Below is my incomplete list of ebooks by Friday Flash participants. The best part about Friday Flash is diversity, and the same is true for this list of books. There is something for everyone.

I have read several of these titles, and the rest are on my reading list. Sure, ebooks don’t impress people like print books sitting on a shelf, but you’re a reader! (You could always take a snap of your digital bookshelf like I did.) Even if you don’t have a fancy ebook reader, you can enjoy their books on your PC, phone or iPod (and some are available in print.) Smashwords supports many formats or read online.

If you’re creating an ebook for Smashwords, consider formatting working contents supporting PDF, epub, mobi, and iPad. See my post on formatting.

Books are cheap. Buy them all! (At least sample.)

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13 Horror Stories by John McDonell (McDonnellWrite.) Sample on Smashwords.

A Breath of Life and Other Stories by Eric J. Krause (ericjkrause) is a collection of shorts. Find it at Smashwords or Amazon.

A, B & E by Marc Nash (21stCscribe) is in paperback at Amazon.

Deadlands Hunt by G L Drummond (Scath) is part of a world of stories. Sample on Smashwords .

Don’t Fall Asleep by Laura Eno (lauraeno) begins the Dream Assassin series. Find it on Smashwords or Amazon.

A Fine Cast of Characters by J. Dane Tyler (DarcKnyt) is a collection. Sample at Smashwords.

The First Tale by Icy Sedgwick (icypop) takes place in her Vertigo City from her serial shared on Tuesday Serial available at Smashwords.

From Dark Places by Emma Newman (EmApocalyptic) is a collection available on Smashwords.

Must Love Dragons by Monica Marier (lil_monmon) is a novel available at Lulu.

Password Incorrect by Piotr Kowalczyk (namenick) is a collection. Sample on Smashwords.

Prophecy Moon by Laura Eno (lauraeno) is a fantasy novella about love, wizards, and worlds. Sample at Smashwords or Amazon.

RealmShift by Alan Baxter (AlanBaxter) is a novel. Available at Smashwords and Amazon.

Something’s Not Right by Trevor Mcpherson (3S_stories) is a collection of shorts. Your biggest disappointment might be how short this book is, but the stories pack a punch. Available at Smashwords.

Strange New Feet by Shannon Esposito (soesposito) is a science-politics novella available at Smashwords and Amazon.

You’ll also find some of your favorite Friday Flash authors in these collections:

• Best of Friday Flash - Volume One edited by J.M. Strother is available at Smashwords.
• The Yin and Yang Book edited by Jodi Cleghorn and Paul Anderson at chinesewhisperings.com

You want a working contents page in your ebook. Readers love them. Anything that improves navigation is good. Done properly, the Smashwords Meatgrinder will produce epub and PDF with working contents page linking to your chapters or parts. Software like Adobe Digital Editions and iBooks on iPad will allow the reader to jump to chapters in your book. Below are screen shots of my novel, Raven Memory in Adobe Digital Editions and iBooks. The iBooks contents work by scrolling. In addition, iBooks reveals how many pages remain in the chapter. Note: In my first revision of Raven Memory, I used flowing text between chapters, and my recent revision (Sep 3) uses chapter headers.

Every once in a while, a person catches a glimpse. Out of the corner of an eye, or a fleeting glimmer, a person sees them. Not spirits, but what I call memory ghosts. From there when they pass through into our here and now.

Memory burns into the cosmos. Gazing at the stars is looking at memory. The light traveling across the galaxy spanning years transfers information reaching the observer forming new memories. From a painting of an artist, bits of information travel to the eyes speaking to the viewer. The dead continue their ghosts caught within the information. Everything passes through the fabric of the cosmos. Like fingerprints in the information, memories leave their mark.

I see her still, my little girl. In the passenger seat on the way to school, or sitting at her desk, studying, she fills my life with joy as I view the world through her eyes. Many memories cling like the beaming smile of a child opening her birthday present finding all her wishes, charms in life worth remembering. Even if the world forgets my little pumpkin, I see her memory ghost.

They say I never had a daughter. The world forgets. Her fingerprint is there, like everything else, caught within the information. But sometimes, memory changes.

From the moment a memory blossoms in the mind, the brain works connecting the patterns. Information not immediately connected to any known pattern dives into the abyss. Other details fade as more information flows linking related patterns together. Connections build a network of memories, blurring some details while reinforcing others. Memories change. Blue becomes gray, tall becomes average. And sometimes something out of the ordinary blazes like the sun floating above the other memories, an interpretation hiding other details, always there.

Does the tapestry of reality mutate altering memory?

Even if the tapestry changes, and only I see her, my girl is here. The information holds all the ghosts. One only needs to look, and interpret.

They never leave, these cosmic fingerprints.

Standing between wagon ruts, Draco Torre considers the sign announcing Hope Hill. Stars meet prairie, flat horizons. Hope without a hill.

Following ruts, Torre scans dark buildings. Nothing stirs. Blasted heat carries the stench of death.

At the far end of Hope Hill, light flows from an open doorway, down three steps splashing the road. The church casts a sullen look. Catcalls of rapists, howls of murderers pour from the doorway. A scream shatters the night.

Not even the hottest summer on record matches the blazing eyes of Draco Torre. Throwing open duster, Torre grasps guns. Last hope for Hope Hill.

The building is alive, music pounding into the stone walls its beating heart, the vibrating steel its rumbling stomach, the buzzing neon sign its voice singing into the night. Doors open swallowing patrons feeding its hunger.

Searching for the music, Mike descends the steel staircase feeling like a feather floating on a current. Lights zip through the haze splashing the sea of dancers. Purple rods lining stone columns, black light, illuminate the waving neon bracelets and flowing white shirts breaking between the storming mass of dark clothing. Stepping onto the dance floor, Mike soaks in the music and begins bouncing to the beat.

Atop the stage, a banshee with blue hair screams into the microphone, her voice switching between demonic thunder and angelic cries. A crash of drums rolls into a new song, the banshee wails about pain and anger.

Goth girls move aside turning their gazes on Mike like predators sizing up their prey. Some of their eyes glow, special lenses catching the black light. Others snarl exposing sharp teeth. They wear costumes celebrating the creatures of the night. The goth girls, even some boys, swarm around Mike, their lulling dance pulling him deeper into the horde.

The pack opens up into a ring, a sinuous wall grooving to the music. Howls and laughter cry out. Electric guitars grind into a chant, the beat met by stomping feet and nodding heads. Fists pump into the air. The banshee screams.

Dispatching from the ring, a woman dances into the center, gyrating hips sending her into a grooving spin. She runs her fingers through her pink hair. Her palms run down her sides hugging herself.

Mike dances close, his steps complimenting hers. Her eyes blaze, a blue simmer in the black light flashing to deep crimson in the shadows. Arms wrapping around each other, hips meeting, they grind to the beat. He breathes in her sweat, tastes her licorice lips. His insides burn like fire. Peering into her intense gaze, he asks for her name, but his voice is lost to the music.

She smiles revealing her fangs. Closing in, her cheek grazes his. Her breath tickles his ear. “Candy,” she says. Squeezing against him, she licks his lips and closes in on his other ear. “Sweet as candy.” She licks his ear.

The sounds of the club fade, the howling voices growing distant. The music is a distant thunder. Mike dances, his cheek against hers, moving in a swirling wave to the music of their own feet tapping the wood floor. They dance into the shadow world.

The club takes a breath, a cool breeze.

Mike finds his arms empty. Glancing around, he finds the dance floor empty. The club is dark. Silence rings shattering thought. Peering down, he finds his shirt covered in blood. No pain. He tastes licorice lipstick on his lips.

Movement catches his eye.

Like moonlight reflecting off the rolling sea, shapes move about the dance floor becoming hazy forms. Apparitions dance in slow motion. As their features become more discernible, their movements increase in speed.

Mike hears the music, slow and quiet at first. Watching the others, noticing their vibrant faces, their sweat, he realizes he is the ghost gazing back at the world. Touching his throat, he finds torn flesh, cold and dry.

The music explodes into Mike’s thoughts, and he dances. The others barely notice him, if at all. This is Club Necropolis where the dead never dance alone.