This is a short story I’m working on, more in the horror vein than my usual SF stories. It looks like it will shape up to be somewhere between 3,000 and 4,000 words, and will be a 99 cent title unless I decide to hold it back for my next collection.
Honestly, I probably will simply publish it separately, and collect it later. My Isolation and Other Stories collection has been my experiment with publishing a collection of stories that have not been published separately, and I simply am not seeing a difference in sales of or interest in the collection. Hardly a rigorous experiment… but I do the best I can with the limited tools at hand.
Here’s a snippet from the rough draft of Aunt:
One thing people do not understand about psychiatrists, or about anyone really, is that nobody has the power to fix you once you’re broken. Through luck or stubbornness or sheer will to survive, something in you must be willing to take the hand of the helper when they come to help. We do not always have the power to rescue ourselves, or the will to take the hand of the rescuer. But one of the two is what survival demands.