Martin Ross

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2021

Stories (99)

99 Stories

3792 karma pts

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“WOLF-ED: The Prose Musical” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #277

“Ready?”Rick looked grimly at a point somewhere between me and the small, deceptively “cozy” cottage. Well, hut might’ve been a more accurate description of the dump – Mort Schwein notoriously wasn’t the brains of the family -- but to The Law, it might as well have been, to put it in a context you might understand, The Batcave as rehabbed by Elon Musk. I’d almost think Mort was taunting us, if he wasn’t the Schwein Brothers’ weak sister.Fenrick Lupous was a lone wolf, metaphorically, of course, and he simply grunted as he rose to his haunche...

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“Bob Barker and the Price of Cookies” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #275

If Bob Barker was dead, he apparently was making the most of it.Bev checked the date on the magazine, guessing this bundle of BLTNs (?) had gathered dust on some post office loading dock until some chucklehead’d awoke from their civil service coma.November 2024. She angrily brushed the white hair from her eyes as the early November winds buffeted the mailbox bank, then located the mailing label that cheapened the high-tone, heavy matte cover. Bev’s old stylist had been a pretentious little B with a stack of thick, chic, hoity Town and C...

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“The Creature From the Undeveloped Interstate Right-of-Way” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #274

Reggie for once had brought home a truly intriguing, unique gift. The Brennans nonetheless were wholly unappreciative, to Sir Reginald Fox’s bewilderment and consternation.“Sweet holy FUCK!”Reggie had never fully grasped that a gift once spurned has little chance the second or third or sixth pass. The chipmunk had sparked mild approbation; the first robin of spring amused horror. The rabbit on Good Friday morning had surely left some psychic scar tissue on the kids, and after the crow turned up Halloween, Gary was mightily afraid Reggie had ...

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“Noche de Muertos: A Tale of the Arts Department” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #274

Playa Del Carmen, Mexico/2012Malik stared Death in the eye.“Gracias, no,” Malik murmured, pulling his Bureau ID. “Gringos federales.”The eyes behind Death’s deep ocular orbits narrowed, and a hearty laugh erupted from beneath the clenched teeth. He slipped the fat, expertly rolled Havanas – illegal in the States, freely available in Quintana Roo – into his cloak. “Was that necessary?” Agent Drees sighed beside Malik. “How long you think before word gets out the feds are in town?”“Relax, Austin – get into the Día de los Muertos spirit,” ...

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“Mr. XX” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #274

By the sixth parent, Mr. Grant was ready to toss it in for an evening of Little Caesar’s, the new Ryan Murphy gorefest on Hulu.Where their offspring were relentlessly candid, contemporary millennial parents were adept in prefatory prevarication. I’m an adamant opponent of censorship. This isn’t a racial thing. We take our child’s education very seriously. Our daughter’s needs always come first.He’d scheduled Anthony Cardell last. Despite the common perception, big pitchers actually tended to have the biggest ears, and Wil warily regarded the...

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“Phenomenal” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #272

I knew the other three who’d come on board, but had never made the formal acquaintance. Nor from what I’d learned, would have cared to.The other guys, no idea. I use “guys” loosely, without gender assignment. Which isn’t a horrible thing — people more than ever are just kinda people, despite the plucky can-do dementia of the Proud Boys and rollers and Florida and guys like my two new “friends” who seemed to swing dicks with random glee. Today’s vast uncertainty liberates me from the subconscious “rules” of attraction or aggression and the tr...

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“Day of Roux: A Mike Dodge Mystery” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #270

The roux is the foundation -- of any great stew, bisque, chowder, the velveteen béchamel your visiting cousin calls the “gravy” he found just a mite too boojie for his tastes. It’s the distinction between a minestrone and a pasta e fagiole and certainly the basis of any jambalaya you don’t want called out as a gumbo.**“You’re shitting me, right?”“I shit you not,” I pledged, sliding the cookie sheet into the oven. I guesstimated, as I had throughout my culinary career, and set the dial for 375. It was an old church oven – that’s to say a rest...

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“The Mask of Sammy: A Tale of the Arts Department” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #269

1937New York CitySammy flung a precise complement of steaming chestnuts into a paper bag - an impressive feat given the enormity of his signature scoop and his signature over-the-shoulder tossing arc. Whistling his slightly manic but jaunty signature tune, Sammy proudly conferred his toasty treasure to the Dapper Dan and his Dazzling Dame as they swayed in rhythm with him and the skyscrapers looming above. The city had become heavily anthropomorphized ever since the banks had recovered and folks had quit fleeing for California’s golden boule...

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“Blue Tina” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #267

“That sounds a little fucking paranoid, you know that, right?”Wren frowned and, turning back to the bed, remembered why she’d probably let that pass. Melissa seemed unconcerned about Wren’s physical satisfaction, and so, paradoxically, there were no self-conscious fumblings, no insecurely showy moves doomed to failure, and utterly no hesitation in extracting the most out of the situation – a mutually beneficial selfishness. A flash of lightning illuminated Melissa’s contours like a private shoot, bringing their dual commonalities into focus....

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“The Picture of Daria Cray: A Professor Deshpande Mystery” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #266

The Dancer entreats the audience with a blossoming left hand, and although the blazing lights at stage’s edge render invisible the bedazzled masses, She feels the silence, the moment of transit, when observer becomes one with the Dance, believes the doors have opened to a universe of possibilities. With one inviting gesture, The Dancer has become the Conductor of Dreams…Her fingers pause. A double-tap, and a blue nail hovers over the keyboard. It descends, and all begins again…**“These mitigating circumstances,” Curtis murmured. “Whyn’t you ...

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“The House of Blues: A Tale of the Arts Department” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #265

June 17, 2015Thea noted it straight away, even as Earl continued to greedily explore the depths of his second bowl of she-crab soup.Earl Mason was a down-home Central Illinois downstater whose marine appetite generally had ended at Long John Silver’s. But roughly 45 years after falling hard for the University Arts Department’s Chicago firebrand, the college bean-counter plummeted headlong into Lowcountry cuisine. The Charleston trolley guide had insisted on what had persisted as a working neighborhood soul kitchen even after Southern Living ...

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“Curtis and the Caliente Conundrum” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #262

July 21 took the grand prize for hottest day in the recorded history of Earth, whooping July 2023. July 2025 was a frontrunner for the title next summer, so doings in the Gaza and Trump’s attempted comeback tour and Simone Biles pretty much took the steam out of the story.And while Curtis was normally a net-balance sort of guy, the local July 29 numbers were what really counted. Beyond an afternoon upswing in fender benders at the intersections where the Walgreen’s displayed the high two-digit temp, the usual domestic and street shit extreme...

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“The Backhanded Blessing: A Professor Deshpande Mystery” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #261

Thank you for your blessings. May the milk of human kindness never curdle. “Neither an especially profound expression of gratitude, nor a particularly lavish gift,” Saanvi observed, turning the silver vessel in her fingers. “A puja kalash, but probably not a pricey one.”“Looks like silver-plated stainless steel,“ Wei Zhao told Professor Deshpande. The University’s youngest tenured professor remained standing, her chairman presumed out of wholly unnecessary deference. “The engraving’s why I brought it to you.”“I’m relieved,” Professor Deshpan...

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“The Rockwell Piece: A Tale of the Arts Department” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #260

1961Rockwell straightened on his stool with a slight squeak of the loose bolt, swiping a Crisco-tempered crumb from his white cotton shirt and grinning like the pie had been catfish and Wonder Bread from the Galilean shores. He consulted the Nehi clock above the flattop.“Ah, well,” Rockwell sighed, with euphoric alacrity.The gangly owner was at his elbow in a lickety second, spidery palms spread on the scarred formica before the diner, sweat and alarm condensing on his homely mug. “Something wrong with the pie, Sir? Danged Linda has a heavy ...

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“The Resolution” by Martin Ross

Submitted to Contest #258

Who killed Ronnie Fells?Melissa’s finger paused on the “Walk” button most of the University’s bovine herd ignored. Couple times a semester, some oblivious moron, some entitled pedestrian constitutionalist with an immortality complex or a misunderstanding of the superpowers conferred with a doctorate got dislocated or ruptured at this corner near the student union. They made the button extra big and enameled the huge raised arrow so even a medieval lit major could spot it, and still, the world sporadically lost another great MBA, hotel manage...

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Author bio

I was a reporter and federal policy writer for 33 years, and have been a mystery lover since I discovered Ellery Queen in the Cruft Elementary library more than 50 years ago. I love the classic, fairplay mystery, and as a community volunteer, I hope to meld old-school storytelling with contemporary issues and concerns and, ideally, humor — for lack of a better term, the “dude cozy.” I’ve collected seven Kindle collections of my Reedsy stories.