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The Moonlit Black Cat Tavern

Welcome to The Moonlit Black Cat Tavern, where humans, demi-humans, and monsters come together to laugh, drink, eat, sing, and find ways to get along. There’s no fighting, fussing, or killing. Only laughter, love, and companionship between the many races of Kralthorn and Ghelpher. On a stormy night, the Bradbury Witch pays an unexpected visit to the strange tavern and finds more than she bargained for. Follow her adventures within this unique lodging off the beaten path as she discovers more about this strange place.

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The Clock Tower by Mark Piggott

Findley stared at her pocket watch, the moonlight reflecting off the glass. The glow from the dial enabled her to read the time even in the dead of night—four minutes to midnight. Findley worried about the timing as she counted the seconds in her head. The conjunction lasts one hour. This is my only chance. Everything had to be done with precision and speed if she was going to reach her objective.

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The Chalice by Mark Piggott

Saul ran through the deserted streets of the ruined cityscape, clutching his satchel tight against his chest. He was weak from malnutrition, evident by his emaciated frame. His pulse quickened, and his breathing labored as he picked up the pace. Saul kept glancing between the streets before him and the setting sun. “It’s almost dusk…I have to get home!” he worried. Such was life in the Twilight.

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The Imposter by Mark Piggott

Lieutenant Bron Hammer sat on a comfortable pillow, surrounded by all known luxuries—beautiful women pouring sweet liquor, serving him sumptuous delicacies of all types. He rested beneath an open-air canopy, looking across at a banquet fit for a king as he was fanned by indentured servants. They treated him like a god, as well they should. It was a sight this veteran space freighter pilot could only dream of. 

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ñakari by Mark Piggott

“We have to hurry! Dawn is less than an hour away!” Kira shouted urgently at her companions as the elf ranger took the lead. Her curly red hair peaked out from under the hood of her cloak as she kept her bow drawn and ready to strike. Her youthful exuberance made her light on her feet as she trudged along the rugged path.

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My Name Means Murder by Mark Piggott

Honestly, I lost count of the reincarnations I have gone through. I remember one life to the next, memories stacked upon memories, and it has been that way since the dawn of time. Centuries pass by so quickly, sometimes as swiftly as my many lives. It was hard to forget the pain and suffering I endured, often wondering what Hell was like. I realized it was here and now in whichever life I was currently living.

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Pumpkin Jack by Mark Piggott

Belvidere, NJ – October 31, 1955

Tommy staggered through the cornfield, his heart pounding in his chest, each step a struggle on the uneven ground. His breath formed misty clouds in the chilly night air, a testament to his fear. He pushed his plastic devil mask back, his vision clearing as he darted past the towering cornstalks. His costume, rigid and unwieldy, hindered his escape. The dried corn, soon to be harvested for winter, now provided a temporary refuge for the terrified ten-year-old.

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