What is 
Freaky Flash Friday?

The lake took what was given to it—singular sandals, gum wrappers, yesterday’s newspapers, loose change wished off the bridge, forgotten water bottles, breadcrumbs thrown by children for floating ducks, insect corpses dangling from fishing reels, mourned for cell phones, paperbacks soaked and destroyed, balls that flew uncaught—so when she tossed the ring in and watched the diamond plunge beneath the ripples to the bottom water, the lake accepted the offering and held her sec

The bead chain rattles sharply as Marcia tugs it, raising the slatted blind in Oliver’s bedroom. Sunlight spills across the cartoon wallpaper. Normally, he grumbles, pulls the covers, mumbling softly. Today, he screams: “Nooooo! Traitor!” Marcia freezes. The word—steeped in suspicion, threaded with years of rage—is not a child’s. It cuts through the room like a raven’s cry. Where has he learned this?  Her chest tightens, panic searing through her. Shadows twitch in the corner

‘ Blood binds all’. Stephen recites, for he is not unfamiliar with the binding elementary of blood.  During his forty years as a priest, he had long grown accustomed to the concept of wine turning to blood and unifying the congregation. During mass it was called ‘transubstantiation’, and in those few moments it granted him divine power. In an odd way, he felt like a witch.  That was a lifetime ago, and now he si ts on the floor with a sharpened knife resting in his lap. Some

She’d been skinning a gator when she heard the growl of a motor, the scrape of low-hanging branches against the hull when it cut, and the soft, almost soundless splash of a body slipping into the water. Accustomed to the sound, she barely looked up from her claws as she deftly rendered flesh from scale, barely noticed when the motor started again, and the boat sped back whence it’d come. Decades ago she’d been discarded much the same way, her body bloody and broken, nearly de

If there is love, they multiply infinitely. They need no air, no sunlight, not even rain or dew. Just pour affection on them, and the number of pet cats will explode. In this year's Cat Census, Mr. Kino, who works at the space station, proudly took first place. Countless cats float around him, forming what looks like a small galaxy. The scene makes it seem as though the space station itself has transformed into a new planet of cats. The cats dance lightly through the zero gra

The train shudders and warm chardonnay bounces from the can onto my A-line skirt. Inches from my head a canopy of swinging branch arms are sweaty with Wednesday evening dejection and I try to be as small as possible so as not to bother bulging backpacks and other commuter detritus that oozes into my personal space. With my elbows pointed downward, parallel to my chest, and hands trapped close to my chin, I cannot move enough to wipe the drops away. They soak fast into the sau

“Bring out your dead!” Raking slender fingers through raven hair in frustration, Laurel scowled at the scene beyond her window. She knew medieval reenactments were popular, but this one was just plain ghoulish. Paying homage to the Black Plague and witch-hunts cast a dark pall over the town’s aura. The procession of groaning, ragged people following a cart filled with bodies, passed by her building, leaving a miasma of despair in its wake. Clang! Clang! “Bring out your dead!”

Full title: Being a True and Accurate Account of the Extraordinary General Meeting of the Witches/Warlocks Council December 2022 A free and frank discussion ensued Threadspanner, minute secretary to the venerable council, paused, relieved that he'd turned the golden dial on the Quill of Truthfulness to the “Maximum Tact” setting. He sat in his little office adjacent to the grand council chamber, elbows propped on his cheap flat-pack desk, which had taken ages to assemble, eve

I call my friend to warn her that the Doomsday Clock is predicting imminent annihilation. “But it’s been at ninety seconds for decades,” she responds. “No, seriously . It wasn’t even this close during the Cuban Missile Crisis,” I reply. “And in 1991, it was set at a full seventeen minutes before midnight.” She complains that she always gets her hopes up for the apocalypse, recalling the hysteria surrounding Y2K and the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012. I confide in her that

I have no idea how long he was sitting there. “The mail hasn’t come yet.” I jumped. My skin itched, a million invisible spiders suddenly living within it. But I glanced at the mailbox bolted to the wall next to my front door all the same. It was empty. The man was right. Then I remembered the proverbial spiders. I clawed at the storm door, still in mid-slow-close whoosh . The man rocked back and forth, back and forth. The old wooden chair had been unceremoniously

I was grateful you’d warned me they were coming. The cottage felt the thud of hooves on the mossy forest floor before anything else. It was morning, early, the sun not yet awake; a mist bloomed from their horse’s nostrils when they stopped. The King’s men! All anger and bluff. I knew a thirst would be with them so I’d made a tea. I’d picked carefully the shinier leaves, Cow Parsley and Hemlock so very similar to the untrained eye. I added a few cloves to spice, and left a ja

I didn't talk to the girl in the mirror, at least not at first. Even though we looked alike, we were not the same. I didn't know where her world was, but what I did know was that her world wasn't mine. The similarities were this. We both had short black hair, pale skin, and glasses like Peppermint Patty’s friend Marcie. But Mirror Girl wore pink barrettes in her hair and sometimes crimped it. Normally, I just curled mine under to straighten, it if I did anything at all. Mirro

Welcome, my sweet child, come in, close the door, look over here. I have everything you ever wanted, and some other things you didn’t know you needed. I have hierbas for all the aches, and veladoras that smell like sin. And I have La Santa Muerte statues, if you are willing to make a deal. I have clay to make you taller, and beautiful, and smart. And I have paint to make your skin a canvas, to hide your bruises, draw a dream over your scars. Or you can take a honey jar to dro

A megadrought parched the lake, uncovering the ancient village of Silvado where, according to popular legend, hundreds drowned after a...

Cauldrons and black cats, brooms and spells, warts on noses and horrible cackles. From Mildred Hubble in The Worst Witch to the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz , witches in children's and middle grade literature come in all shapes and sizes. Bad or good, traditional or revamped, old or young, children's authors love to write about them and all they encompass. But with so many to choose from, which children's and middle grade books are the most magical? "Why chil

Horrific things. I still see you wherever I look - wide-eyed, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your mouth. An older you that had never been, a grown-up you that never will be. Your arms are too long, legs too bent, so unnatural. Horrendous. It starts up like tinnitus in my ears. High-pitched, ringing, deafening me if just for a moment. You’d take care of me, cradling me as I put my fingertips against tragi, yet I’d hear it. You’d be there, comforting me but screaming all

I always look at a tree with wonder...

The most common question I’ve been asked as founder and editor-in-chief of Toil & Trouble Literary Magazine is: “Why and how did you do it?”

I stand in the middle of the small room that smells of mildew and listen to the dog barking next door in long exaggerated howls. I wonder why it cries out, its voice ricocheting off apartment roofs and car windshields, landing within the small room. I let its lamentations enter and exit my mind as I press my feet into the dented and scuffed hardwood floors. I stare at the yellowing wallpaper which I had carefully ripped in particular sections before the dog started wailing. T