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Is There Anything Else I Can Do For You?

a short story(1)This months Payhip short story is now available. Now, to be fair, this is a re-release, as this story was previously only available in my collected work “Nice Girls Don’t Burn Ants”, but now you can buy just this story! Anyway, a description:

Nathan Fielding has the house to himself. He’s supposed to be getting his things out in time for the divorce, but that’s taken a backseat ever since he woke up and found his daughters pet Finch dead that morning. And if things were’t weird enough already, now there’s a human sized papier mache bird talking to him, and it seems to know a lot about his life.

There will be a NEW original story next month, I’ve just been swamped with projects and couldn’t manage to knock out a new short story this time. But here you can read this one, now available all on its own! Enjoy!

Buy My Book!  Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

 

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Celia Drowns In The Basement

technologiesShe’d shut and locked the door at the top of the stairs, but thinking now, it was a good thing this basement had been basically set up as a bomb shelter in the 50s, because locking the goddamned door wouldn’t do much good alone. Celia then started to walk downstairs, and put a chair in the center of the room and walked around it a few times, taking in the basement, in all its glory.

God, the things that had happened in this basement, a perfect example of the age old sentiment “if walls could talk”, because damn, the stories they would tell. Memories flooded her mind instantly, which made her smile at the irony of the euphemism. There was the time she and her older sister had hidden down here from their father after her older sister had hit the bumper of his car with her bike, and they were afraid he’d be mad, but in the end, he was just happy they were okay and told them to come to him and never be afraid. Her mind turned to the time she and Ashley Mossica got together and played a bunch of low fi cassette tapes in the basement at max volume because they had the house to themselves…god that weekend. The taste of her strawberry lipstick, how she had to hide the stains left behind by the kisses on her neck with a scarf, which thankfully worked considering it was snowing outside, and nobody questioned her clothing choices. The way that, the night of high school graduation, while her sister went to dinner with their parents, she and Ashley decided to stay in the basement and lay on the couch together, discussing plans for the future. None of which ever came true.

Now though…what had once been an escapist dream was now just an old, ratty basement in a home that could no longer sustain it. She’d since dropped out of college and been unable to afford her medications, and since her parents had discovered that she’d been seeing a woman from her support group. So much for parents loving you no matter what. Her parents hadn’t kept the basement up to snuff, and it had fallen into a state of disrepair, but now….now it’d be more than just that. She’d see to that. Sure, the rest of the house would remain fine, but this room would always and forever be Celia Armak’s. She sighed, grabbed an axe and started cutting into the old rusted pipes in the basement walls, which started to flood the room. Celia then sat down in the chair, strapped her legs to the chair legs with rope and cuffed her hands with an old pair of handcuffs after she’d put a blindfold on. She smiled, listening to the water as it began to fill the room and soak her shoes and socks, and climbing ever higher every second.

This basement, the games with her sister, the derby car projects with her father, the dance lessons with her mother, the first kisses, the loss of virginity, the first suicide attempt before college…yes, this room was her entire history, her entire life. The water quickly rose to her neck, and she craned her head back to give herself a few more seconds of breath, thinking about Ashley, thinking of all the promises they’d made to one another, all the things she’d planned to do with her life; go to college and become a famous clothing designer, maybe eventually do costume work for films…but not now. No. The water overtook her, and the chair was floating, as was she, still strapped to it. Her head was getting lighter, her thoughts foggier, her breathing tighter, and soon she was thrashing violently, and before she knew it, she was at peace, and soon Celia wasn’t thinking anything at all anymore.

“You can have the house,” she’d thought as she’d set this up, “But the fucking basement is mine.”

Buy My Book! (50% off til May 14th with code 842S65WXTO

Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Dogtooth

a short storyI kind of forgot to post this here until now, but there’s a new short story for the month available over at my Payhip! This one is a bit different, as it’s part of an ongoing short series, and they won’t be coming out consecutively, but if you’re interested, it’s out and I rather like it!

Alessa Perkins just wants to get some gas and keep on going towards her destination, but when she stops at this seemingly abandoned gas station in the desert, she soon finds herself stuck with an 11 year old girl who calls herself Courage and tells her how she’s waiting for her father to come home, while defending their gas station from The Flickers. What seems like a kid playing games quickly turns into a nightmare as Alessa realizes she’s stumbled into something she cannot run, or hide, from. The Flickers are real. And they are coming…

So there it is, and it’s part 1 of 5 parts, so yeah, it’s a scifi horror with a cool 11 year old heroine and her hatchet, killing monsters! What more do you want? Anyway, if you buy it, I’d be really appreciative and you’d be funding/supporting future projects, so yeah! Thanks! You can buy it here!

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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She Is Made Of Seasons

She had summer in her eyes, laying on our backs and pointing out clouds that look like something other than clouds; our hands just barely touching now and then between the blades of semi wet grass, light smiles dancing across our lips knowing that we were in eternal bliss together.

She had fall in her brain, clouded with nostalgia for a time her brain had convinced her was a better time despite knowing full well it wasn’t; we talked about the things that made us sad, and were grateful we both made eachother happy. The most morose season quickly becomes the most love filled.

She had spring in her heart, her bloodstream full of blooming flowers, wanting to pick them all and give them to me, and everyone else she loved; she could feel her body cleansing itself, turning her blood into clean rainwater, purifying her from inside out, and she couldn’t be happier with this new her.

She had winter in her smile, safe and cozy, and yet something cold at the same time, knowing she’d smiled at the wrong person one too many times and wouldn’t make the same mistake again, now reserving the fireside smile for those she really thought deserved it. Just as snowflakes are unique, so is every smile that crosses her lips.

She is made of seasons, full of constant changes, deaths and rebirths, and proud of the fact that she doesn’t allow others to stop her growth. She is herself, she is made of the years she has survived, and she will never be told to be anything else.

I hope to one day be as sure of myself as I am sure of her.

Buy My Book!                Support Me Via Patreon!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip or support my work at my Patreon! Anything helps & is appreciated, thanks!

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Fridge Magnets

You can arrange them any way you choose, make the words your own, make a statement like nobody ever has. We bought them at a garage sale, for a dollar fifty in a ziplock bag. ABC fridge magnets, like I had as a child. Just seeing these colorful tools elicited such memories, evoked such deep feelings that I nearly cried on the spot. So we bought them all up, and we took them home, and you spent the afternoon spelling the few words you knew with them on the fridge. You had to stand on a chair, but that’s okay. It was a special event.

We started to learn a new word every single day. Every day I would pick a new word for you, and you would learn to spell it in the morning before school. It helped, and you started to do better on spelling tests and building your vocabulary. Hell, you were even proud of yourself, which put an enormous smile on my face. So words became our tool, and I read to you every night, and sometimes you read to me, and we played word games and used words to make eachother laugh and learn. You started writing your own short stories and sharing them with me, and the morning of your 7th birthday, I used the magnets to spell, “Happy birthday, sweet baby! I love you!” and all was well.

“Mommy, what does t-e-r-m-i-n-a-l spell?” you asked.

I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t. I told you I didn’t know. You didn’t believe me, of course, but we didn’t push the subject. So we sat in the hospital room, you in the bed, growing weaker and weaker, playing scrabble and doing crosswords and word searches. I brought it all home with me, but couldn’t bring it back into the house. It was tainted by being attached to those last months. Much as I longed for a piece of you back, it was too late, and all I had left were the magnets. How unusually poetic was it that when I entered the kitchen that first day back, awake for 48 hours, the feel of your cold hand still in my own palm, my hair unwashed for days, that as I entered the kitchen, I saw you’d arranged them sometime before we checked in for good.

“Best mom, love you!”

I’ve refused to replace my fridge for years now. It barely works, and I’ve hauled it to a few new homes to boot, but I refuse to give up what little piece of you you left behind for me. People don’t last forever. But their words, oh their words last for a lifetime.

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip.

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!

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All Her Dog Teeth

a story about time and teeth(1)It’s March, which means it’s new short story time! This time, you can read a scifi love story featuring a truly horrifying monster.

“ALL HER DOG TEETH” takes place in 3074, and the only lasting structure for miles is a lighthouse, manned by a 37 year old Merideth Mooney. She’s been manning it since she was 17 years old, and was told to wait here in case anyone came back on the boats…but nobody ever came back. So, since then she’s lived a very quiet life, cleaning up the empty ships that returned. Then, one morning, a boat does come back, and in it is a young black woman named Hazel Bloom, who tells Merideth that they’ve met before, and she’s here to help her.

I’m pretty proud of this one, and I think it’s MUCH better than February’s story, so there’s that too. Anyway, thanks for the support and I hope you enjoy this months story!

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, the satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast network “The Feel Bad Network” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip.

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!

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Jeremy Suffocates In The Garage

technologies“I wonder if I need to change the oil,” Jeremy thought to himself as he held his car keys in his hand, gathering the courage to put them in the ignition.

Jeremy Tanner, 37, had been unemployed for several months now, and was unable to obtain unemployment benefits. His wife had taken off to LA for a few weeks to work on a project, and now was the only time he’d have to do this. He thought back to when he and his father spent a lot of time in the garage, working on his fathers motorcycle or a go kart or using his fathers wood working skills to make something for scouts. Jeremy smiled, thinking of how much time he’d spent in the garage over the course of his life.

But, with his father dead and his mother living elsewhere now, Jeremy couldn’t get into his childhood garage any longer, as she’d sold the house when she moved. Jeremy sighed and thought back to that garage; he could recall every square inch crystal clearly, the shelving system he and his brother had installed when they were teenagers, and the lighting their father had put in one year. It was so nice. Jeremy could remember all the time he’d spent as a teenager with his friends, laughing, watching TV and listening to music. The door lead directly into the kitchen, and they could often hear his mother cooking or his parents talking.

But this garage? His garage? No personality whatsoever. So bland, so plain, so blah. Jeremy sighed, stuck his keys in the ignition and started the car as he glanced down at the hose that was leading back into the car from the tailpipe, pumping the exhaust into the car with the windows mostly rolled up. He sighed and leaned back in the drivers seat, shutting his eyes. His father would understand, he knew he would, he’d have to. After all, his father had done the same thing only 10 years prior, on this very same day. He knew if anyone would understand, it’d be his dad. Jeremy thought back to the last time he saw his father, which was, coincidentally, in the garage.

His father was putting something together, sitting at his little workshop desk, while Jeremy paced behind him, talking about having just gotten married. He remembered telling his father he was terrified of letting Lana down, about never being good enough for her, and worrying he’d never be as good a dad as his own had. His dad had chuckled, turned around and said, “You don’t have to be a good dad like me, just be a good dad like you.” Jeremy never forgot that, but unfortunately the advice never came into play, as Lana had a miscarriage a few weeks later, and they’d been unable to get pregnant since. That’s part of why she’d gone to LA, was to see a specialist. But now, here he was, ready to end his life, and all because he couldn’t handle the financial burden that was now upon them, and he was worried he’d just take his wife down with him, and felt she deserved better than that. And with that thought, Jeremy drifted off into the long quiet.

When Jeremy opened his eyes, he was laying on a couch. He looked around, his eyesight blurry at first, when he noticed his neighbor, an older man named Robert, coming in from another room, handing him a glass of water.

“Jesus Jeremy, you alright?” he asked.

“What happened?” Jeremy asked, and Robert shrugged.

“Near as I can tell, it looked like you almost suffocated. I opened your garage to find you passed out. I…I was bringing your lawnmower back, and, I was really scared for a bit that you weren’t going to be okay, but Lorraine, she said you’d be fine. Guess that’s what I get for being married to a nurse all these years,” Robert said, as Jeremy took the glass of water and chugged it.

“…you were returning my lawnmower?” Jeremy asked, “…I guess I forgot you borrowed it.”

“You okay?” Robert asked.

“…not particularly,” Jeremy said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes on his shirt sleeve, “…everything is fucked, Rob.”

“You’re alright, everything’s alright. Here, come with me,” Robert said, helping Jeremy up. He lead Jeremy into the kitchen and opened a door that lead into a large garage, in which from the ceiling were hanging what appeared to be at least a hundred or more birdhouses. Robert was grinning, hands on his hips, clearly so pleased with himself. Jeremy was surprised, his eyes wide as they stepped inside.

“The hell is all this?” Jeremy asked.

“This is what I do now,” Robert said, “Felt like I wasn’t worth anything since I retired, felt useless, so I figured I’d do something with my time, something that actually made a difference to somebody that matters.”

“These are incredible,” Jeremy said, “You made all of these yourself?”

“Yeah, well, yeah, I mean, Lorraine paints ’em, but yeah I built ’em,” Robert said, “…she’s not here at the moment, you wanna paint one for me?”

Jeremy smiled, feeling ever so lucky this old man had found him. So Jeremy stayed in Roberts garage that afternoon, and had dinner with him and Lorraine that night. He returned the following day, and the day after that and the day after that and so on. Eventually, he and Robert had made a collection of their own birdhouses and started a beautification project, putting them up in the neighborhood, at the park and selling them at crafts fairs in town.

Sometimes, all it takes is the comfort of a garage to save a life.

I’m Maggie. If you like this thing I made, you might like some other things I make, like my depressing webcomic “In Space, No One Can Hear You Cry”, the satirical online newspaper of “Nowhere, US”, my podcast “Coping With Tonal Shifts In Reality” or my writing over at Medium. You can also find some published work for sale over at my Payhip.

Wanna donate to me directly? You can do that via PayPal! Wanna support me ongoing month to month and get content early? You can do that via Patreon! Wanna support me but can’t do it continuously? You can do that via Buy Me A Coffee! Thanks for whatever you can spare, I really appreciate it!