Stories by
R. Gatwood

He gave his creature the pseudonym he was using when I met him. A little joke, that name. Men of our sort are always hiding.

I called him my angel once, and he shuddered. Later I understood that he counted me among the temptations of which he longed to be rid.

You ask if I saw him transform—I who saw him cross the street to avoid the eyes he had kissed the night before. No. Not in the way you mean.

Hyde came to me only once. Thank God I feared scandal less than I feared his odious person. I suspect he should have killed me afterward.

But Henry Jekyll loved me, and that monster, the vessel of his sins, did not. I submit that it was not made to hold a sinless thing.

R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) is a strange case.

We keep saying accident. We keep not saying suicide. Both words keep getting louder and louder.

R. Gatwood is concise.

For months, whenever you hear the word “boundaries,” your ears get hot (I’m not a stalker) and you try not to remember how nice she was.

R. Gatwood’s work has appeared in Wigleaf and Contrary Magazine.

He seemed so happy. And he had been unhappy for so long. And I was so tired of taking care of him.

R. Gatwood is concise.

“Eurydice?” he says for the third time.

Behind him, she waits.

R. Gatwood never looks back.

She decides to put the tooth under her pillow before she leaves. Even with one less kid around, her mom will need the money.

R. Gatwood is concise.

The fact that you’ve had the hotline number memorized for the past two weeks probably means you’re not being melodramatic.

R. Gatwood is concise.

An old woman says: “This is the story of a town that loses a little boy because they’re too busy—or too proud—to believe in a made-up wolf.”

A young shepherd with a wooden leg says: “This is the story of a stupid, stupid boy. A boy who doesn’t know words have power.”

An older man (who seems nice—ordinary—until the folklorist tries to leave) says: “This is the story of a wolf who finds the perfect prey.”

R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) is the emergent consciousness of a spectacularly inefficient library shelving system.

In time he comes to understand that the monster under the bed will never eat him. It will only eat away at his faith in his parents’ love.

R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) is often found under furniture, but can be minimized with regular dusting.

He gave up :-| trying :-| to keep a mood :-| calendar :-| because every
face :-| he drew :-| was exactly :-| the same.

R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) is not always concise.