The shift room did not exist until the third-floor renovation. No design had it, and no one mentioned it in orientation.

The life sharing river glistened in late fall sunshine. Banks shifted, and softly crumbled in. Multicolored fish darted among the reeds growing along the gently splashing edges.

Fingers twisted from arthritis. A wet bandage over his right hand seeping a wound the local healer had inflicted. Trying, failing, to fix a hand only decade shy of a century.

Inside you’ll find twelve speculative stories, drawing on science fiction, fantasy, and horror to explore our internal landscapes; our thoughts, feelings, and other strange experiences.

You break them out of Building 826 around 6:30 that morning when the dew is at its most gluey and the sleep-bitten guards at the security check are oiling their throats with caffeine.