Mamma always had a love for other people's possessions. One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted into ... [+]
J. Anthony Hartley is an Australian writer transplanted to Germany. His work often wanders across genre boundaries or shamelessly blurs them. "Long Shadows" is in Short Circuit #02, Short Édition's quarterly review.
I sat staring deep into the flames, listening to voices stirring the wind around me. Soft footfalls pressed through the grass stalks, rustling gently. Though I couldn't see them, I knew they were there, as certain as death follows life. They had told me what I must do. They had sent me here to watch, to sit vigil, that I might join them.A piece of charred wood, smoldering near the edge, cracked and sent sparks shooting into the sky. Though I started at the noise, I knew I must not turn. Though I felt their hot breath against my neck and my heartbeat in my chest, I knew I must never turn.The ca