Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Noxapater. They say it means “little bullets” in Choctaw, but I bet they’ve never asked an actual Choctaw to be sure. All that matters is that Noxapater himself chose it as his name for that reason, I guess, since he wasn’t the sort to argue or bandy words.

Not that he was the sort of psychopath who’d kill you just for disagreeing with him. Those people didn’t last long in the guild. No, Noxapater was the sort of assassin who was wound tighter than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and taking a life unsprung that tension for him. He always took a vacation afterwards, someplace real nice on the guild’s dime, and he’d show up with a bit of a tan and ready for work once his psychoses had rewound themselves.

He wasn’t like Ellerbee, who would talk your ear off as a cover for slight-of-hand, or even like Sones, who was on a monosyllable-only basis with everyone who wasn’t his mama. No, Noxapater was the sort who would listen, maybe with a nod or a “yep,” until the topic was something that interested him, and then you’d find yourself doing the nodding and the yepping.

I remember, back when I was real new with the guild, I mentioned a funny little pistol that a contract had used in self defense. Noxapater had been listening like a stone up until that point, but he perked right up at that, and soon I was in the middle of a twenty-minute lecture on the virtues of a silenced Astra 3000 pistol for wetwork, the intricacies of the Basque firearms industry, and why .32 ACP was not to be taken lightly when fired from a simple, reliable pistol.

You could say he practiced what he preached, since the next contract I heard about through the informal guild grapevine was that Noxapater had killed a philandering stockbroker in Buenos Aires with just such a pistol. Followed, of course, by a six-week vacation to Iguazu Falls.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

They said the world is hard
So best harden your heart
Taking their advice, with lard
In the end was not smart

Quite the I rebel I was
Never took orders well
My cells didn’t either
And from tumors I fell

They said smoking kills
And I didn’t pay heed
I’m sorry for the bills
For helping me breathe

A big thinker I was
Deep thoughts, had a lot
The last one gave me pause
Being mostly a clot

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Japanese Mandrake
Spruce up your garden with these hardy tubers, which grow to the size of human infants and help with soil retention and erosion control. Unlike most mandrakes, its scream only kills people who speak Japanese, so be sure to Poll Before You Pull™.

Cyrenaican Laserwort
Love is in the air with this magnificent giant fennel, one thought extinct! Useful in love potions, abortifacients, and simple painkillers, you’ll agree that laserwort hits the target. Warning: will not grow from seeds.

Rapa Nui Palm Nuts
No need to be stonefaced about these gorgeous nuts! The largest palm nuts in the world, with trunks that make excellent rollers for moving heavy objects and edible palm hearts to boot. Grows to fruit-bearing size in 15-20 years.

Romanian Vampire Pumpkins (Vampumpkins)
These pumpkins go around houses and gardens at night, all by themselves, and feast on blood. But since they have no teeth, they are rarely successful. They make great watchfruits, and if you are able to water one with blood, it can grow to a prodigious size and psychic power!

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

January: Astronomers Reveal That, Due to Error, 2020 Extended by One Month

February: 31st Day Discovered in Most Dismal Month, Scientists Confirm

March: Citizens Should Beware Every Day in March, Not Just the Ides

April: April Showers to Merge Into Global Warming, Ice Cap Meltdown

May: Mayflowers Bearing Colonists Arrive From Alpha Centauri

June: Murder Hornets, Godzilla Sign Non-Aggression Pact

July: Dread Lord Cthulhu Announces Candidacy

August: Global Warming Upgraded to Global Boiling

September: Cover Fee Instituted for Labor Day

October: Pumpkin Shortage Leads to Gourd Pirates

November: Mutant Zombie Turkeys No Cause For Concern, CDC Says

December:Astronomers Reveal That, Due to Error, 2020 Extended by One Year

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

It’s felt like five years
But perhaps it’s more like ten
1965-1975, six Vietnams in one
With death close to home
Dear price paid in blood
Slow-motion coups aplenty
Fear at home and abroad
But joy amidst the sorrow
A life from new soil springs
Gardens alive with new growth
Friends from the branches sing
A future uncertain, as ever
Hope once more struggles to rise
I will keep writing these stories
As long as I can open my eyes

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Josh Baiser, CEO of Orinoco.com, tented his hands as he regarded his board of directors.

“With the purchase of Advanced Lasers, the repeal of the Antitrust Act, and our acquisition of the MGM/UA film catalog for our Orinoco Flow streaming service, I’m pleased to report to you that we now have a 55% hold on the online shopping, media, and high energy physics markets.”

Light applause from the board was interrupted by a crash from high above as a man in a bright leotard smashed through the boardroom skylight and landed on the conference table. He looked up, crouched in a pose with one knee and one fist down, at Baiser.

“Your evil scheme ends here, Baiser!” the stranger said. “You diseased maniac! Did you really think you could execute your doomsday plan without my intervention?”

Josh Baiser looked at him blankly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Have we met?”

The man on the conference table straightened, thrusting out his chest. “MagnaniMan!” he cried. “Protector of the innocent, smasher of evil!”

“And you’re interrupting my board meeting because…?”

“You’re attempting to corner the high-energy weapons market in order to enforce your new and unholy monopoly!” MagnaniMan shouted.

“Uh, no. I’m really not. They’re just industrial lasers. It’s less than 1% of our total operating revenue.” Baiser shrugged. “I mean, I guess it sounds a little sinister, but-“

“You double talk can’t fool me!” MagnaniMan said. “You’ve monopolized the market through evil, nefarious practices!”

“Well,” Baiser said, “technically, it’s not a monopoly, as we have some domestic competitors and a number of Chinese firms are-“

“You’ve forced people into chattel slavery for your evil whims!”

“Hey, now, we pay them minimum wage,” said Baiser. “They get a 10% discount too. And a free subscription to Orinoco Flow.”

“I feel like these accusations are being made in bad faith,” one of the board members added.

MagnaniMan turned and blew on them, freezing the executive solid with his Arctic Breath. “You can rationalize all you like,” he continued, “but your evil economic empire ends today!”

“Well, I suppose we can do that if you want,” said Baiser. “But did you know that Orinoco.com also handles 99% of the world’s spandex?”

MagnaniMan’s affect slipped a tiny bit. “It…it does?”

“Maybe we should have a word about who supplies your costume before we start getting too rash, hm?”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

It was the varnish, they said.

Forty years he’d plied his trade. Carousel horses made from scratch, or restored. He’d learned from one of the last great masters on Coney Island, and everyone with an antique carousel who turned up their nose at cheap plastic and fiberglass was at his door.

All that sanding, all that coating, endlessly in the workshop.

Some might do it faster, or cheaper, but none did it better. He didn’t say that himself, naturally. There was no need. His work spoke for itself, and his beautifully restored merry-go-rounds were a fixture in the homes and grounds of wealthy eccentrics.

Working as he did, hands-on with few power tools, should he have been surprised?

Along with a mechanic and a calliope-man, he had been one of the holy trinity of restorers. And he’d broken the news to them first, since their livelihoods depended on his the most. They’d been resigned, understanding. Friends, true friends, always were.

Six months, give or take. The first three wouldn’t be so bad. The last three…not so much.

It was, he mused, perhaps fitting. In the carousel of his body, it was not the outside but the inside that failed first, the delicate calliope organ bringing the rest down from within. For what is a good merry-go-round without a solid body, mechanicals in working order, and a fine set of pipes?

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“They use a 44.1 kHz signal,” the first man on the bench said, idly scatting bread to the waiting ducks. “It’s not encrypted. Interception should be exceedingly easy.”

An envelope of money, hidden in a newspaper, slid down between them. “Make sure there’s a shift change between noon and 1PM, the second man said. “We’ll hijack the datastream and there will be a second payment twice this size for you.”

“Agreed. Your company will catch up on fifteen years of baked-goods research in a single afternoon.”

Below them, dabbling at the bread, the pond ducks quacked softly, ignored.

“They are preparing to steal the bread recipes,” the first mallard said. “The hour has been set.”

“Good,” said his partner. “I will gather the faithful. We will strike without warning or mercy, and the bread shall be ours.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Nervously, I looked up at her.

“Go on,” she said. “Try it out. You can do it.”

I gave the instrument a whirl. The noise that it produced was hideous, like the scream of a dying porpoise in the talons of an albatross. Redness burned across my cheeks as I felt my chances of impressing her slipping away.

Instead, though, her eyes twinkled. “It’s okay,” she said. “Nobody is perfect with one of these the first time.”

“Was it…that was for you, too?” I said. “When you first had a turn at this instrument?”

“Oh, it was way, way worse,” she laughed. “Like rusty metal on a chalkboard.”

“Well, at least I’ve kept it well-oiled.”

I thought I saw a smile, as well, but it was difficult to know for sure under the black hoods we both wore.

“Now,” she said, turning back to the instrument of torture onto which a hapless spy had been strapped, “give the rack another turn and let’s see if we can get hi to sing a different tune.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The secret family recipe.

It was written in a fine, steady hand on thick old paper, the sort of stuff that might have had a will or a deed on it back in the day. The ingredients were laid out, as were the measurements, just as they had been in great-grandma’s time.

I felt my hands tingle at the prospect of making it myself, of feeling that deep and abiding connection to the family past. Honestly, I couldn’t wait.

“Hey!” A security guard cried. “What are you doing?”

As I ran for the window, alarms blaring from the cracked safe, I smiled. Great-grandmas secret recipe, the cornerstone of three generations of corporate gourmet-food success for my stuck-up cousins, were about to be posted for free on the internet.

Assuming I got away first, of course. And after I’d made a batch myself, to taste.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!