of that violence going on around town,” the man said. “I knew the mood in the country was letting the hostile nuts think they have carte blanche now, but not everybody believes it.”
“Those guys the other night sure did,” Paco said.
“Did the cops catch them?” the man asked.
Zack shook his head.
“They probably won’t,” Paco said. “And he went downtown and filled out a report and everything.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t see anything. Sweats and ski masks. Nothing to identify,” Zack said.
“But I think they’ll be back,” Paco said, gesturing with his can of soda. “Mrs DeLeon thinks it’s probably the same guys who tore down their Pride flag in early June.”
“Isn’t there security in this shopping center?” the man asked.
“Not for a long time,” Zack said.
“I’d be here every night to walk out with him to his car but I have a delivery run to get on,” Paco said.
The man sipped his drink and smiled. “In that case, I may be able to offer you a solution, or at least loan you a solution. My name is Professor Simon Ginastera, and this all fits into a project I’ve been working on. Let’s call it Operation Homophobe.”
Zack and Paco exchanged glances.
The Professor smiled and sipped his drink.
Mrs. DeLeon stood open mouthed at the tall, grey metal figure that stood by the door of Demeter’s. It was about six-foot-four, built like a muscular Tin Woodsman and had a face of frozen grey features that she had seen on a statue somewhere. It was actually dressed in shorts and a tank top that would have made Paco look scrawny.
“What the hell is this?” Mrs. DeLeon asked, to no one in particular.
“Um, that’s mine,” Zack said rushing from behind the bar. “At least it’s a loaner. For now. I’m giving it back.”
“Back?” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Remember that professor who was in here that I told you about?”
“Which one?” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“About a week ago. You haven’t seen me since then. Well…” Zack sighed and glanced around. The bar wasn’t open yet, they had time.
“About two nights after he talked to us, Professor Ginastera shows up right before closing. It was Tuesday so there weren’t a lot of people in here. And this…guy walks in right behind him. Metal. Professor said he called him Vengador. That’s Spanish for Avenger.”
“Yes, I know,” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Well, he tells me this is a defense robot he’s been working on and that he figured I could help him test it out. For a week or so. Kind of like a test-drive.”
“Uh, huh. And you’ve been driving it,” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Yeah. Kinda,” Zack said. “The Professor stood right where you are and said a long line of numbers to the robo…to Vengador and then told me he’d activated the Second Operator Program. Then he had me look Vengador right in the eyes and say my name. And to say ‘Stand Ready to Smite.’ From then on, it would protect me. And that’s how it was supposed to work.”
“Supposed to work.” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Oh, it worked at first,” Zack said. “Vengador would follow me out to my car at night and nobody is gonna jump a guy with a six-foot-four metal bodyguard.”
“I take it things didn’t run that smoothly?” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Yeah, I had Vengador in the car with me yesterday and some guy pulled out in front of me and I nearly wrecked the car. So when we pulled behind the guy at a stop light, Vengador gets out, tears off the guy’s car door, tosses him out in the street and punches a bunch of dents in his car.”
Mrs. DeLeon stared.
“The University is gonna pay for the repairs to the car, but the traffic cameras caught him driving recklessly so the other guy at least did get a ticket.” Zack said.
“Uh, huh.” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“But the real good news is they caught those guys who jumped me a couple of days ago.” Zack said. “They jumped some guy who had a rainbow flag decal on his car window. Turned out to be an undercover cop.”
“Maybe an off-duty undercover Gay cop,” Mrs. DeLeon said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Zack said. “Professor Ginastera will be here after lunch to re-claim Vengador.”
Zack headed for the kitchen. Vengador followed him, moving not at all like several hundred pounds of metal.
Mrs. DeLeon wondered if Zack could ask the robot to wash dishes, but then she shook her head.
Better to leave well enough alone.
—end—
ADDENDA: The title is from Milton’s “Lycidas,” the same passage where Kuttner and Moore got the title for their fine story “Two-Handed Engine,” to which my tale is an homage. —–jeff b.
This week’s story,”Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp-Ground” https://authorjeffbaker.com/2023/05/26/tenting-tonight-my-seventh-anniversary-post-friday-flash-fics-from-jeff-baker-may-26-2023/ features my wandering teenage Gay runaway Bryce Going and was written for my seventh anniversary of posting a weekly flash fiction story on (now) Friday Flash Fics. It incorporates some of the experience my late husband Darryl had decades ago when he was homeless for about a year. Darryl and I made a home together and he encouraged my writing and was proud of what I accomplished. So this one’s for Darryl.
It was 1975, I was fifteen, Gay and on my own. Nobody guessed I was Gay but the on my own part was pretty obvious from my dirty jacket and worn sneakers. I was shivering, and I thought I smelled food but that may have been from the nearby store.
The hell with it. I walked over and patted the side of the tent.
“Go ‘way!” came the raspy voice from inside the folds of towel and paper.
“I’m cold.” I said, shivering.
“I said go away!” the voice rasped again.
Can’t leave him out in the cold. Here’s a few more than six lines.
“I got no place to go,” I said. “No place to go…” My voice broke for a moment. I’d run away months ago not wanting to go to a Boy’s Home after my Mom had bailed on me. Didn’t know where my Father was. I was halfway across the country from Philly. So far I hadn’t cried.
I heard a rustling in the tent. Then a flap opened, not where I thought it would and the voice told me to get in. I saw a glimmer of light inside which surprised me, I hadn’t seen it through the tent.
“Get in, quick. And take off your damn shoes.”
And I imagined the great Ray Walston playing the man in the tent. Be back next week with something for Y.A, readers that works for the rest of us, from a fine author who is not me! —-jeff
Fiona Glass has done me the kindness of posting my latest story on the RoMMantic Reads zine. “Make Me Immortal With a Kiss” is, I admit, something of a wish-fulfillment fantasy but it felt good to write.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” the white figure said as they nearly collided in mid-air.
“Sorry! I’m kinda new at this!” Skye said.
“Well, just be sure you get the tree and not me, okay?”
“Okay.”
The last thing Skye had expected was that he’d become a ghost and that ghosts actually did look like a floating white sheet. He was assured that not every ghost looked like this and further that this was only a temporary condition.
Then came the second surprise; the ghosts had to dive bomb the trees on the grounds of their old high school. This, not kids, was what caused the filmy white strips that everyone thought were toilet paper.
Skye floated overhead and stared down at the two thick Elm trees that he remembered from when he’d gone here in, what? The early seventies? It was hard to remember sometimes. The green leafy tree was enshrouded with white strips. Skye smiled. People always wondered how kids got the tops of the trees.
“Wheeeeeeee!” The voice was the one he’d heard before as a white sheeted ghost swirled around another tree brushing the branches leaving white strips.
“Looks good,” Skye said, resisting the urge to go “Boooo!”
“Yeah, thanks,” the ghost said.
“Hey, I’m Skye,” he said. “Sorry about that earlier.”
“Forget it,” the other ghost said. “Just call me Trick, like in Trick-Or-Treat.”
“Hey, Trick,” Skye said.
“Look at this,” Trick said, spreading his sheet. Skye looked. Most humans couldn’t see them and they appeared to themselves as solid, white sheets draped over an invisible person but Skye could actually see part of the house across the street through Trick.
“Heyyyyy! Nice!” Skye said.
“I’m thinning out!” Trick said. “That means I’m leaving here soon!”
“How long have you been here, anyway?” Skye asked.
“Since June sixteenth, nineteen-seventy.” Trick said. “Vietnam.”
“Oh, my God!” Skye said. “I can’t remember your name, but we had a page for you in the yearbook! My editor put it together the year before I started here!”
“I can’t remember my name either,” Trick said. “They said that’s a good sign. Losing the last of Earth so I get to go elsewhere.”
“Wow!” Skye said.
“Yeah.” Trick said. “Hey, watch me dive-bomb that little bush by the door!”
“MIS-ter Cuthbert! MIS-ter Sandburg!”
The sharp female voice was familiar. A tall, thin shrouded white sheet floated down near the two other ghosts.
“Mrs. Pickering!” the other two ghosts cried out.
“So, you’re still here and still getting into trouble, I see!” Mrs. Pickering said.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Trick said.
“Well, I’ll tell you…” Mrs. Pickering paused and glanced down at the tree. “Oh, what the hey! Watch THIS, boys!”
The tall ghost swooped down, gracefully touching the top tree branches leaving an elegant film of white, like a lace tablecloth put out only on special occasions. Her laughter trilled like silvery bells.
