Mira Domsky
WRITING
Here are a few of the things that other people have liked enough to pay me for. Not a lot of money, mind you, but still real cashy monies.
I had a story called "Cry to the Sirens," published on Acidic Fiction, but the website is now defunct. :( You can download a PDF of the story here.
If you scroll to the bottom, there's a super short story that I wrote for a contest a few years ago. It didn't win, but I hated the ending anyway. It's posted here with a new ending that I like better. It's about a house I used to walk past sometimes in my old neighborhood.
Death Throes Webzine's Horrific Holiday Issue
ISBN: 9781005880163
My story is called "The Christmas Tree at the Door." It's about a mysterious box and a bloodthirsty Christmas Tree. It's a bit silly, but also there is blood.
Hybrid Fiction, issue 5
ISBN-10: 1945468084
A new magazine featuring hard to classify stories that are a blend of at least two genres. My story is called "A Midsummer Night's Tinder Date." It's comedic fantasy chicklit about a strange date with a person who may be Puck the trickster faerie, or possibly an alien.
Iron Doves: a charity anthology
ISBN-10: 1945468084
This anthology of short stories was put together to raise money for the DOVES Program, an organization that helps victims of domestic violence. My story is called "Resurrection Girl" and it draws parallels between abusers and zombies. Because I can't just write about abusive relationships, I have to add spaceships or dragons or the undead or something.
Tales of the Talisman, Vol. 9, Issue 1
ISBN-10: 1885093713
Tales of the Talisman is a quarterly magazine of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. I have a story in this issue called "There are More Things in Heaven and Earth Than Are Written in Your Thesis, Professor Kingston." It's about a professor who goes to Guatemala in search of a local legend. I love the illustration by Shoshana Holl. Incidentally, I drew some of the inspiration for this story during a trip to Belize, and the background image on this page is a photo I took while I was there.
Tales of the Talisman, Vol. 6, Issue 4
ISBN-10: 1885093586
Tales of the Talisman is a quarterly magazine of science fiction, fantasy, and horor. This issue contains many excellent stories, and among them is my first published story: "The Plumbing Hex Incident." It's a rather silly story about college room mates and a hex they find in their bathroom.
Dares and Doors
Some people swore that the house was haunted. Well, mostly just Benny said it was haunted. The grass grew to the top of the wrought iron fence, but the dilapidated roof was still visible. I remember the day Benny and I were walking home and stopped to look. I remember it perfectly.
“I dare you to touch the front door, Amber,” said Benny.
“No way!”
“Chicken.”
There’s something about a boy calling you chicken: you can’t let them get away with it just because they’re boys. Besides, I was almost eight years old, too old to believe in ghosts.
“Fine, but you have to come with me,” I said.
“Nuh uh! I dared you, so I don’t have to go.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well then I dare you! But if you’re too chicken. . .” Benny crunched his mouth and eyebrows up in a terrible face. I could see him wondering whether he was right or I was, or if it mattered since I’d called him chicken.
"‘Kay,” he conceded.
We slipped through the fence and waded through the scratchy dry grass. It was taller than we were, and it rustled as we pushed through it.
“I feel like an explorer, hunting lions in Africa or something,” I said.
“Shh!” Benny replied.
The grass thinned and I could see the side of the house now, paint peeling from the graying boards. The door had been white, with a dusty window set into it. I put my foot on the first sagging step, and it creaked. I jumped, my heart pounding. Breathing deeply, I reminded myself that this was just an old house, nothing more. I took the last two steps to the door. I wasn’t tall enough to see through the window, but it was dark inside anyway. I reached my hand out and touched a finger to the door. Then I turned and stuck my tongue out at Benny. He stood at the edge of the grass looking nervous.
“There, I did it! Now who’s chicken?” I asked, just to be sure he got the point.
“’Kay,” he said, his eyes glazed. This made me angry. I’d done his dare, but he wasn’t impressed. I wanted him to acknowledge me.
“So I’m braver than you!” I said. Benny snapped out of his trance.
“Not even!”
“Fine, if you’re so brave, then I dare you to go inside!” I shouted. I regretted it immediately as his face went pale, but you can’t unsay a dare. He gulped. His eyes were huge as he walked up the steps. He put his hand on the rusted doorknob. It occurred to me that the door was probably locked, and wouldn’t open. Then we could go home with our pride. Benny took a deep breath and turned the knob. It made a grating sound as he struggled against the rust, but it turned. He pulled the door open and stepped into the dark doorway.
“I’m so glad you came,” said the shaking voice of an old woman. Benny screamed. The door swung shut in my face. I grabbed the door handle, screeching Benny’s name, but the knob wouldn’t turn. I pounded on the door and screamed. Then I tore down the steps and through the grass. I sprinted all the way home.
My parents and the police went back to the house to look for Benny. But they didn’t find him. They didn’t find anything. No one blamed me for what happened, but they should have. Benny’s family moved away a year later. For years I had to walk past that house, all boarded up and condemned, by myself. Sometimes I would stare at it in the twilight, hoping that Benny would find his way out. He never did.
The house was demolished when I was in high school, but the empty lot still hasn't been sold all these years later. The sky above the lot looks empty without a house to fill it. Tall grass and weeds still grow inside the fence, covering the rubble of the foundation. I wonder if it's covering anything else.