The Love Story of Henry Van Pennyshaw

He was born the instant she christened him. Henry Van Pennyshaw. The name his girl had chosen for him. Her father used a moist hand towel to wipe the strands of orange pulp from around his eye holes, his nose, his widely grinning mouth. “Henry Van Pennyshaw!” Ivy said again, stepping back to admire him, the serrated carving knife with …

Geist

At first, there was only numb horror. He couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t catch his breath. Everything was black. The thick stench of mildew, of rust and minerals, coagulated in his nose and throat. Steaming water spilled over his forehead, rained into his eyes, seeped between his lips. Brackish, foul water, full of chemicals. It seemed to go on forever.
He …