Letter From The Editor - Issue 55 - February 2017

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Issue 46
Stories
The Gaunt of Dennis Mallory
by Scott M. Roberts
Liveboy
by Nathaniel Lee
The Machine in My Mind
by James Maxey
InterGalactic Medicine Show Interviews
At the Picture Show: Extended Cut
Imitation of self
by Chris Bellamy
Vintage Fiction
The Angelus Guns
by Max Gladstone

Writing Fantasy

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Liveboy
    by Nathaniel Lee

Liveboy
Artwork by Andres Mossa

My husband was grinning when it came home. It always grins, though, so that doesn't mean much.

I think it might have been in a good mood. Or angry. Maybe it was angry but liked being angry. I gave it dinner and it went to the living room to hold the day's newspaper up in front of its face, like an incompetent spy. I know it doesn't read them; I once sneaked it yesterday's paper, and it sat there all the same, just as long and just as quiet, grinning away behind the gray newsprint, where I couldn't see.

Today, though, I could tell something was different. There was an electric energy to my husband, almost like it was alive. It didn't say anything, though.

That doesn't mean much, either.

Once it was safely ensconced, I slipped to the pantry and shut the door with me and the phone inside, and I called Lori. Lori lives next door, but her husband doesn't like visitors, so we call each other. Of course, my husband doesn't like the phone -- I once saw it try to bite it when it thought I wasn't looking, just opened up those wide, even teeth and chomp right into the plastic; I still can feel the dents with my fingers when I cradle the handset. But I can hide in the pantry or the garage, and really my husband is pretty tolerant of my little idiosyncrasies. It's never tried to bite me, not once. It might have thought about it, but it never said if it did. Maybe that doesn't mean much.

Anyway, I called Lori, and Lori knew right away what I'd called about. I think she'd been waiting by the phone.

"It's a live boy," she told me. "There's a live boy in town."

Well. Imagine that.

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