by Dan McCoy  — “He sees the monsters as metaphors.” The skin above the apprentice’s eyebrows creased. “The monsters…” “As metaphors. Yes.” The old man finished his ale, wiped some foam from the wandering curlicues of his moustache, then gestured toward the serving-woman for another. The apprentice peered into his

by Dan McCoy  — After the apple man came, things were good for a while.  John was his name, and though I was only a hairsbreadth from ten years when he passed through town, I remember him well. His great grey beard hid a mouth in constant motion with affable monologues.