Editor's Page
A YM Tribute to David Spicer
YM Artists' Page
"Skeeter", the Official YM Mascot
YM Guidelines
Contact Us & Links to Other Sites
Christmas with Stanley-Fiction by Robert Kokan
Gravedigger Sunrise-Fiction by Zach Wilhide
Billy at One O'clock-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Christine's Tune-Fiction by Andrew J. Kolarik
Paid in Full-Fiction by Bill Baber
Is Today the Day?-Fiction by Thomas X. Cross
Dead Bodies Everywhere-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Murphy's Law-Fiction by Edward Ahern
The Ghost in the Factory-Fiction by Jeremiah Minihan
Communication Breakdown-Fiction by Joe Surkiewicz
So Long, and Thanks for All the Texts-Fiction by Jay Adair
Time-Share-Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
It's Xmas and Maureen Feels Like Death Warmed Over-Flash Fiction by Gay Degani
Uncle Andrew-Flash Fiction by K. A. Williams
In a Nearby Church-Flash Fiction by Bethany Cody
What Happened after His Head Oozed-Flash Fiction by Michael Dioguardi
Prospero's Last Party-Flash Fiction by Jacqueline Doyle
Slick-Poem by David Spicer
Word Cruncher-Poem by David Spicer
The Life that Lives on Man-Poem by John Short
Pet Shop Story-Poem by John Short
dear tom-Poem by Meg Baird
the canvas-Poem by Meg Baird
A Killing-Poem by Ian C. Smith
Green Grass-Poem by Ian C. Smith
No Joke-Poem by Ian C. Smith
a soft landing-Poem by JJ Campbell
going through the motions-Poem by JJ Campbell
the shotgun still rests in the corner-Poem by JJ Campbell
an earthy affair-Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
death loves the deep-space pirate-Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
robotic mistress-Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
A November Morning-Poem by John D. Robinson
Hard & Heavy-Poem by John D. Robinson
The Storm-Poem by John D. Robinson
The Earth Keeps Sabbath-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Obituary-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Rock Whisperings-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Longing-Poem by Judith Partin-Nielsen
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

Art by Cynthia Fawcett 2020

Uncle Andrew


by K. A. Williams


      Uncle Andrew was wheeled out on a gurney while forensics were checking for clues. I had already talked with the police officers that had answered the call, and now I was being questioned by the detective in charge of the investigation.

Detective Simmons was reading the notes handed to him by the cops that were leaving on another call. "Now you said you never saw anyone leave the house after you arrived and found your uncle's body."


"Tell me everything from the time you got here. Maybe you forgot something important."

I didn't think I had forgotten anything, but I repeated what I'd already told the other police officers. "The downstairs door was locked. I entered with my key and called my uncle's name several times, but he didn't answer, so I came upstairs to his study. Uncle Andrew was slumped over his desk. I checked for a pulse but didn't find one, and immediately called 911. At first I thought he'd had a heart attack, but then I noticed the blood on the back of his head."

Detective Simmons was obviously comparing what I was saying to the notes.

"I don't know anyone who would want to kill him. I think his murderer was a burglar who had gotten inside by climbing over the gate in the backyard and entering through the patio doors which were open when I came up," I said, volunteering my deductions, even though the detective had not asked for my opinion on the case.

The detective consulted the notes yet again. He walked over to the open patio doors which lead to the wooden deck and looked out across the well-tended lawn where uniformed cops were checking the area.

Then his gaze swept the entire room and settled on my uncle's mahogany desk. I could see a small black corner peeking out from beneath a large heap of papers.

"I must have surprised the burglar when I entered the house and called my uncle's name. That would explain why nothing is missing," I said, trying to distract him.

He ignored me, moved aside the papers, and picked up the object. It was a digital voice recorder. He studied it a moment before pressing a few buttons.

Uncle Andrew's voice came out of the speaker. "I wanted to speak with you about your gambling problem."

My voice answered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

My uncle said, "I took you in when your parents died and taught you my business so you could take over when I retire because I have no other heir. But you've disappointed me. I know you're in debt, and lately you've been stealing from the company."

"That's a lie," I said. "Do you have any proof that I've been embezzling?"

"No, but a lot of money is missing, and you're the only other one with access to the accounts. You're fired! Tomorrow I'm making a new will and removing your name from the business. You'll still get the house and my personal assets when I die but not the business assets. They will be sold and donated to charities."

I said, "You can't do that, I won't let you."

Then there was a loud thump.

Detective Simmons looked at me and shook his head. He read me my rights before he handcuffed me.

I had wiped my fingerprints from the bowling trophy I'd bashed his head in with but forgotten about my uncle's habit of dictating his correspondence into a recorder.

 K. A. Williams has been published in various magazines, including Black Petals, Bewildering StoriesCalliope, The Rockford Review, and Nuthouse, with upcoming fiction scheduled for Corner Bar Magazine and Transfigured Lit.

Cynthia Fawcett has been writing for fun or money since she was able to hold a pen. A Jersey Girl at heart, she got her journalism degree at Marquette University in Milwaukee and now writes mostly technical articles about hydraulics and an occasional short story or poem on any other subject.

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2020