Nora Peevy
Nora B. Peevy is a writer/artist and stay-at-home mom to her three bearded dragons, two cats, one Cuban Knight Anole, a few hungry praying mantids, her stepson, and her husband. She has a B.A. in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing. Originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, she now lives in Dallas, Texas, where she spends her time stalking werewolves, vampires, zombies, and other creepies. She has been previously published in the June 2008 issue of Crimson Highway and has been accepted by Bewildering Stories for a forthcoming publication in 2008.
Contest Winner!
The Telling Place
Issue #5 (July 2008)
“Really, Logan.” Logan recognized his mom’s tone from previous fights at home -- the “don’t push it further” tone. Her denim eyes flushed with embarrassment. “Do you see what I have to put up with, Ms. Sinclair? Kids and their imaginations.” She laughed an uncomfortable laugh like a piece of china breaking in a quiet shop, as she rumpled her son’s red curls.
Still frowning, Clarice risked a quick peek at her coat rack in the corner. A pink snake tongue flicked the air. Clarice crossed the room, the afghan from the back of her rocking chair in her grasp. “We’ll just cover this so it doesn’t bother you, Logan,” she smiled at him through perfect straight teeth, pinching the nose of the offending serpent between two steely fingers. As she draped the coat rack with her blanket she said in a firm, teeth-gritting voice, “Just you behave now or I’ll be frying you up for the cat’s supper later.” A rotund marmalade cat poked her pink nose out from behind a collection of dusty tomes on the bookshelf, grinning with glee and licking her whiskers. With her grandmother smile perched upon her lips, Clarice turned to reassure Logan. “All better,” she announced as she sat in her rocking chair across from them.
