Saturday, June 25, 2016

Excerpt from "Of Thine Impenetrable Spirit" by Robert B Finegold, MD

In Robert B Finegold's "Of Thine Impenetrable Spirit," bioengineering entrepreneur Nicholas Montgomery has just learned that his son is dying.
“Can you save him?” 
Dr. Albert did not answer. The room was silent except for the soft rhythmic cycling of a respirator and the slow pulsing beep of Nick Jr.’s heart monitor. 
“Prepare little Nick for transfer, Dr. Albert.” 
The older man nodded and left the room. Nick watched him go, and as the door slid open and closed, he became aware of the pain in his palms. He looked down and unclenched his fists. 
A whisper like the rustle of dry leaves said, “Dad?” 
He stepped closer to the containment chamber and leaned over it, resting both hands upon the cool surface. It gently vibrated beneath his fingers. 
Little Nick’s eyes were half-open. His long lashes blinked once, twice, slowly. Azure light rippled beneath him as if he were floating upon a sunlit pool. 
“How you doing, little man?” Nick said. Despite the flood of anxiolytics surging through his system, Nick felt as if his heart would burst. 
“Am . . . am I gonna die, Dad?” 
Nick waited until the constriction in his throat eased and then said, “No. You cannot die. You are going to live forever.”
Robert B Finegold, MD is a radiologist living in Maine. He has an undergraduate degree in English (Creative Writing and British Literature), has been a university newspaper cartoonist, and served as a Major in the U.S. Army during the first Gulf War. He is a two-time Writers of the Future Contest Finalist whose work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Galaxy’s Edge Magazine, GigaNotoSaurus, Straeon 2, Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and the anthologies Robotica: The Real Relationships of Artificial Lifeforms,1st & Starlight, and 2nd & Starlight. On Facebook, find him at Robert B Finegold’s Kvells and Kvetchings www.facebook.com/robertbfinegold.

You can order your copy of Mysterion here.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Excerpt from "A Lack of Charity" by James Beamon

In James Beamon's "A Lack of Charity," Will seeks vengeance, though not for the first time.

The compass stopped its frenzied pulsing and began to bleed from its seams. Will stopped the car. Originally a pristine pearl white, the Buick was now a beaten up and weary warhorse that was always eager for rest.

He was here. Wherever here was.

A field of golden wheat stretched from the highway. A man, shadowed against the deepening reds of dusk, was finishing his work. Will tensed. This must be Chainer. The compass always led to Chainer. He entered the field. The air was heavy with dust.

Chainer looked up. “Lo, stranger. Help you with sumthin?” Always that same stupid look. Always that same twisted sneer.

“Yeah,” Will said. “I’m here for stories.”

“Stories? Heh! You in the wrong place.”

“I’m always in the wrong place. But you’re the right guy. You’re gonna tell the right stories.”

“What stories you think I know?”

“Tell me about rape and murder.”

Chainer’s face straightened. “Look, I don’t know what you think this is . . .”

“We both know what this is. It ain’t just wheat you’ve been sowing, farmer. I’m gonna kill you, there ain’t no getting around that. So now you can either tell me the story before you die or you can keep pretending that we ain’t speaking the same language.”

Will had been giving this deal for a while now. Most of the time Chainer would keep trying to pretend amnesia. Sometimes he would make some shit up. Every once in a blue moon, he’d come clean. 
This Chainer bolted.

James Beamon writes stories because he doesn't have the operational budget to make the movie version. He currently lives in Virginia with his wife, son and attack cat but he's been all over the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan, for job and country. James invites you to hang out with him at fictigristle.wordpress.com.

You can order your copy of Mysterion here.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Excerpt from "Golgotha" by David Tallerman

This week's story is "Golgotha" by David Tallerman. Reverend Halloway has lamented to the shipwrecked sailor Alstad that, despite outward displays of piousness, the islanders he and the other missionaries have brought to the Christian faith don't genuinely believe.

I remembered something then, out of nowhere . . . something I’d heard long ago and then forgotten. It would have been better if the memory had stayed that way too—and even as I spoke, I recall a part of me resisting.
“I heard talk once,” I said, “that there’s another god . . . a god even over Oro. A god of gods, you might say.” The memory was returning now in full; a night I’d passed with some of the natives, and their voices hushed with awe, as though they whispered of things not meant to be shared. “His name was Joro. He’s not an ancestor like the others, I don’t think. They say he was here before the people came, before the island.”
Halloway looked at me distrustfully. “If this Joro of yours existed, then I’d have heard.”
“He’s not mine,” I told him, “and he’s not something they much like to talk about. I don’t know that they even pray or offer to him. But the man who told me was in no state to be lying.” 
Halloway’s eyes narrowed further, for he saw my meaning. 
“Yes, I’d been drinking,” I said, “and so had he. But contrary to your beliefs, Reverend, drink can reveal truths as well as lies. I tell you upon my life, that man was being honest. And I’ll tell you something else: he was afraid. I’ve heard them speak of Oro, and they make a show of fear, while Hiro they treat like an old friend. But this Joro . . . they talked of him as a Christian man would of the Devil, though I’ve never seen any Christian as cowed as these.”

David Tallerman is the author of the comic fantasy novel series The Tales of Easie Damasco, graphic novel Endangered Weapon B: Mechanimal Science, the Tor.com novella Patchwerk and the recently released The Sign in the Moonlight and Other Stories, a collection of pulp-styled horror and dark fantasy fiction. David’s short fantasy, science fiction, horror and crime stories have appeared or are due in around eighty markets, including Clarkesworld, Nightmare, Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and Beneath Ceaseless Skies. He can be found online at davidtallerman.co.uk.

You can order your copy of Mysterion here.

Monday, June 6, 2016

We're now on Facebook

Enigmatic Mirror Press is now on Facebook, and we're talking about Mysterion.


We even have a logo.
In case you don't remember, Enigmatic Mirror Press is our publishing house. We are the smallest of small presses, as we have a grand total of zero books out. That will change when we release Mysterion sometime in August. But, while Mysterion is our only book (so far), Enigmatic Mirror Press and Mysterion are technically different things.

Back on point, you should check out, and share, our Facebook page.

Saturday, June 4, 2016

Excerpt from "Too Poor to Sin" by H. L. Fullerton

This week's story is "Too Poor to Sin" by H. L. Fullerton, with an angelic visit and some uncomfortable questions.

A tax of angels parade through our school, glittering and bright. Not just any angels, but those from the Legion. Their robes are decorated with thick golden braids and, on their chests, an image of a red dove carrying arrows in its mouth. I have never seen warrior angels up close before. The one in front, with the largest wings of all and olive branches woven through his curls, sings his name. 
Teacher kneels and we kneel and the entire tax sings out a blessing. Then Teacher motions for us to take our seats and we do and not even Tollum raises his eyes from his desk. We wait and when I think we can wait no more—someone will shift in their seat, but no one does—the holiest of the tax tells us about the Legion. 
It doesn’t sound anything like I’ve imagined from Father’s few words. Before I can stop the thought, I think: the angel must be lying. Questioning an angel’s word is a lesser sin and I worry their black faceted eyes will spot my perfidy. But I stay still, very still, and keep my eyes down, and they don’t. I say a prayer of contrition and resolve to ask Father about what the angel said. Because despite what Mother’s family think of him, Father wouldn’t lie about the Legion and angels cannot lie (that is a Truth.) Yet both cannot be true. Can they?

H. L. Fullerton writes fiction—mostly speculative, occasionally about angels—which is sometimes published in places like AE, Daily Science FictionFreeze Frame Fiction, and PARSEC’s Triangulation anthologies.

You can order your copy of Mysterion here.