Prepare yourself for a trip to the Edge.

Thirty-two tales of the bizarre, horrific and weird await you within.

•  A man battles the spirit world for the life of his wife.
•  A religious artifact, more potent than the Holy Grail is the focus of a life’s quest.
•  Witch doctor threatens the lives of the young.
•  A warrior woman in a steampunk world battles ferocious creatures.
•  A man attempts to raise a zombie army to rule the world.
• and many more

Today I Decided to Kill My Wife

Can you blame me? Twenty years of snoring. Twenty years of nagging, complaining and rebukes. Twenty years of watching love shrivel and disappear until what was left could not even fill a thimble. Twenty years of learning to hate my wife.

I knew I could get away with it. I'm smart and resourceful and I've read more murder mysteries than I can count. I always catch the errors made by the murderers.

This morning I called out from work, I tend to do that a lot lately; yet another thing for which to hate her, taking the joy from my job. Why would I want to toil for hours just to hand my earnings to that harridan?

After spending a quiet morning in the park watching the pigeons I made up my mind.

I drove to a tavern I frequented near my home and made a point of ordering food and several drinks.

While I waited for my food I excused myself to Tony behind the bar and went to the bathroom.

Crawling from the rear window I knew I had at most fifteen to twenty minutes to race to my home and do the deed. My alibi would be supported by the patrons.

I ran through back streets and alleys cursing the enlarged belly that I had gained by spending too much time in bars. All that would change though in a few minutes. I would be a man again. I would regain my life; all I needed to do was end her’s.

The police would think it was a robbery. How horrible I’d wail to the television crews. I would berate myself publicly for stopping for a beer instead of coming home to my loving wife. I could have saved her. Maybe I’d be in a made for television movie.

I let myself in the back door leading into the kitchen. Once the deed was done I’d make a point of kicking in the door and taking some appliances to make it look like a robbery. It would be worth the cost of some electronics tossed into the river to be rid of her.

I crept into the living room with the butcher knife held ready. The discoloration of the carpet caught my eye. Our normally bone white carpet was discolored by reddish brown stains. The stains spread in a cone shape from the far side of the couch. The red became deeper and more vibrant as the cone narrowed. Did she spill her usual afternoon wine?

I continued my forward progress, intent on the couch where I knew the shrew would be napping. I pictured it in my head as I circled, her fat face slack with sleep, sagging bosom rising and falling for what I would make the last time.

The lack of her trademarked snore confused me for a moment but I continued around the couch raising the knife.

Her eyes were not shut. They stared at me glassy and lifeless. Her fishlike mouth hung open in a silent scream.

I could just picture her screaming for mercy as the faceless instrument of my deliverance butchered her.

Blood was everywhere. Her body was covered in red liquid. Her throat was a second mouth, ragged and dripping gore. Wounds covered her chest.

I began to laugh. Someone had beaten me to the punch. A robber? A jilted lover? No, no one could love that hag.

I cackled. I shouted with glee and danced a jig in her blood.

The witch was dead. Long live the husband.

The front door splintered as it was knocked from its hinges and a handful of armed men stormed the room.

Screams of “Drop the knife!” filled my ears and I continued to laugh and caper waving the knife like a baton.

Today I decided to kill my wife but I didn’t do it. The bullets didn’t care.