Est. November 2009
The pulp, the whole pulp and nothing but the pulp
Daren Dean
Troy
Troy stood leaning against the sink shaving in the house he and Alisha first lived in right after they were married by Reverend Scully. Alisha's family were holy rollers and they insisted on Scully even though he seemed about two drinks from Fairmont State Hospital to most folks.
Daren Dean
Walker
Walker drove the back roads with a six pack of PBR on the seat next to him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, moribund and lonesome, as he recalled the way Claire made him breakfast; their wedding night and her round-eyed surprise at just the right moment; and the birth of his son Merle.
Daren Dean
Troy
Saturday morning they drove down Court Street toward the square, passed all the rich and well-to-do people's houses, and dreamed of moving in there beside them along the live oaks and rose bushes. The groaning sound of a lawn mower started up. An elderly man and woman were talking over the hedge line dividing their lawns while a little terrier did his business a few feet away.
Daren Dean
Ruby
Ruby Phelps stood at her stove making fried chicken at six in the morning. Russell and Lizzy Bowman ran a grocery store and gas station out on Route HH. The couple tried for years to have a baby, but without much luck. Ruby convinced Lizzy to start going to the Baptist Church with her where they prayed that God would give her a baby.
Daren Dean
Walker
Over the years apathy sat down on Walker Scofield's ears like a favorite cap. Some said he quit living the same day his wife died in childbirth with their fourth and last, and also dead. His grandsons made life worth living when he gave it some thought. They pissed him off a lot too.
Daren Dean
Theron
The water crashed down the muddy falls dashing against the yellowed creek rocks, subsiding downstream into the bracken. Theron Beecher listened to the water gurgling most of his life back there down in the trough running behind the house his grandfather built.
Daren Dean
Troy
The sky reflected the sepia tint of Troy's eyes as he unscrewed the cap of his flat pint whiskey bottle and ran it under his nose to smell the burn of fumes before knocking back a swallow. His granddaddy drank, he called it sweet nectar, and he reckoned bourbon or beer was how a man was meant to smell.
Scott Standridge
At 9:32 a.m. on a Thursday morning, Ed Prescott began to scream. So begins Scott Standridge's latest tale raises the pitch from something horrific to, perhaps, something else entirely.
Pulp Engine
Scott Standridge joins us again on Tuesday with another masterful horror yarn, "At the Top of My Lungs." Then, on Thursday, Lamar Henderson continues his series on world-building with part 4 of "Imaginary Atlas."
Lamar Henderson
Part 3
Since the dawn of history, and likely a lot further back than that, people have thought of our world as the center of the universe. In the Ptolemaic model, it was literally at the center, and all the other bodies in the heavens revolved around it. This model held sway in Western thought for the better part of 1,500 years, and was quite popular with the Roman Catholic Church, greatly influencing the evolution of Christian cosmology well through the Renaissance.
