Read Online Fairly Wicked Tales by Armand Rosamilia, Hal Bodner, Laura Snapp, Vekah McKeown, Gary W. Olsen, Eric Bakutis, Wilson Geiger, Eugenia Rose - Free Book Online

night, in the ritual, you would in turn have eaten my father and fully become our kind. We would then have left Resau and taken up our lives in a new place, where our faces were not known.”
    Armin looked wildly up at Brandt, who did not seem the least bit disturbed by the news of his imminent death.
    “You are … witches?” he asked.
    Brandt laughed. Viveka gave him a sad shake of her head.
    “We’re the descendants,” said Brandt, “of ones who, long ago, sought immortality through sorcery. Through rough magic and iron will, they found a form of it. Those too greedy for life never passed it on, and learned even their longevity had limits. As with all life, we can only aspire to immortality through what we pass on to our heirs—quite truly in our cases.”
    “When my mother reached the end of her far-lengthened span,” said Viveka, as she leaned close, “father fed her to me in the ceremony. I took her memories, her abilities … and her hunger. Since my father had no male children, and I was unlikely to have any before his passing, I needed to recruit one amenable to the change. Hence, you, or so we thought. Hence now Otto.”
    Otto snarled and raised his axe.
    “Don’t!” Armin exclaimed. “It’s me, Armin!”
    “He can’t hear you,” said Brandt. “He is too hungry.”
    “He, too, is close to being our kind,” Viveka told him. “Not my first choice, but …” She considered Otto. “He’s quite the impressionable lad. I think, when the time comes, he won’t say no.”
    She kissed Armin. He did not need to be told it was the goodbye kind.
    Unlike the dream, the nightmare was slow to end. As the axe blade came down, and as knives cut and teeth ripped, Armin’s screams were the last of him to go.
     
    About the Author
     
    Gary W. Olson sightings have been reported in Michigan since 1969, though few scientists give serious credence to his existence. The only claimed video footage of him, in which he emerged from the woods and made weird hooting noises while waving a copy of his debut dark fantasy novel, Brutal Light , has been thoroughly debunked. Some researchers claim to have extracted his DNA from copies (licked by Gary) of the dark fiction anthology, Fading Light , to which he reputedly was a contributor, though this has also been dismissed as a hoax. There are some who claim that Gary is not a mythological deep forest creature, and that he works as a programmer for an insurance company by day while writing weird dark fantasy, horror, and science fiction tales by night. Their chief evidence is his website and blog, which is at www.garywolson.com, and his supposed ravings on Twitter as @gwox. One day, hopefully in a lucrative special for the SyFy Channel, the question of what manner of creature he is can be settled.
     
     

Crumbs
    A retelling of “The Crumbs on the Table”
    Adam Millard
     
    “I’m going into the village now,” the lady said. “I shall be gone for some time, as I expect to pay a visit to some friends while I’m out.”
    The countryman nodded. “Shall I have tea ready for when you return?” He understood she would reject his offer, for he couldn’t cook if his life depended upon it. Still, offering did no harm. She was a gnarly old bag, but she was his wife. A good husband always endeavors to help, if only to placate the witch he’s wedded to in exchange for a moment’s peace.
    “No need,” she said. “I’ll most likely eat supper with a friend. There’s bread in the cupboard if you get hungry, and if I know you as well as I think I do, you’ll be bleedin’ ravenous by noon.”
    She was right; his stomach already rumbled.
    “Dare I ask which friend you are visiting?” the countryman said. As soon as the question passed his lips he regretted it. Exactly the kind of verbal diarrhoea he tried to avoid, for it often meant a night in the barn with only the pigs and chickens for company.
    Though, some days, banishment meant a welcome break from her incessant