4,900 words, ~20-minute read time. The accompanying blog post is linked here. Bright red text flashed on the screen: “Fatal Error: Your password and/or CAPTCHA is incorrect.“ I gritted my teeth. My neck muscles tensed. An unhelpful pop-up appeared with this definition: “CAPTCHA stands for ‘Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and HumansContinue reading “CAPTCHA”
Author Archives: millerwiller
The Lonely Wolf
The first scant glimmers of the full moon seeped through the cloud coverage, and Max started to feel the transformation begin its infernal machinations inside him. He took a deep breath and stood, ready to change, when he heard a beautiful, lilting voice beckon from behind him.
Wrung Out
She is just starting to fill up her inanely large insulated tumbler, which reads “Cla$$y, Sa$$y, and a Bit Smart A$$y” in vulgar, cursive script and has a little Minion with a smug grin under it. The cooler filter isn’t changed regularly, so I’ll be subjected to Sherri’s babbling for at least another minute while her cup is filled drip by drip with PFA-laden tap water.
The Last Blue Light
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The Ghost Train
I waited on the bench at the train stop, surrounded by fog and darkness, a street lamp lighting me like a little yellow island in a vast dark sea. I had nowhere to be and nothing to do because I was dead. The vehicle on which I waited had no destination or schedule, for theContinue reading “The Ghost Train”
The Consuming Tree
I never understood my mother’s dread of the woods until this Christmas. Winter has always been my favorite time of the year, and I consider myself somewhat of an expert at “decking the halls.” Since I was a kid, I would wake up early on Black Friday to string garlands, hang lights, and meticulously arrangeContinue reading “The Consuming Tree”
The Beast of Banalore
Everything felt alien to me as I gripped the railing on the swaying deck of the USS Dashiell. I fought waves of nausea and tried to concentrate on the chatter of the crewmembers filling the salty ocean air. Several weeks ago, I departed from Charleston, South Carolina, my home, which now only existed in the pristine confines of my memory. I was entering a new world, the unfamiliar island nation of Banalore, with a single objective: to find and document The Beast.
The Doll
Eggshell white paint, which somebody had applied carelessly in short, haphazard strokes, covered the doll’s face, and the streaks of rouge on each cheek could not prevent it from looking utterly pallid. Its stringy black hair formed a cowlick in the back of its head, and its tattered, muddy clothes looked like they might disintegrate if touched. The worst part was its eyes — spaced slightly further than expected from the center; the bright blue pupils were set on bulging wooden balls, conveying an uncannily real earnestness. He seemed coiled up, trying to break free and lunge at me.
What to Expect When Your Girlfriend Turns Into a Hot Dog: For Dummies
Do you love your partner? Will you always love them? What if they turned into a worm? What if they turned into a hot dog?
My next story, “What to Expect When Your Girlfriend Turns Into a Hot Dog: For Dummies” addresses this.
I hope you enjoy it! 🙂
The Beeping
This is not a story that “started innocently enough.” It started pretty fucking horribly, actually. You see, it wasn’t a zombie, bug, or werewolf that haunted me. It was the beeping.
