Jimi awoke, moving only her eyes. It was something she learned from Lonny.  He called it pulling together the threads of your life before you start moving around.  It’s a focusing thing. She reviewed what she could do this day to make her dreams come true.  Life is more manageable if you start each day …

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Reading Time: 13 minutes Ten-year-old Ross stopped sleeping when a rat-that-was-more-than-a-rat crept from his closet every night.

Reading Time: 7 minutes A time traveler decides to rid history of serial killers. Men like Manson & Bundy prove easy, but just how does one track down Jack the Ripper?

Reading Time: 2 minutes I slip into the confessional booth and sit down on the pale green cushion. It’s a peaceful place redolent of oiled wood, clean old ladies, and thousands of years of tradition. On my right, where the outline of a priest will appear, is a beautiful screen of elaborately carved wooden filigree. Before he arrives, I feel tranquility like in no other place on earth. The priest appears. I can tell from his voice he is younger than I would like. As is traditional, I start the session.

The Dutch Goose is one of those cozy little bars in the neighborhood surrounding MIT. It’s a place where you can pick up a sandwich on the way home from campus or have a few beers while doing homework. Couples drop by to have a quick drink before their special event. It’s the kind of …

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Reading Time: 3 minutes Neville Schroeder was a fireplug. He stood barely five feet tall, red, shabby, and pedestrian. Professor Connelly towered over him, a giant oak tree of a man with a silk paneled vest, tweed coat and tie, expensive glasses, and a neatly trimmed beard.

Reading Time: 23 minutes We were to start at noon. The impatient crowd which pressed around the enclosed space, filling the enclosed square, overflowing into the contiguous streets, and covering the houses from the ground-floor to the slated gables, presented a striking scene.

Reading Time: 26 minutes The Moreot, Katusthius Ziani, travelled wearily, and in fear of its robber-inhabitants, through the pashalik of Yannina; yet he had no cause for dread.

Reading Time: 5 minutes “Listen to me,” said the Demon as he placed his hand upon my head. “The region of which I speak is a dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river Zaire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence.”