So as typically happens this time of year, I’ve been sick. So I’m just going to chalk February up to a loss and get to your Storystorm prizes in March. I am still recruiting agents for your Storystorm Grand Prizes, where you’ll receive feedback on your 5 best story ideas, to help you determine which to pursue as manuscripts and submissions.
Speaking of submissions, I am sharing a Flash Fiction story I wrote during the pandemic that I cannot seem to place anywhere, so I am publishing it here instead. This is an original story and I hope you enjoy! (Be forewarned, it’s for adults, not kiddos.)
The Neighbors
©2020-2025 by Tara Lazar
We were forced to write the neighbors about the beast.
Louise and I had promised it refuge in our basement in exchange for sparing our family. It assured us that if we kept supplying it with deer and possum, it would remain sated. There would be no need to torment the town. However, it has spent the last week digging passageways to the other homes.
Our son warned us that a beast cannot be believed, and we should have listened. But you don’t heed the kid with straight-Ds who wears t-shirts emblazoned with “Whoof Arted”. Meanwhile, our daughter, the good child, was devoured a month ago. Once again, our fault for the misplaced trust.
“What shall the letter say?” my wife asked.
“How about this,” I replied, pen in hand. “Dear neighbors, it has come to our attention that—”
“No, no, you can’t begin that way. They’ll think we’re telling them to power wash their vinyl siding again. They won’t read past the first line.”
“Then it’s really their fault if they can’t read a simple letter,” I said.
“Use powerful language, Chester. Write it like your clean-up-after-your-pet notice.”
“I won’t swear again, Louise.”
“Of course not, dear. Just be direct. Like your lawn-mowing letter.”
“I’ve got it,” I said, clearing my throat. “Dear neighbors, a beast has infiltrated our neighborhood.”
“Oh, excellent, darling. But shouldn’t you make it clear that you don’t mean Mrs. Stubbs?”
“Good point. Dear neighbors, an inhuman beast has infiltrated our neighborhood.”
“Wonderful! That’s a fine start,” Louise said. “Shall I make us some tea?”
“Spot on. Writing makes me thirsty.”
We composed a letter both urgent and actionable, without being too alarming. We agreed that Mr. Rasmussen, our eldest neighbor, was too fragile to read such a missive, given that his wife had recently passed, so we invited him to dinner instead. We could deliver the news with hearty helpings of Louise’s pot roast and Dutch apple pie, softening the blow.
*****
“We’ve been meaning to have you over for a while,” Louise said, leading Mr. Rasmussen to the dining room. “We were sorry to hear about Mrs. Rasmussen. What a special soul, volunteering at the hospital all those years.”
“Much obliged, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe. Awful kind of you.”
“Please, call us Chester and Louise. And you remember our son, Devin.”
“Goodness gracious. He’s sure grown! Bigger than his father now.”
An intense growl emerged from deep beneath the house, rumbling through the floor in magnificent waves. We held our collective breath, waiting for Mr. Rasmussen’s reaction. He just blinked and asked to use the restroom.
“Do you think he’s going deaf?” Louise asked. “Does he have nerve damage in his feet?”
“I don’t think he’s diabetic,” I replied.
“Well, if he heard or felt that, he didn’t flinch!”
“Good. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.”
We worked through the meal with light conversation and waited until we were warm and satisfied to broach the subject. Some things are better discussed on a full stomach.
*****
“I don’t believe you,” Mr. Rasmussen replied.
“I know this is a shock, but it’s living in our basement and it has carved underground routes to every house on King Drive,” I said. “It will pluck you one-by-one from your beds and devour you complete.”
Mr. Rasmussen crossed his arms. “How come you haven’t been devoured?”
“It got to Penelope, the poor dear.” Louise dabbed a napkin under her eye.
“I see,” said Mr. Rasmussen, leaning back. “I still don’t believe you.”
“My God, man! This is no time to be a contrarian!”
“Chester,” Louise said, placing a hand upon my forearm, “we said we were going to be calm and gentle with our guest.”
“Right. My apologies,” I said in a soft tone. “Please understand. This beast is a serious threat.”
“Let’s go see it, then,” said Mr. Rasmussen.
“Pardon me?”
“You’ve got a beast in your basement. Let’s take a look.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.
“I don’t think you comprehend the gravity of this. Going down there is dangerous. I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Hell, I’ve got a lawyer. He advises me, not you.” Mr. Rasmussen started toward the cellar door. “Let me see this thing. I’ll decide for myself if we should run for the hills.”
I blocked his path. “Mr. Rasmussen, I strongly urge you not to open that door.”
He reached for the doorknob and I reacted on a primal level, pushing both hands against his chest, sending him flying backward.
“Chester!” Louise screamed.
Mr. Rasmussen landed with a thwack, slamming his head against the tile floor.
The clamor of the disturbed beast rattled beneath us and the floor seemed to breathe.
The beast galloped up the stairs, thrashing against the walls, snarling and spitting, emitting a brutal heat. Twisting and heaving, it screeched with a sickening sharp note that sounded as if all eternity’s nightmares had joined forces. Then in a flash it dissolved into a tar-like puddle of infinite depth. The liquid bubbled and boiled and from within its abyss emerged a plump, grandmotherly figure with yellow-white hair.
“Mrs. Rasmussen?!”
“You remember my wife, Gertie,” Mr. Rasmussen said, rising, his bashed-in head dripping blood. “Surprising, given you never had us over for supper.”
“Oh, Gerald,” Mrs. Rasmussen slapped at her husband playfully. “Be nice. The Smythes were kind enough to let me stay in their roomy basement.”
“I hope they kept you comfortable, sweetheart.”
“Yes, quite! But I must apologize for the teenage girl. I’m afraid I got carried away that day.”
Mr. Rasmussen proffered his arm and the elderly couple strolled across the living room to the front door, trailing tar and blood.
“Now then,” he said, turning to us, “maybe next time you’ll think twice before sending us another rude letter. We’ll power wash when we damn want to power wash and not a moment sooner.”
The End
©2020-2025 by Tara Lazar

What’s it feel like, trying to honor the woman who is considered America’s Hans Christian Andersen (“Hans Jewish Andersen,” she corrects) with a picture book about her? Daunting. But, it helps that she likes it. In fact, I first read the manuscript to her when she was recovering from surgery. I hadn’t told her I was working on it, so it was a complete surprise. After a page or two, she smiled and said “I’m little Janie!” When I finished, we talked about the details that I had fleshed out from pure imagination. She told me about Mrs. Jiler and more about her neighborhood. She confirmed things and recited all the names of her classmates, some of whom made it into the book. I removed the stuff I made up and added in real facts.
I emailed Yo and said “I don’t think you like this book. I think you wish you didn’t buy this book.” She called me within 10 minutes. Yo is wise, too. She said to me, “Heidi, this is revision. It’s supposed to be hard. But, this is a book about someone you love, so it’s even harder. I love this book and readers will love this book. You’ll get it.” I love surrounding myself with smart women. After that, I did get it.



Jena Benton is a writer and illustration, plus she’s the SCBWI Illustrator Coordinator for the region of Alaska. She lives in Anchorage, Alaska now with her husband and two kitties. Visit her at 








Anna Raff is an award-winning illustrator of many books for children, including PARTY ANIMALS, IF I WERE A KANGAROO, and YOU MAKE ME SNEEZE! Her book THE DAY THE UNIVERSE EXPLODED MY HEAD was a Kirkus Best Book of the Year and New York Public Library Best Book. Anna is on the faculty of the MFA Illustration program at the School of Visual Arts, and lives in New York City, surrounded by party animals. Visit her online at 
One day I met a new neighbor at the dog park, and we hit it off immediately. We both loved the arts. We both loved our dogs. Our girls went to the same high school. We commiserated and laughed over our shared lack of executive function in our own lives. Since neither of our dogs were actually well behaved at the dog park, we decided that we would walk together twice a week, up and down the hills of Brookline, MA.
I need accountability.
Shari Becker has been writing and creating content for children and teens for over 25 years. She began her career developing branded content for Nickelodeon and Disney-owned properties, and today she is the founder of Whale Rock Literary Workshops.


Emily Peace Harrison is a children’s book author and has worked in higher education administration for nearly 20 years. Her award-winning, debut picture book, I’D RATHER BE ME, was published in September 2024 (Belle Isle Books). Emily’s picture books, filled with beautiful illustrations and heartfelt characters, aim to inspire confidence, foster empathy, and promote self-esteem in young readers. When she’s not at her day job or crafting rhymes for her stories, Emily likes nothing better than spending time with family and friends. Visit her at 

Amanda Davis is a teacher, artist, writer, and innovator who uses her words and pictures to light up the world with kindness. Amanda is the author of the award-winning picture books, 30,000 Stitches: The Inspiring Story of the National 9/11 Flag (illustrated by Sally Wern Comport), and Moonlight Memories (illustrated by Michelle Jing Chan). SOMETIMES STORMY is her author-illustrator debut, and she has three more unannounced picture books on the way. Learn more about Amanda on her 



Srividhya Venkat is a children’s writer, mom, and former early childhood educator. She has published several picture books, including Seeker of Truth (a 2025 Jane Addams Children’s Book Award finalist), Girls on Wheels (2024 RISE: A Feminist Project Booklist), and Dancing in Thatha’s Footsteps (2022 South Asia Book Award). Having grown up in India and lived across three countries, Srividhya loves stories that are unique, yet universal. You can learn more about her at 













