The House of Nameless

By Jason Fischer

A dinner at a minotaur's house brings an unwelcome intruder. Raoul Mithras, a godling both old and new, is forced to pursue an old foe across a surreal landscape, hoping to prevent the awakening of the One-Way-World - if he is not destroyed first.

This story was a winner in the "L Ron Hubbard presents the Writers of the Future" contest, and first appeared in WOTF Vol XXVI.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Fischer
• Release date: Feb 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458037886

Jason Fischer

Jason Fischer is a writer who lives near Adelaide, South Australia. He has a passion for godawful puns, and is known to sing karaoke until the small hours. Jason has won an Aurealis Award and the Writers of the Future Contest, and he has been on shortlists in other awards such as the Ditmars and the Australian Shadows. He is the author of dozens of short stories, with his first collection “Everything is a Graveyard” now available from Ticonderoga Publications. His YA zombie apocalypse novel “Quiver” is now available from Black House Comics, or via http://www.tamsynwebb.com/.

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The House of Nameless

By Jason Fischer

Copyright 2011 Jason Fischer

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Jason Fischer at http://jasonfischer.com.au

This story originally appeared in L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume XXVI, and is used here with permission from the publisher, Galaxy Press.

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The House of Nameless

The date had been going well, all things considered. No girl in her right mind ever thought she would sit down to dinner at a minotaur’s house, but then again no-one knew that Raoul could cook up a storm.

‘I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,’ he said, bumping open the kitchen door with his broad hip. He had a freshly baked pavlova resting across the palm of one broad hand, his free hand proffering a bottle of Sauternes that was pinched between his enormous thumb and forefinger.

He stopped short. The girl was sitting rigid in her seat, gripping the edge of the table and trembling. There was a stranger in his house, standing right behind her, resting his hands upon shoulders made bare by her evening dress.

He was a patch of murk and drab, and Raoul found it difficult to look directly at him. His eyes seemed to slide off the intruder’s shape, as if he were too greasy to hold light and form.

Raoul growled. His horns were sharp enough to pierce an engine block, but he hesitated. There were measures in place to keep weak minds out of this house, and this intruder had bypassed them all.

The man stank of rot, and was sniffing at the girl’s scalp, long and lovingly. The intruder was blurred around