Fiction

The Paiute and the Apache never went out onto Kiwa Mesa. The legends said it was a haunted place, a place where evil winds would gather before they set out to roam the earth.

I came of age with Bob Dylan’s lyrics seeping into my 1960s consciousness, so it was no surprise that when I rented my first apartment on New York’s progressive Upper West Side that I used my somewhat meager nurse’s wages to buy a “big brass bed.”...

It’s that time of year again. I am staring at a calendar that is filled with holiday commitments, from baking with my nieces — a tradition begun over 20 years ago when they were little ones — to the more recent tradition of holiday singing with...

The day after my mother died my brother and I drove to the house in North Haven. It was the same house my grandparents had built in 1950. It had been sold and remodeled since my parents were forced to sell it four years ago after my mother’s fall...
The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to submissions@ehstar.com.

Charlie Gumphrey watched the woman in the lacy white blouse as she walked up the block and crossed the street, heading his way. Was she lost or was she straying on purpose from the tonier side of town? He owned Gumphrey Graphics Studio that, arm be...

Mr. Bart was my favorite eighth-grade teacher at David Stein Junior High School.

“Morning darlin’. I’m heading to Ditch if you wanna do your camera thing. I’ll pick you up in five.”

In the early morning hours of Feb. 14, 1924, Anna Dabulas gave birth to a healthy, seven-pound baby boy. He was her third child. A welcome first son to her husband, Andrew, he would be named Edward Andrew Dabulas.

Duncan Blunt shifted his bulk in the black leather and rosewood Eames chair, lifted one bare foot, then the other, from the matching ottoman until his legs were in the air, and expelled a torrent of fetid, malodorous gas. A self-satisfied smile...

Soaking up the sun’s rays on my family’s back porch, I surrender to the August heat and take a sip of cool sparkling water. Through the screen door I hear a familiar song playing on the radio. One I cannot listen to without thinking about my mother...

“Eisenhower was the best general we ever had.”
The Star welcomes submissions of essays for its “Guestwords” column, of between 700 and 1,200 words, and of short fiction or memoir, of up to 2,000 words. Please send submissions for review by email, in text or Word format, to submissions@ehstar.com.