“What if it’s your Dear Diary?” The panic had started to buzz slightly in my brain again. I was thinkin’ about what the preacher said last Sunday about everything said in secret being revealed in the light and most times in ways you’d never expect.

“I’ll get the girls a bottle of the Pinky-Dink polish,” Jillian said quickly, her face growing taunt. The girls would want to look and then there’d be the begging for this or that. Money was tight.

Allie scanned her news feeds. Nothing. No strange sightings. No talk of an alien invasion, of a zombie apocalypse, of vampires, or worse, demonic possessions. How could she ask?

A short story inspired by Saint Augustine’s reflections on memory from “Book Ten” of his “Confessions.”

Callie was looking for something more, something … divine.

Dear God, he didn’t know how to save anyone. What was he thinking?

James Ruben Jackson, PH.D, walked, not near as confidently as he had come, strained with a burden of illumination, back to the Department of Religion.

The town of Goodwill thought they had a good plan for stopping Minnie’s pranks. They never meant to pile burning coals of fire on her head.

Cantankerous is an ugly word, but I didn’t think it quite fit old Isa. He was definitively uglier than cantankerous. He was just plain mean.

After the frogs start croaking and the stars come out, Great-Grandmama’s head rises from her cozy bed, like a full white moon rising in the night sky.