Welcome Back Christmas, Dowdy Branson

Gravel grated under Dowdy Branson’s tires as he slid the old Chevy to a stop at the curb. There he came, walking fast, the latest in a long line of vagrants Dowdy had passed before first arriving in Kalispell that morning and making his way out this...

Black of the Swamp, Short Story By Kirby Jonas

The swamp engulfs the last blood-red vestige of the sun, and darkness falls over me like a vast sheet. In every direction, the sound of crickets chirping and frogs croaking creates an almost overpowering din. It rings in my head like death chants, like a million...