This Week in SHOWCASE

by Bruce Bethke
Editor, Stupefying Stories

 

Welcome to Issue #2 of SHOWCASE, the free weekly webzine companion to STUPEFYING STORIES magazine and the STUPEFYING STORIES PRESENTS anthology series. Each week in SHOWCASE we’ll be offering up previews of coming attractions, samples of what we’re working on, reviews and comments, and of course, new stories by some of our favorite authors—and we hope, by writers who soon will become some of your favorite authors, too

If you saw Issue #1, you’ve no doubt already noticed some big changes for Issue #2. We’re still working on the banner—and as of the time I’m writing this, I still don’t know whether the new banner will be ready in time for tomorrow's release—but most importantly, with this issue SHOWCASE moves to it’s new permanent home, StupefyingStoriesSHOWCASE.com. Going forward, this URL will always point to the front page of the latest issue.

But if you should happen to miss an issue or two, don’t worry: we’ll also keep live links to back issues available under the Back Issues heading in the left column.

Speaking of the left column, I’d also like to point out that we’ve redesigned the TOC to make better use of the space, added a feedback email address (under Links) for those who feel the need to email the editors, and—deep breath now—added a new reader forum, The Feedback Loop, which will either be a great way for authors, fans, and Stupefying Stories staff to communicate, or else an enormous colossal headache from Hell to manage and moderate. Which will it be? Ask us again in about six months.

And with that said, enough about our internal operations. Let’s get to the stories! This week we’re featuring—

“Elves Are Douchebags” by Robert Lowell Russell

Floriel’s eyes were gold, her hair silver, and her features so fine, Jack thought they should be chiseled in marble: paint and canvas would be too temporary. Her smile made him ache. Braless, she wore a bright pink t-shirt several sizes too small that proclaimed her the World’s Greatest Grandmother.

Loriel’s beauty mirrored his sister’s. He wore an Armani jacket with the sleeves ripped off and was bare-chested. Muscles rippled across his pale flesh.

I could totally go gay for him, thought Jack. “Our appointment was for ten,” he said aloud, tapping his watch. “It’s noon.”

Loriel smiled. “Your temporal distinctions are so quaint. A thousand apologies, my mortal friend, but my honor had been challenged.”

“All you can eat pancakes at IHOP,” explained Floriel.

Jack sighed. Why are elves such douchebags?
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“The Millionth Soul” by Franziska Louise

“Hi, I’m Death.” The guy on the barstool next to me gives me a scorching once-over. Is he hitting on me?

“Uh, okay, Seth—”

“It’s Death.”

Oh. Role-player. I sip on my Manhattan and eye his black cloak and huge scythe. “You don’t look like Brad Pitt.”

His expression turns quizzical. “Who?”

“You know, Brad Pitt, from Meet Joe Black?”

“My name is neither Pitt nor Black. My name is Death.”

“Okay, buddy, listen...”
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“Muscle the Menhir” by Robert Bagnall

On July 5, 2009, a hoard of Anglo-Saxon treasure was discovered in a field in Staffordshire, England. The Staffordshire Hoard, as it became known, provided no clue as to why it had been buried, or even if it had been hidden deliberately or simply lost.

The location where the hoard was discovered lies about thirteen miles from the village of Bradley, where there may—or may not; archaeologists disagree—be the remains of a partly destroyed stone circle.

These two facts are probably unrelated. But perhaps not...
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“The Key” by Joy Bernardo

“It’s just one of those random keys that you find laying around your house,” I explained to Rachel. The cop walked slowly to my driver’s door. I looked up into his aviator’s. My reflection sneered back at me.

“Just keep it under sixty,” he said into my cleavage, as he handed back my license and registration.

“It doesn’t look familiar?” Rachel asked me, turning the key over and over in her hand.

“No, it’s been here since I bought the car from Mrs. Steadman a couple of months ago.”

“That creepy old lady who used to live down the block?”
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