March 2025 – Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers

They Are Already Here by Janet

Published by Janet Johnson on March 31, 2025

Trekking deeper and deeper into Myanmar’s Northern Forest Complex, Ellie couldn’t believe her luck at being one of two student botanists chosen to join an expedition to explore a region previously unexplored by man. It’s amazing to think that there are still some places on Earth that we know less about than space, she had told her friend, Jess, when the letter had arrived confirming her place. The mother of all hangovers the next day was worth it, though, she thought, as she took in the vibrant colours and cacophony of sounds of the forest.

The expedition was coming to its mid-point, miles from the last mountain village, and everyone was tired from the physical effort of cutting through the dense green vegetation day after day. Spirits were still high though as they made camp, the prospect of a couple of days to rest and take in their surroundings the reward for the effort of the last few days, before turning back, not to mention a few treats they’d packed for the rest days.

The Goblin Wars by Martyn

Published by Martyn Winters on March 31, 2025

At just after six and one-quarter owls that morning, three matters are of immediate concern to Lieutenant Camden Ironbell of the Gnome Guards. How can he defend Elizabeth Ridge from a platoon of crack Goblin commandos with no surviving troops left under his command? When are they going to attack? And what time is lunch?

The latter is the most pressing. Partly because his stomach is telling him lunch was sometime last week, but mostly because Lance Corporal “Tidy” Jones revealed to him where he hid his stash of Gala Pie as he died in Ironbell’s arms. In Ironbell’s estimation, humans brought very little to the party, other than courage and an unwillingness to admit defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. For that, he admires them, although quietly conceding even though they are the foolhardiest creatures on the planet, they made up for their shortcomings with Gala Pie, a dish unsurpassed in the annals of gourmand history. He glances at the sky and then at the shadows cast by the craggy, snowcapped rocks delineating the valley to estimate the time. Six to seven owls to lunch, he thinks. He would have to get a wriggle on.

The Last Contract by Jason

Published by Jason Davies-Redgrave on March 31, 2025

Meredith is a happy child and today is her birthday. She has been given a wonderful gift; a song called “For Hope.’ She is seven and this is not just any song. Mama has impressed upon Meredith the importance of this song above all others. There will come a time, when Meredith is much older, when she will need to sing this song, to offer it up to the world with all of her heart. As happy as she is to receive this gift and keep it safe, Meredith cannot help but be worried by the look on Mama’s face: behind the smiles and the laughter, Meredith sees a sadness in her Mama, like an ice chip sitting in her heart. It’s like Mama knows something bad is going to happen but she won’t tell Meredith, like the time just before Papa walked away from them for good. Meredith takes hold of Mama’s hand desperate to make her happy again.

In the soothing coolness of the pre-dawn night the chapel stood on the outskirts of the abandoned town. A simple building, square and squat with a rusted crucifix jutting up from the roof directly in line with the single, wooden door. The once white adobe walls were pock marked and pitted, scoured by the relentless winds that whipped off the barren sands. The only source of illumination came from the scattering of cold stars. Silence hung about the old building like forgotten cobwebs.

Persona Non Grata by Sandra

Published by Sandra Lloyd Lewis on March 11, 2025

Alice tried the front door key again, then checked the key ring. No, she had the right one, but for some reason it didn’t work. She pushed it in the lock and wriggled it left and right, before giving up, and pushed the bell in exasperation. There was a long wait, and she was about to ring it again when she heard her son Sam yell, ‘Door!’ presumably to Cyril, her husband; but there was no answer. She rang the bell again, and shouted, ‘It’s me, my key isn’t working, let me in!’ She heard the heavy, tread of her son, Sam, as he descended the stairs and opened the door. ‘Thank you,’ she said stressing the word, to make it clear she hadn’t appreciated being kept waiting so long, but she was talking, as usual to the top of his head. He didn’t even look up from his phone, as he chewed a piece of toast and stomped back to his lair. Typical of most interactions now, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d made proper eye contact.

She dropped her work bag at the foot of the stairs and carried the shopping into the kitchen. Cyril was lying on the sofa in the snug, eyes closed, his new headphones on.

He must have sensed some change in the air, because he opened an eye, and nodded at her. Not an effusive welcome, but she nodded back and unpacked the grocery bags. ‘My key didn’t work,’ she mouthed, waving them at him.

A look of annoyance crossed his face, as if she was interrupting him at a crucial moment, which was typical of their interactions now, but he slipped the headphones off. ‘What?’ There was a silent ‘now’ implicit in the way he’d said that word. She drew a breath, ‘I said: my key didn’t work. I couldn’t get in. Sam had to let me in, didn’t you hear?’

The Session v1.3 – by Jason

Published by Jason Davies-Redgrave on March 10, 2025

Emyr walked across the carpark toward the school gates. It was quieter now that the last of the students had left. A lone bird called out and Emyr shivered as if hit by a memory. A cool breeze worried around the tarmac, drifting between the parked cars and the dark green shrubbery. It pushed at the sweet wrappers and rattled the half empty drinks cans. It teased the fallen leaves, tempting them into a lazy dance. Circles of late autumn flashed against the wet tarmac, in a delicate chorus line. The bird called out again and Emyr stopped walking. It felt as if he were being pulled into a dream, like this was the beginning of some old song, a childhood ditty his mother used to hum. The breeze strengthened and the line of leaves danced across the carpark towards Emyr’s feet.

Core Insistence

Published by Martyn Winters on March 8, 2025

The tall, black-clad figure of Zinnai Savita Ké glinted into shape with a sigh of expanding air and a shower of portal radiation overspill, her e-familiar, Zac, following in close attendance. She never travelled on her own these days, not since being recruited by Insight anyway. Being in a world of conspiracy, unexplained tech, and poly-cortical chimeras did that to a person.

She found herself in a narrow, musky-scented corridor, with a flight of wooden steps at one end and a large stained-glass window at the other. Next to the window was a door; which was big, solid, and made of oiled oak; with an unwieldy iron handle and matching black studs decorating its surface.

“Very medieval,” she commented to Zac, raising an eyebrow. “I guess we go through there.”

The drone bobbed twice in agreement, “You want to go together, or should I take point?”