Linguistic Erosion is a fiction journal and part of Thunderune Publishing's free fiction lineup. Though this magazine is currently closed to submissions, you can still read some great stories in the archives by picking an author name from the drop down menu on the right or by picking a date from the menu (also on the right.) - -...

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Contributor: Chris Sharp - - Melanie was the sixth woman Tony took seriously enough to introduce to Mother.  Tony reminded himself that these select maternal meetings never came close to representing his active social life. He would date dozens of women in a year before a “mother meeting” came up. Tony reminded himself that Melanie differed from the other demure women he introduced to Mother.  Melanie was playful.  Mother extended her serious greeting hand, and Melanie prance-stepped toward it.  There had also been the feeling of a bounce in Melanie’s step earlier that afternoon, when Tony had taken her to Yankee Stadium to watch the Yankees.  She wanted to twice go to the Stadium canteen for more Pepsi and hot dogs so Tony could watch her bubbling up the steps.  When the fans leaving the stadium crowded...

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Author: Chris Sharp

Contributor: Rebecca Welch - - Rain tapped on the windshield, provoking the wipers to come alive. The persistent swoosh of the blades, combined with the beads of water falling in rhythm, created a song. I allowed nature's music to enter my thoughts and let it attempt to soothe the confusion I felt inside. Why was that car in front of our house? Why do we have to stay somewhere else tonight? From the back seat, I looked up into the rearview mirror at my mother's face. She smiled but lines of worry and fear were etched along her eyes. I knew something was wrong. I just couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be or who. “Mom, where are we going?” I asked. “Honey, don’t be afraid, ok? We’re just going to stay with Uncle Mike tonight, that’s all,” she replied. Uncle Mike lived just outside of town in a rundown two-bedroom house. He...

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Author: Rebecca Welch

Contributor: Christopher W. Trotter - - I lived above all, illuminating the darkness. I provided the gift of sight, but sight alone. I held off the shadows that pushed people down the stairs, saving them from pain and embarrassment. For a year I worked in secret. I guided each stranger that passed under me in the small stairwell. I served from morning to dusk. I would get so hot that I’d burn you on touch, but I would labor on. Only at dusk would I be given the right to sleep, a short time to cool off before starting the cycle again. No one asked if I wanted that job. I was simply born for the job, cursed from the beginning to work for others. No one told me what the job was. I just got screwed into the ceiling and was left there. Who would have chosen this? I was never thanked for my work. Most never knew I existed. One year a slave...

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Author: Christopher W. Trotter

Contributor: Blake Hulsey - - Lucifer stepped into Yahweh's court escorted by an angel. As he reached the throne room, Lucifer eyed his associate. "I have a proposal for you, Yahweh." Yahweh shifted on his throne. "Go on, Lucifer. What possible proposal do you have to give me?" Lucifer gave a ghoulish smile. "Been checking out your follower, Job. Pretty cool guy. He sticks close to your commandments and never falters in prayer." Yahweh bowed his head. "He is the best servant I have in my name. Why do you keep such watch on him?" "You ever wonder if he only worships you because he has it so good? You have him spoiled, dear Father. You really think he would worship you if tragedy had befallen him?" Yahweh pondered for a moment. "I suppose he would. I don't think he would turn from my grace." "Wanna make a bet?" "What are your terms,...

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Author: Blake Hulsey

Contributor: John Laneri - - Luigi’s is a small, romantic restaurant, featuring candlelight and good food. I live only a few blocks away in North Beach. And tonight, I’m meeting Maria. While waiting, I order a bottle of wine, and soon, I see her step inside the door. She hurries to me. We embrace warmly, her body pressing mine. It's her way of saying that she's already feeling romantic. Once seated, we catch up on the previous weeks, glad to be together. I tell her about my work collecting money for the family. She talks about her job at the bank. And soon, she begins to relate happy stories about her nieces and nephews, their schools and activities. But then for no reason, I see her start fidgeting like a schoolgirl, her fingers rearranging the silverware – put the fork here, move the knife there. So, I begin to think that maybe...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Amanda Cuevas Arrubarena - - A week ago, Sylvia called to tell me Frank Heisenberg passed away. “I knew you were friends,” she said, “so I thought you should know.” I didn’t tell her that I already knew, that I waved goodbye to him that very morning. Instead, I asked, “How did it happen?” “Heart attack. The police say he didn’t even feel it,” Sylvia said. “Surprisingly, nothing happened to the car.” “Yeah, nothing ever happens to that car,” I said, walking toward the bedroom window. I pushed the plastic blinds away and peeked outside, where that old Cadillac waited in front of Frank’s house. That’s where I saw him this morning, standing as proud as always beside his car. He waved goodbye before getting in the Cadillac, but the engines never roared and the car remained empty inside. “He left it to you, you know?” Sylvia...

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Author: Amanda Cuevas Arrubarena

Contributor: Adam Dorey - - Bold. Dark. Sleek. Those were the words that described a legend on my block. The lone, black Cadillac—the panther on four wheels—the king of the street—these were the legend’s many names. But those who truly knew him called him Ashwin. While other children grew up hearing stories about Goldilocks and beanstalks, I fell asleep to the spellbinding tales of Ashwin and his selfless battles to clean the streets. His roar could turn the hardest of men into a bedwetting infant. As a child, I had never met the owner of Ashwin but had heard he was some kind of freak—a bloodthirsty vampire. The locals called him a mutant vigilante—claiming that he was the product of some failed experiment that left him fused to the car. His heart was said to have powered the death machine through his blackened veins, feeding it his...

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Author: Adam Dorey

Contributor: Adi Bracken - - Turkey. There’s a rumor going around that turkey puts you to sleep. Well, maybe not a rumor. More like a medically proven side effect of the turkey. It has something in it, a chemical I can’t remember the name of, that knocks you out. One minute, stuffing your face with sweet potato pie, the next a narcoleptic heap. Your face literally shoved into your plate, inhaling and exhaling mashed potato particles. I have almost fallen victim to the Reaper’s turkey slumber when my grandmother says, “I can’t tell whether that Lady Gaga person is a man or a woman.” My father shakes his head in irritation, amusement absent from his expression. He shifts between youthful 40’s and midlife crisis too often to guess which one will show next. “Mom, I’m pretty sure she’s a woman,” he says. More like, he booms. A younger generation...

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Author: Adi Bracken

Contributor: Jordan Helsley - - The sound of the unlocking door was music to their ears. As the key slid out, John swung the door into the wall. When it hit the stopper his face grimaced. He escorted a woman with straight blonde hair into the room and shut the door with care. The room was pristine, and there was a chill in the air. The air conditioner was emitting a low hum that greeted them as soon as the door opened. The shades were drawn up over the window, letting the harsh beams of sunlight litter the room. The woman had already seated herself on the far bed with her legs crossed by the time he had turned to face her. “I love it here,” she said. A smile formed on John’s face, but his teeth remained hidden. He began to loosen his tie as the woman pulled a notepad out of her handbag and searched for a pen. With his tie hung on...

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Author: Jordan Helsley

Contributor: Jeri Leininger - - We had packed and loaded our entire house in less than a day. There was no other way. If he knew we were leaving the police would have had to be there. No way he was going to let her go without a fight. My mom got the hotel room to let her new future husband rest before turning around and driving another 1,100 miles back to Indiana. So there we sat. My sisters and I all sat together, hugging like we were going to be ripped apart. We were. I had hit 18 and there was no room for me where they were going. That would be the last time I saw my family for a long time. So we sat there, hugging, on one bed as my new future stepdad lay on the other bed watching the local news. Mom was on the patio smoking with a friend. When it was time for them to leave I lost it. I knew that letting them go was going to be hard...

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Author: Jeri Leininger

Contributor: Paul Tristram - - Seek not the tempting fruit of outcast lovers. Their eyes are alive, yes! But they are not alive with freedom and fire, oh no! They are alive with hunger, a desperate hunger to get back into the same kind of normality which they have been ostracized from. Beware the eyes can trick, easier and more convincing than any magician's trick. I have just opened the window and let the darkness in. It stood in the centre of my room for a few seconds, letting its sad and weary eyes get accustomed to the light, then it wrapped itself around me like a lover angered by something that I had suggested on a picnic in Margam Park three years previous. We softly made up after first fighting with the ferocity of disappointed understanding, while remembering days of crimson rapture when we were perfect in our mutual appreciation...

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Author: Paul Tristram

Contributor: Eli James Yanna - - We bounced down the rutted two-track. My truck slammed into the sand at he end of the trail. Sounds of slamming surf beat against the sugar sand like a thunderous chorus. Above the capping waves and just beyond the tree line, hung a massive orange-red moon that bathed the landscape in a sepia tint. Point Solitude was isolated and rarely entertained evening visitors. It was inhospitable terrain just to get there. To get here you needed two things—a tricked out truck like mine or a big set of balls. And there have been many who have bowed to both. My rig was like no other. Metallic purple graced by pearl ghost flames from nose to tail and just enough lift to give plenty of room for a set of fat Mickey Thompsons to ride on. Christened “The Purple-Headed Monster”, this old Chevy was a labor of love that...

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Author: Eli James Yanna

Contributor: Sean Crose - - You’ve thought about it for a bit and have decided to finally go back up to the “House of Pleasure” to see how your new acquaintance is doing. It’s true that you’re not a big supporter of the man, even now that he’s sick and dying. For he’s mocked your faith, your very existence, for that matter, ever since he arrived here at Hiva Oa. Truth be told you were stunned when you first received the message from him, the one informing you that he wanted to see you, that he was so sick he could no longer walk. Indeed the man has been a horrendous sight for quite some time now. Nearly blind and crippled, he could be spotted these past few months hobbling around Atuona, covered in sores. At one time his scandalous liaisons with young girls made you sick inside, even more sick than his degenerate paintings and sculptures...

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Author: Sean Crose

Contributor: John Laneri - - I arrived in Santa Fe by stagecoach, the trip marked by sweltering heat, constant breakdowns and potholes deep enough to swallow a man whole. All of which prompted me to rest up for a few days before continuing on to Texas where a job offer awaited me in Fort Worth. Laura came into my life on the second day while I was having dinner at a local cafe. Our mutual attraction had been immediate. In appearance, she was a pleasant looking woman with reddish-brown hair highlighted by a captivating smile. She was also the reason why I had extended my stay for another few days when I realized that I had never met a woman who enraptured me so completely. Several days later, while waiting for her near the town square, I saw her hurry in front of a horse drawn wagon then step quickly in my direction. She appeared...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Dr. T. Michael Roberts - - Dear Pius XII, I need your advice on something weird. For the last 12 months random things have being disappearing from my house, toilet paper, toothpaste, laundry liquid, chicken fillets and even money. There have been no break ins, no one has a spare key and yet these things are vanishing from one day to the next. Do I have a Demon or a poltergeist and if so how do I get rid of it? Yours Truly, Uncle Joe Stalin Uncle Joe, I have your stuff. It has been appearing without rhyme or reason on the big screened porch on the back of my house for the last year. I'm sorry about the raccoon. A critter with an electric blue strip running down his back and continuing in the same shade in a barber pole configuration around the tail is certainly distinctive. But, this gave me no clue who to call when the...

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Author: Dr. T. Michael Roberts

Contributor: Adrian Fort - - He pulled the slack end of the tie once, twice, then it was just a string of fabric with a knot in it. So he pulled the thick end through and smoothed the fabric. Hung it back on the tie rack. Wished he hadn’t brushed his teeth. His breath was never great anyway, she made sure he knew that. Two quick jerks and the shirt tails were out of his pants, then the rest of the hem, and he started unbuttoning the shirt at the bottom. The neck button was always a pain in the ass, he’d picked up some weight. She’d taken it harder with the baby, with Eli, they had already named it even. But he always said “baby” then she gave him that look. He hung the shirt back up but didn’t fold the undershirt, just threw it in the drawer. He shouldn’t have yelled at her. There were several worn holes in the belt and he wondered...

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Author: Adrian Fort

Contributor: Angeltopia - - Penelope stood in front of the mirror perplexed. Her life was a beautiful mess. Her bedroom was a circus of confetti-filled photos that seemed to drape every part of the room. She searched photo after photo of her mother’s first husband, Dale, and her second husband, Scoot for similarities in appearance. Ashley, Scoot's sister, was the culprit. She had intrigued her with the irresistible curiosity of searching for her true identity. She held the photo of her and her stepdad Scoot that Ashley had given her. She clutched it in confusion and frustration. Scoot was sitting in his chair at the home office and she stood behind him crouching over him, hugging him, and remembering the bittersweet moments of their unspoken bond. Caressing the photo of his face comforted her. She mumbled to herself over and over again...

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Author: Angeltopia

Contributor: Eric Suhem - - “Howard, get me some water!” ordered Manager #5 to one of his subordinates, as the management team of Acme MegaCorp gathered in the conference room to explore ideas designed to improve employee productivity and morale. “I suggest we add a mood-enhancing substance to the company’s drinking water. A number of drugs have been very effective in experiments on dogs, cats and pigs,” said Manager #5, staring moodily into his coffee mug. The management team approved the proposal for altered tap water. Two days later, Howard was called into his manager’s office. “Howard, we’d like you to be the point man for a new company-wide high-profile project. In fact, you’ll be our guinea pig,” said Manager #5, handing him a plastic cup of enhanced water. “Now drink this, and give me a report later.” “Yes, sir!” said Howard,...

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Author: Eric Suhem

Contributor: John Laneri - - Friends call me Rick. It's a nickname for Richard Harrison, art dealer, speculator and connoisseur of fine living. My story began with Vickie, an attractive woman who visited my gallery one morning while I was preparing a exhibit for several local artists. At the time, I noticed her glance my way and maintain a moment of eye contact – a move that suggested we get acquainted. The lady appeared early thirties and was stylishly dressed. I noted dark hair and a smile that seemed to project a mischievous yet confident attitude. Intrigued, I suggested a nearby coffee shop. She accepted, and before long, we were splurging calories on two fresh mochas. For the next hour, we mostly talked art, but I did learn that she worked in sales, traveling throughout much of the country. Over the next few days, we became...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Chris Milam - - She could handle a fork. The woman sat in a booth underneath a painting of a lighthouse emitting a dim glow. She wore yoga pants and a black V-neck and she looked glorious, alluring and edible. She consumed the pecan pie in delicate bites, the fork like a pendulum arcing from plate to mouth. After every swallow she smiled, which caused me to smile and we shared a moment, but she wasn’t aware that we shared a moment. She slid a pink and flirty tongue out and used a reptilian curl to cleanse residue from her upper lip. She caught me staring and used that same inviting tongue to brush across her luminous teeth while her eyes stayed on mine and we shared a moment that she had engineered. She emptied her plate and walked out of the restaurant. I caught an aroma of something tropical, evasive, and lonely and all...

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Author: Chris Milam

Contributor: Ryan James Black - - “I’ll see your hundred,” snarled Wolfman. “And raise you another.” He pawed a chip onto the pile, accidentally cleaving a jagged gash in the green felt table top. “Hey,” whined Louis. “Be careful wouldja? I just had this resurfaced.” Wolfman glared at Louis, the way Wolfman glares at rabbits. A muscle car idled deep in his throat. He ashed his stogie, purposefully missing the ashtray. Louis huffed. He rolled his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead crammed his mouth full of pretzels. “Okay, okay, you two,” Dracula chuckled. He took a swig of his Romanian microbrew and turned to his right. “Bets to you Frank.” “Frankenstein,” groaned Frankenstein. “Bet.” With a green bratwurst finger, he inched forward a ten dollar chip. “Okay, two things Frank,” Dr.Jekyll said irritably....

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Author: Ryan James Black

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Buford was a big man, at least 300 pounds, with a heart of silver if not of gold. No one messed with Buford. He had a limp and for years he had used a cane too short. Neighbors feared some day he might fall and sure enough one day he did fall in his backyard. He was going out to his dump truck. The only good thing that came out of that fall is that I got a chance to talk to an ambulance driver in Beijing, China. But I’m getting ahead of myself. When Buford fell, he disappeared and left a massive hole in his wake. Dirt rose like a volcano eruption for minutes after he was gone. I lived across the street from Buford so I climbed over his fence to see if I could help in any way. I knew I would not be able to pull him out of the hole by myself. It would take a crane, I figured, to get him back on solid ground....

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: John Laneri - - It was another lazy summer day when I started toward Aunt Jillie’s Boarding House, a place most Texans refer to as the finest establishment in Neverton, a small community along the cattle trail to Fort Worth. As I neared her front gate, I noticed a bicycle parked against a picket fence. Curious, I stopped to check it out. “Why Sheriff Carson, you look like a young boy admiring a new toy.” Turning about, I saw Jillie coming my way, her red hair glowing in the sunlight. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I had ever known. I'd probably loved her since the first day we met some twenty years ago. “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to look at a bicycle.” She eased beside me and took my arm. “Then, take your time. We can look together.” “These contraptions are interesting. I've been wanting to...

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Author: John Laneri