E. R. Yatscoff
Bio
World traveller and adventurer. Retired fire rescue officer. From Canada to China to Russia to Peru and the Amazon. Award winning author of crime novels, travel and short stories.
Stories (13/0)
Mysteries of the Natural World
What? Bob Barker attacking Japanese whaling fleets? Military researchers blowing cash on snail armor? Are wildlife tags changing evolution? Plastic surgeons and human-faced fish? Is there a ‘dog telegraph’ system? Porcupines and Ford Motor Company collaboration? Zebras and hockey pants? Finding the truth is up to you—fact or fiction.
By E. R. Yatscoffabout a year ago in Earth
Night Visitors
Lucas’s eyes flew open. He wasn’t sure what had awakened him from a fitful sleep. Insects still picked and licked at his open wounds. The whipping had left his back with long open scars. His blood had immediately attracted all manners of hungry insects. So many, that several tree frogs had roosted on his chest, taking their fill of them. They seemed to be the only friendly creatures in this godforsaken jungle.
By E. R. Yatscoffabout a year ago in Fiction
Necessary Lies
NECESSARY LIES The dispatcher’s voice burst through the fire station speakers: medical aid, male fainting, in his seventies. The address, only ten blocks away, was easy to find and close to a community center. My crew—myself and three firefighters—jumped on the fire truck and launched out of the station. My request to dispatch for additional information received little more, except to discover an ambulance with EMTs or paramedics would be on a delayed response. Lately, that delay had gone as high as twenty minutes.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Confessions
Pulp Fiction Propaganda
“It takes considerable knowledge just to realize the extent of your own ignorance” -Tomas Sowell I took the aisle seat and acknowledged my well-dressed seatmate with a nod, not realizing who he really was. The long flight—New Delhi to Moscow—was a very cheap ticket, but I hadn’t expected the price to reflect the condition of the Iluyshin-made aircraft. Its engines roared with an incredible howl, forcing passengers to raise their voices, adding to the noise. When we hit turbulence, the seats shook, making me wish I had a socket set to cinch them down. Most of the wall panels overlapped or were crooked. That was what I could see. I didn’t want to think of what I couldn’t see--like the wing rivets through the grimy window. Perhaps Iluyshin meant ‘illusion’ of an aircraft, one on its final flight before crash landing in a scrap yard.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Journal
Mouths Of Madness
MOUTH OF MADNESS "You too skinny!" said the big man, his barrel chest deflating in disappointment. He stood beside a beat-up, rusted old Chevy Bel-Air, eyeing me through incredibly thick glasses as if I was in a shop window wearing a price tag. The man's left shoulder sat noticeably lower than the other, matching his car's slight tilt. Deep lines etched his tanned face centered by a nose bent to one side, just as the right car fender was slightly crumpled into a long wrinkle. One ear looked like it had been chewed on. The driver's side mirror dangled by a coat hanger wire.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Fiction
Cyclops At The Pool
Attending my third high school in four years put me in the position of knowing just how many freaky-looking dudes were in town. I could tell you all about Uni (he of the one eyebrow), Toad (bulging eyes and a large wart), Crow (very thin with dark skin and sharp nose), Lunchbox (looked like he was in grade five complete with the little kid’s lunchbox), Carp (eyes way far away from his nose), and Sniff (he either had Tourette’s syndrome or a constant cold). These are just a few notables. There are others, many others, me and my buddies tended to nickname. Cruel and crude? It was high school. Oddly these guys weren’t bullied.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Humans
A Christmas Story
Doogie and I were hanging out at Ritchie’s second-floor apartment, our regular hangout, watching a hockey game. We had a week off over Christmas time which loomed only a few days away. Trying to get into the holiday spirit was difficult; nothing was really working. We concluded that yeah, this dump could use a Christmas tree, get into the spirit. All the tree guys on lots around town had sold out already.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Fiction
Destiny Cafe
The sign of the Destiny Café hung high over the sidewalk and flickered from a bad connection. Seventeen-year-old Howard ‘Howie’ Masterton sat in the blue vinyl booth of the café looking at his reflection, twisting his dreadlocks. His face would pick up the red glare from the jittery sign. Rain from a thundershower pounded the awnings, compounding the dreariness of his life and the regretful situation he was mired in.
By E. R. Yatscoff2 years ago in Fiction
