Saturday, July 13, 2024

The Merchant Of Venus

 My story "The Merchant Of Venus" is now available in Brave New Girls: Chronicles Of Curious Girls Who Create!

These middle grade anthologies feature teenage girls in STEM and the proceeds go to The Society Of Women Engineers Scholarship Fund, so I'm always excited to have a story in one.

My story this time is the culmination of a couple separate notes that have been in my ideas folder for quite a while. The first was the title, a play on the Shakespeare play, although I was never quite sure what I wanted to do with that title. I just liked it.

The second was Saul Goodman from Better Call Saul if he was a robot. Again, more of a concept than an actual idea.

And then there was this joke: what did the salesman say at the Shakespearean camping supply store's year end sales event? Now is the winter of our discount tents!


Thursday, July 4, 2024

Lovecraft, Actually

 My story Lovecraft, Actually is now available in Necronomi-romcom!

It is hard to talk about exactly what inspired my story because it involves the twist at the end, but the basic idea is that scene in Love, Actually with Andrew Lincoln at the door with the cards… but he is a queer lady trying to communicate with the cosmic horror creature that is about to sacrifice her girlfriend.

Wednesday, June 12, 2024

A Plague On Both Our Houses

 I missed officially announcing this a couple months ago somehow, but my story A Plague On Both Our Houses is available in the shopping mall horror anthology Escalators To Hell!

This queer reimagining of Romeo and Juliet takes place several decades after a zombie apocalypse hit in the 90s, and two separate groups of survivors have rebuilt civilization inside a shopping mall. Technologies have evolved, but still retain that 90s retro aesthetic.

Friday, June 7, 2024

The Huldra

 My story "The Huldra" is available in Fraidy Cat Quarterly Volume One!

It's a creepy story about a creature from Scandinavian mythology, growing up, and learning that some monsters are real… but they might not be what you expect.

Thursday, April 25, 2024

Jack Jetstark's Intergalactic Freakshow available again

 In 2019, my novel Jack Jetstark's Intergalactic Freakshow was published by World Weaver Press. They were a great home for my novel for five years, and now they are restructuring and publishing only anthologies (this is a good thing, they are amazing at anthologies) so they gave the rights to my novel back to me.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D28QHL67

Over the past few months I've done some small edits, nothing major just word choice for the most part, and I have republished it in digital and paperback with the original cover art designed by Sarena Ullibarri.

And for those of you who know how important the song American pie is to this book and my journey writing it, I went to the mall yesterday. Not the time I was supposed to go to the mall. We left early for some reason. And for some reason I felt the need to go into the Hallmark Channel store. And wouldn't you know, American pie was playing the instant I walked in.

Wednesday, April 10, 2024

Free reprint story: One Last Ride On the Horse With Purple Roses

 This story was originally published by Luna Station Quarterly. It contains themes of grieving over a child.


One Last Ride on the Horse with Purple Roses

By Jennifer Lee Rossman


 

Eleanor held the little monster’s paw as they walked through the park, ignoring the stares and laughter from passersby. This was their day, their last day, and she would not let anyone ruin it.

The world did not exist. Not politics, the economy, nor the latest scandal in the entertainment industry. None of it. The entire universe had been shrunk to a tiny, bright bubble around the two of them, and nothing could break its surface.

"Shall we get ice cream?" Eleanor asked.

Gidget nodded emphatically. "Yes, please!"

It was still strange to speak to the green monster directly, rather than having Anne relaying the conversation. He was so much fuzzier than Eleanor had ever imagined.

They walked along cobblestone paths that wound through lush gardens, some carefully tended with statuary and elaborate topiaries, and others where miscellaneous wildflowers had been allowed to grow where they pleased. Ducks and toy boats floated on the pond's glassy surface, and from somewhere far in the distance came the brassy calliope music of the carousel.

"What flavor?" Eleanor asked as they approached the ice cream cart.

Gidget thought for a moment, his fanged mouth twisting this way and that. "Strawberry," he growled finally.

"All right—"

"And chocolate. And rocky road. And I want butterscotch syrup and extra rainbow sprinkles."

Eleanor gave him a look. Perhaps Gidget's famous appetite hadn't been Anne angling for a second dessert after all. "Well, I am going to have mint chocolate chip."

"Ooh. Me too," Gidget said. "With rainbow sprinkles."

"Deal." Eleanor smiled at the ice cream man. "Two mint chocolate chips, please. One with rainbow sprinkles."

He raised his eyebrow in amusement, and his gaze traveled down her arm to the hand that held Gidget's paw. A sad recognition came over his face, and he refused her money with a pitying smile.

"I remember you and your little girl," he said as he offered her the two cones.

Eleanor's hesitation must have looked to an outsider like she didn't want to accept his charity, but it was the prospect of having to let go of Gidget's paw that gave her pause. But let go she did, and she and Gidget went to sit on a bench in the shade of a sprawling, ancient oak. Eleanor had to hold Gidget's cone for him, and all his enthusiastic licking didn't seem to make a dent in the green treat, but they both pretended not to notice.

"Can we ride the carousel after this?" Gidget asked in his grumbly little voice, licking ice cream from his nose.

A jolt of panic went through Eleanor's chest. The carousel was so close to the exit, it always marked the end of the day at the park. She couldn't bear for this day to end.

"Maybe later," she said, letting a chip melt in her mouth, trying to wring another precious few seconds from her ice cream cone. "Let's finish eating and then walk around a bit more."

Gidget nodded his agreement.

The carousel music seemed to grow a little louder.

 

***

 

Eleanor and Gidget were almost to the front of the line before Eleanor remembered that an invisible monster couldn't get his face painted. And what a sight she must have been, a middle-aged woman talking to herself and holding nobody's hand. What would people say if they saw?

Nothing they weren't already saying. Whispered pity, criticizing gossip about her mental state. As if any of them would fare better if they lost a child.

The tinkling big band music seemed closer than ever, as if they might see the bobbing carousel horses peering ominously around any tree, their painted roses and ribbons sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

To hell with what people would say. If this was the last day she would ever spend with some remnant of her daughter, Eleanor wasn't about to let sad smiles and gossip stop her from savoring it.

She looked at the sandwich board of designs the artist had propped up beside her wheelchair. "I'll take a butterfly," Eleanor said, sitting primly on the adjacent stool.

The face painter glanced around for a child before realizing Eleanor was alone.

"Yes, it's for me," Eleanor said as Gidget climbed up into her lap. "And then he would like to be a tiger."

Gidget raised his claws. "Grr."

"Okay," the artist said unsurely, dipping her brush into one of the many pools of paint laid out on her palette. With graceful movements she applied cool strokes of color to Eleanor's face, painting swirling purple wings and pink curlicue antennae. Then she looked to Eleanor's lap, where her hands were positioned as if holding an invisible child.

"A tiger, please," Eleanor reminded gently.

"With big stripes," Gidget added, though of course only Eleanor heard him.

With a humoring smile, the artist loaded her brush with paint and leaned forward, making careful brushstrokes in the air. Gidget's green fur turned orange, and though she hadn't run out of paint, the artist washed her brush in her cup of muddy water anyway and used a fresh one to add bold stripes and dainty whiskers to the monster's face.

"Is... that good?"

Gidget nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

"Splendid," Eleanor translated as Gidget scrambled down from her lap and ran off. "Wait for me!" she cried out, all but throwing money at the patient artist as she hurried after the monster.

"I want to play on the swings," Gidget said, pointing across a field to the shiny playground equipment.

"Not without me." She knew it was irrational, that fear that he might disappear if she lost sight of him. She'd kept a careful watch on Anne all through the treatments, and in the end she'd still lost her.

But she knew Gidget couldn't stay forever. What if he just slipped away while she wasn't looking, and she didn't get to say goodbye?

Gidget waited, pleading for permission to go. When she gave a tiny nod, he was off, running on his fuzzy little legs all the way to the swingsets.

"Stay where I can see you!" Eleanor called out, as if that would make any difference.

Still, the carousel grew louder.

 

***

 

They flew a kite, they fed the ducks, they picked pansies and tucked them behind their ears. All of Anne's favorite things.

Anything to stall, to keep the day going just a little longer.

But the sun was low in the orange sky and the music surrounded them, coming from every direction at once and so loud that Eleanor could hardly hear herself think.

She tried to avoid it, tried to go anywhere else in the park. But then they turned a corner, and there it was.

The carousel spun, its mirrors and filigree catching the last gasps of sunlight and casting everything in a warm glow as its sculpted horses danced to the calliope.

Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. No, no, it was too soon, but Gidget held her hand and led her to the ride and she realized that maybe it was time.

Eleanor stooped to Gidget's level and hugged him tight. It was the last hug she would ever give him, so it had to be a good one. Then she stood back with all the other parents as the carousel slowed to a stop and let another group of children board.

For one terrible second, she lost sight of Gidget among all the children, but then he popped up, seated on a white horse.

Anne's horse.

The one with the cream mane frozen in place as if in a strong wind, and its front hoof raised in an elegant prance. The one with purple roses on its bridle and saddle.

The carousel began to turn, and a tear slid down Eleanor's face.

"Which one's yours?" asked another mother.

Eleanor held her breath as the horse with the purple roses took Gidget out of sight, but he was still there when it came back around, waving his paw and grinning a big, fangy grin.

"Mine?" Eleanor knew enough not to point to the horse with the imaginary rider. "Mine was a little girl named Anne."

This was the first time Eleanor had said her name aloud, the first time she'd used the past tense. It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would.

"We used to come here," she said. "Every Saturday. She loved mint chocolate chip, and getting her face painted like a tiger. Playing on the swings. She loved the carousel most of all."

The horses went around again, and Gidget wiggled in his seat in time to the music.

"Then she got sick. I told myself I could keep her safe if I kept her at home and never let her out of my sight. I still lost her. She..." The word seemed to stick in Eleanor's mouth, like it didn't want to be spoken. "She died anyway, and she never got to ride the carousel again."

She lost sight of Gidget again, and squeezed her hands into fists. Not yet, not yet. But there he was, coming around the other side.

"I miss her every day, but Saturdays most of all. So today I did something silly. I took Anne's imaginary friend to the park, because I think he must miss her as much as I do."

The carousel began to wind down, the horses hardly bobbing. Gidget kept waving, but somehow it was different. Somehow, this was goodbye.

Eleanor waved back. "Goodbye, Gidget," she whispered. "If you see Anne, tell her I love her."

The horse with the purple roses came around again, this time without a rider. Eleanor took a deep breath to steady herself, then turned and walked away, letting the sound of the carousel fade into silence.


END

Tuesday, April 9, 2024

Free reprint story: Pocketful Of Souls

 This story was originally published by Luna Station Quarterly.


Pocketful Of Souls

Every demon had its own signature look, painstakingly crafted to strike fear into the hearts of mortals.

Anzu took the form of an enormous, firebreathing bird. Moloch went for the classic "horns and an unnerving number of eyes" aesthetic. Tuchulcha, a cthonic demon who terrorized those darn Etruscans, had hair made of snakes, pointed ears, and the sharp beak of a vulture.

And then there was Amy.

Amy was not like the other demons. While they had been fated to serve the Darkness as punishment -- or, to hear the Darkness tell it, reward -- for lives filled with unspeakably heinous acts, Amy was a mere child.

No one was quite sure how her pure soul had been bound to the Darkness. Some called it a clerical error, others claimed she had been the cursed result of the union between a human and a demon. Whatever the cause, she had been touched by the Darkness now and the Light could no longer see her, so in the Darkness she remained. And every one of the Darkness's children had to earn their keep.

Amy's chosen form had none of the drama and terror of the others. She drew upon her appearance in life, giving herself big blue eyes and a mop of strawberry blonde curls. Her dress and pinafore were reminiscent of Alice, her favorite storybook character, and she wore a perfect pink bow, its ribbon matching those on her Easter basket.

"What is the basket for?" the Darkness asked.

Amy grinned, her voice trembling from her barely-contained fit of giggles. "It's where I'm going to put all of the souls!"

 

***

 

Amy couldn't read, so another demon had to draw up her contract. Other than that, she worked alone, appearing lost and on the verge of tears before desperate people all across the globe.

"I can't find my mommy," she would say, hooking a finger in her mouth and looking up at them with watery eyes that would shame any anime character. Oh, she wouldn't always say it in English. No, the Darkness translated for her, winding around the language center of her brain and rewiring her neurons so she could speak any language.

She said it tickled.

No one could resist Amy. Even the most devious murderer would find themselves stopping in their tracks, drawn to her. Invariably, they would take her hand when she offered it, and that contact was all she needed.

Time froze around them, bird wings stopped mid-flap and peoples' faces contorted by pausing in the middle of a word. The rest of the world slowly shrank away, leaving only Amy and her prospective victim.

She smiled, wiping away the tears. "You've been naughty, haven't you?"

The victim - sometimes a woman, but more often than not a man - stammered. But she knew what he was thinking.

"How could a little girl know what you've done when even the police haven't?" She shrugged. "People tell me I'm precocious, but I dunno what that means."

And then, while they were stunned by the impossible depths of her dimples, she rolled out the contract, her name already signed at the bottom in pink crayon.

"You have been a very bad man," she told him, shaking her finger in imitation of adults. "Someday, you will die, and your soul will go to H-E-L-L." Amy may have been a demon, but that didn't mean she was allowed to swear. "You don't want your soul to go there, do you?"

He shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

"Well, then maybe you should sell it to me. You'll still go to H-E-L-L when you die, but you'll do chores for us instead of being tortured."

Amy couldn't quite pronounce "corrupt the heathens to help bring about Armageddon," so she called it "chores" instead.

The man signed. They always signed, even the most devout believers in their faith, because they knew they would never be able to earn forgiveness from the Light, even through a lifetime of penance. If only they knew the Light didn't particularly care for penance and that its forgiveness could easily be bought with a good loaf of banana bread, the Darkness would have been very lonely indeed, but that particular revelation had never made it into the holy books, and so Amy's latest victim sold his soul like all the others.

Amy put the soul in her basket and started up time again. She liked to make the souls look like chocolate bunnies; sometimes, when the Darkness wasn't looking, she would nibble on them a bit.

 

***

 

The Darkness had too many souls. It knew this for a fact, because it counted them every day. Couldn't have the Light accusing it of stealing any, not after that incident with the unbaptized babies. (The Darkness couldn't help if one of its demons had misread her own holy book and taken it upon herself to start a heathen nursery.)

And the numbers were definitely off. Not by one or two, which could be explained by the same processing error that made the odd soul go missing, but by hundreds.

The extraneous souls were hardly perfect. If the Light came looking for them, it could be argued that all of their little transgressions added up and that they truly belonged down there. The Darkness certainly had enough lawyers to argue that case. But the Darkness generally favored the deeply evil humans, having no real need for litterbugs and people who recorded Yankees games without the express written permission of Major League Baseball.

A quick check of the Darkness's computer -- which, being in Hell, naturally ran Windows Vista -- revealed that all of the wayward souls had been purchased by one demon.

The Darkness looked over the top of the monitor. If it had possessed eyes, it would have narrowed them.

Amy sat on a blackened island amid the lava that made up the floor, humming to herself and playing with dolls.

Dolls which the Darkness did not remember giving her.

Perhaps this Amy child belonged with the Darkness after all, if she was so devious as to turn souls into playthings.

 

***

 

Amy approached the man as she always did, doing her best to play the part of a lost little girl. She'd even rubbed some dirt on her dress to really sell the illusion.

"Mister?" she said quietly. English this time; she didn't want the Darkness tagging along on this trip.

The man turned around, stopping in his tracks when his gaze fell upon the little girl. "Oh. Hello."

"I can't find my mommy," Amy said, extending her hand. But he didn't reach for it, choosing instead to swivel on the spot, searching the busy streets of London.

"Oh dear. What does she look like, sweetheart?"

Amy couldn't touch him. He had to initiate; that was the rule. "She's tall," she said, making her voice sound even younger than she looked. "Real tall, with pointy shoes and yellow hair. Please, Mister. I'm afwaid."

No adult could resist the cutesy "W instead of R" trick. That was how she'd nabbed Jack the Wipper's soul.

The man bent to her level, his face all soft and sad. She let a single tear fall down her cheek, and saw the exact moment his heart broke.

"Oh, you poor thing!" The instant his hand touched hers, the bustling pedestrian traffic halted, and the man gasped at the utter lack of movement and sound. "What is this?" he whispered.

Amy dropped the cute act in favor of a more business-like attitude. She was still a five-year-old girl with enormous eyes and dimples for days, of course, so the effect was negligible. But she pronounced all of her Rs.

"I know what happened," she said, breaking from her usual script. "With your husband."

Grief replaced the man's terror, and he put his hand to his heart. "It was an accident. I got angry when he told me, but I didn't mean to--"

"I know," she assured him. "And more importantly, the Darkness knows."

"The... Darkness?"

"Some people call it Hades, or Lucifer... I call it Dar-Dar when we're being silly." Amy shrugged. "But that's not important. Someday, you're going to die, and the Light is going to take you to Heaven unless you give me your soul."

The urgency of her voice confused the man. "Why would I want to give you my soul, if I'm supposed to go to Heaven?"

Her answer was simple. "Because he isn't there."

Amy rolled out the contract. It was messy and misspelled, not to mention written on the back of an envelope, but she hadn't dare let another demon help her with this one.

The man signed it without a second thought, and time started up again as Amy took the man's soul. She turned it not into a chocolate but rather a little doll, and tucked it into her pocket.

 

***

 

Later that night, when all the other demons were asleep or doing chores, Amy crawled out of bed and took out the box she hid behind a pile of brimstone. Hundreds of teeny dolls smiled up at her blankly, each one holding another doll's hand. Some were enveloped in a great group hug.

Only one lacked companionship. Amy took him out, and pulled the newest one from her pocket. Their painted-on smiles never changed, but she could feel them see each other for the first time.

Under her breath so the Darkness couldn't hear, Amy gave them voices.

"I missed you so much!"

"Me too. What are you doing here? I hope you didn't sell your soul."

"I did, but I won't have to do evil things. I sold it to Amy, not the Darkness."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to go to Heaven if you aren't there. I don't care about the bad stuff you've done. I love you."

"I love you too."

And then she made them kiss before tucking them back into the box. Their hands were already locked together, and nothing would be ever able to separate them.