THE STARVING ARTISTS and other stories by Howard Casner available on Amazon

Hello, everyone. I have now released a book of exciting new short stories called The Starving Artists and Other Stories. It is available from Amazon at http://ow.ly/yTMD30l5qiK.

For those who like the weird, the odd, the out there, here are nine stories with supernatural and sci-fi themes, from a DJ who might or might not be the last person on earth, to a visit from aliens about our nuclear capability, to a young boy whose life changes when “he” came out of the desert. Expect the unexpected.

If this is the sort of thing that floats your boat, I would love you to check it out and if you like it, leave a review (reviews are extremely important for this sort of thing). I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

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THEY ONLY COME OUT AT NIGHT – a sci-fi short story

Check out my other stories

And check out my other stories:

MOMMA ALWAYS WARNED ME http://ow.ly/Ifwe30kKIOy sci-fi

ONE FOR THE AGES http://ow.ly/2uPR30kAV0a horror

I KNOW http://ow.ly/ROFs30kg8v0 supernatural

EAT S**T AND DIE http://ow.ly/gwEi30jKUyQ A comic horror fantasy

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

     “And hello there lovely and loyal listeners and all those not listening as well, I’m not proud and I make no distinction. This is Bobby Morgan, the Doctor of long ago and far away, reaching out and touching you, touching you, but only respectfully. I’m ready to put the lime in the coconut for you to drink it all up, because I’ve got everything to cure what ails you at the flick of a switch. We are starting the final hour of the Doc Bobby show and we’ll keep on playing all the oldies but goodies ‘til the devil goes down to Georgia. So everyone out there, there’s still time to make a request, so Ricky do not lose that number, but give me a call. If I got it, I’ll play it and dedicate it to the one you love, if you are so inclined. In fact, up next are the Mamas and the Papas with Lowman Pauling and Ralph Bass’s cool melody of that very name.”

     Robert “Doctor Bobby” Morgan, a pretty average fellow by all accounts, a bit more rotund than he would care to be, with a not unremarkable beard to match his lumberjack chic manner of dress, hit a switch and leaned back, feet on the console, hands intertwined behind his back, and listened to the rich harmony wafting over the speakers, voices from the past that somehow still spoke to the present inside of him. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off to another time and place, floating on some sort of Zen cloud.

     About halfway through he opened his eyes and looked at the phone, as if willing it to ring. When it didn’t, he closed his eyes and floated again.

MOMMA ALWAYS WARNED ME – A Short Story

And check out my other stories:

ONE FOR THE AGES http://ow.ly/2uPR30kAV0a horror

I KNOW http://ow.ly/ROFs30kg8v0 supernatural

EAT S**T AND DIE http://ow.ly/gwEi30jKUyQ A comic horror fantasy

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

MOMMA ALWAYS WARNED ME

By

Howard Casner

     Whenever I think about what happened, it always takes me back to when I was a child, less than ten years old, and I was doing something I shouldn’t. My mother would warn me to stop or she’d punish me. Of course, I didn’t stop, I was less than ten years old. Then she would warn me again, and again I paid her no mind. This time, though, she would tell me that this was definitely her last warning. And when I again ignored her warnings, this time she would punish me with a swift and brutal sentence: no computer, or television or allowance for a week. And what could I do; I had been warned.

     At that time, I didn’t think it fair, being punished like that. If she had really meant it, she should have punished me the first time. How could I take her seriously if she’s going to let me get away with something for such a long period of time?

    Of course, the punishment the visitors inflicted on us was so far beyond what my mother did, it may seem ridiculous or even completely lacking in empathy or understanding of how we were treated to make such a comparison in the first place.

    Still, fair or not, it is what I think about when I think back to when the visitors came and did what they did.

ONE FOR THE AGES By Howard Casner

And check out my other stories:

I KNOW http://ow.ly/ROFs30kg8v0

EAT S**T AND DIE http://ow.ly/gwEi30jKUyQ A comic horror fantasy

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

     It was one for the ages, they said. They’d never seen a fight like it, they said. And there was never gonna be another one like it, they said. They said a lot like of things like that over the years and to this day, people still talk about it, where they were, whether they were there or saw it on television or heard it on radio or live streamed it.

    But it was one for the ages for another reason, too. After it, fights like this were made illegal and it was all done underground, now. But they still held them, once, on occasion, twice a month. They still held them.

     Lonny drove his car into Chicago early in the morning just as everyone else was waking up and all Lonny wanted to do was get some sleep. But he couldn’t do that quite yet. He had a few things to take care of first.

I KNOW: a short story by Howard Casner

 

And check out my other stories:

EAT S**T AND DIE http://ow.ly/gwEi30jKUyQ A comic horror fantasy

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

     James was someone who knew. He didn’t try to know. He didn’t major in college in knowing. He didn’t learn how to know from books or movies or television shows or podcasts (though he knew what books to read, what movies and television shows to watch and what podcasts to listen to).

    He knew how to dress. He knew how to style his hair, how close or long to clip his beard. He knew what body wash to buy, deodorant to use and cologne to apply (and he knew the exact amount to do so).

     He knew the best career for him to have, the latest car for him to drive, the most elite gentrified neighborhood to rent his apartment in, and the hippest gym to have a membership with.

I KNOW – a short story by Howard Casner

And check out my other stories:

EAT S**T AND DIE http://ow.ly/gwEi30jKUyQ A comic horror fantasy

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

 

     James was someone who knew. He didn’t try to know. He didn’t major in college in knowing. He didn’t learn how to know from books or movies or television shows or podcasts (though he knew what books to read, what movies and television shows to watch and what podcasts to listen to).

    He knew how to dress. He knew how to style his hair, how close or long to clip his beard. He knew what body wash to buy, deodorant to use and cologne to apply (and he knew the exact amount to do so).

     He knew the best career for him to have, the latest car for him to drive, the most elite gentrified neighborhood to rent his apartment in, and the hippest gym to have a membership with.

EAT SHIT AND DIE: a comic horror fantasy

Check out my other stories

THE STARVING ARTISTS http://ow.ly/iJc430jCrcW  sci-fi

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM http://ow.ly/koKs30jF7yo – horror

King Mash was not just the premiere food critic of the known culinary universe. He was the food critic’s food critic, the critic every other critic aspired to be, but knew they could never become, and the best they could hope for was to take over the top spot once Mash had consumed his last supper (with all the suggestion of eternal life that implied), fully aware they could never, ever come close to reaching his Olympian heights.

Ah, Olympian Heights. What an apropos description of Mash, for he was not just a petty judge separating the good wheat from the bad chaff. No, he was a god. No, not just any god. He was Jehovah Almighty Himself thundering down his approval and disapproval from atop Mount Sinai. True, Mash may not have looked like Yaweh. His somewhat pudgy physic, hair in a top knot and Charlie Chan mustache was more likely to suggest Bacchus upon first meeting him, but who was going to tell him that?

And, yes, his name was unfortunate. But even here, when he had been given chopped liver, he made fois gras out of it. He incorporated it into his rating system: if he approved of the more than modest repast provided him, he would King the restaurant. But if he didn’t? Oh, cue the wailing and gnashing of teeth, because that meant he would Mash it. But unlike God, the public gleaned onto his every word. So no one was ever Mashed and lived to tell of it and his swath of destruction was as wide as it was deep.

And Mash looked around and said: “It is good to be God”.

But Mash forgot a truth most truthfully true: every god has a gotterdamarung. And Mash was about to be served his. His last supper was about to become his last meal.