Nostalgia City Mysteries

Mark S. Bacon

Category Archives: New story

What does “other stories” mean?

Reviews of Cops, Crooks & Other Stories in 100 Words have been good.  One reviewer, however, lamented what he said was the scarcity of crime/detective stories in the book.  Honestly, it’s more than 50 percent.

But yes, “& Other Stories” means there are other genres represented.  Here’s a sample, with apologies to Robert Service.

Strange Things Done in the Valley of the Sun

I never understood why my neighbor, Sam, ever moved to Phoenix from northern Canada.  He hates the heat. In the middle of summer he complained bitterly, then descended into a deep depression.  His wife was concerned.

One day she called me, said Sam had disappeared.  She was worried he might have ended it all.

We searched the house, then I remembered the old chest freezer in their garage.  I threw open the top.

Sam was motionless, his flesh transparent like ice.

“Please close the lid,” said Sam. “You’ll let in the heat. This is the first time I’ve been cool.”

Tucson trail E

Editor’s second thoughts

Last week’s guest flash fiction by Jim McCormick was well received.  If you haven’t read it, (log on to the site, if necessary then) scroll down to the previous post.  I described McCormick’s sense of humor as macabre.  Just so, but that’s only part of it.  What make this story–and others of his–successful is the macabre mixed with whimsy.  What a great combination for a crime or horror story.  I’m envious.

Guest flash fiction

Do we all have a dark side?  And is it socially acceptable only for writers of mystery, suspense or horror stories to expose the shady or macabre side of their psyches?  Jim McCormick, as friendly and likeable a guy as you’d ever meet, certainly has a macabre sense of humor.  Odd forms of murder and mayhem are often an element in his 100-word stories.   You’ll find some of his work in different places on this website.  I’m pleased to introduce his latest.

Antibellum WC

Stone Motor

By Jim McCormick

 Stone Motor played a gig in the music room of a moss-shrouded antebellum mansion near the Mississippi.   Its audience included the usual bland tourists and a blue-haired guide named Maude who disavowed the South’s loss in the War between the States.  Lately, she’d been trying to poison visitors from up north with complementary mint juleps.  Melvin Carnahan of Boston accepted one, and he expired as he drove off the plantation.  The band’s lead singer was arrested; seems he had a likeness of Jeff Davis tattooed over his heart.  Soon after, Maude seized the mike, and the rest was history.