“Unwanted Wishes” – Part Three

by Emily Gaither

(Edtior’s Note: This is Part Three of this short story, which we are publihing in serial form. You can find Part One at southerngothiccreations.com/unwanted-wishes-part-one and Part Two at southerngothiccreations.com/unwanted-wishes-part-two.)

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“Unwanted Wishes” – Part Two

by Emily Gaither

Editor’s Note: This is part two in a series. Part one may be found at http://southerngothiccreations.com/unwanted-wishes-part-one/.

It was almost like meeting a rock star or celebrity that you’ve built up in your mind, only this one was probably simultaneously more and less ostentatious. She was shorter than Meredith had envisioned, for one thing. The way people had described her made Meredith build her up in her head to a Paul Bunyan-like height, but she couldn’t have been more than five feet, four inches tall, and she wasn’t dressed particularly “gypsy-esque” or “witch-like,” as legend would have it, but was outfitted more for a New Age convention, garbed in a flowy purple tunic, black leggings, and comfy sandals, with rings adorning numerous toes. Her shoulder-length dark hair framed her olive skin, and her eyes could only be described as piercing pools of emeralds. Madame Zelda was stunning.

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“Unwanted Wishes” – Part One

by Emily Gaither

Meredith awoke suddenly and realized how hot it was. It was sticky, and the Mississippi air was thick. It sounded like the air conditioner was still running, but her slick skin and wet hair told a different story. She also remembered, as she came out of her sleepy fog, that it was her 40th birthday. “Oh joy,” she said to her dog, Sampson. “Happy birthday to me.” Simpson grumbled and burrowed back under the covers. “I know how you feel, buddy.”

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“The Sentinel”

by Robert Feldman

two alleycats sprang from their overhanging courtyard perch,


the broken glass predawn midst,


the occasional moans from a half-open 4th floor window,

astonishing the quietude,

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“So Long, Mary Anne”

by Paddy Wight

“What do we have here?”

I’d had this job for going on three years. Not easy, always being self-employed, but it was better than either alternative – either fielding a-thousand-and-one questions about past employers and references, la, la, la, or being out on the street. So, the local cops were short a few investigators. So, I knew my business. So.

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“The Magic Talking Voice Box”

by Dee Burton

For all of history, Grandma’s been saying that when her ship comes in or when I turn twelve – whichever comes first – she’ll get me a horse. This summer, first thing when I got to the farm, I reminded her:  “One more year to go,” I said.

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