MindWorks: An Uncanny Compendium of Short Fiction($19.89Value)

Description

From the incomparable mind of award winner Neal Shusterman, New York Times bestselling author of the Arc of a Scythe, comes a collection of uncanny and unforgettable short stories. This collection of unforgettable and uncanny stories could only come from the mind of award winner Neal Shusterman. Compiled for the first time in one epic volume, these stories both classic and brand-new will stretch your imagination from terror to the sublime and back again. Explore a world where bats block out the sun, where soup is a trap for your soul, or where the life-force of a glacier can bring back the dead. Journey to a place where the wind can be captured, time can be crafted into infinite attic space, or a hot tub can house an ancient monster. And revisit the Arc of the Scythe universe for two all-new tales of gleaning. In this collection, the only thing that is truly certain is nothing is certain. "Shusterman's inventive, thought-provoking compilation of sci-fi, dystopian, and horror stories is sure to entertain for hours." -- -Shelf Awareness for Readers ― October 15, 2025 "A thoroughly enjoyable arrangement of short fiction at once eerie, absurd, and thought-provoking." -- -Kirkus ― October 15, 2025 Neal Shusterman is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty award-winning books for children, teens, and adults, including the Unwind dystology, the Skinjacker trilogy, Downsiders , and Challenger Deep , which won the National Book Award. Scythe , the first book in his series Arc of a Scythe is a Michael L. Printz Honor Book. He also writes screenplays for motion pictures and television shows. Neal is the father of four, all of whom are talented writers and artists themselves. Visit Neal at StoryMan.com and Facebook.com/NealShusterman. 1. A Unity of [Purpose] A Unity of [Purpose] I long to sit at the Resolute desk. To bring a firm fist down upon the well-worn oak, and feel it resonate like a drum. That desk! Which has witnessed declarations of war, and countless State of the Union addresses. Oh, to preside over the machinations of government from the Oval Office. Preside! President! Presidential! How I wish my mouth could speak those words! But, alas, I must be satisfied with translation. “Good morning, B. Are you ready for today? It’s a full schedule.” Georgina! My campaign manager. My handler. My everything. She is beautiful inside and out by anyone’s standards. I vigorously nod my approval, and she smiles. “Then let’s get you ready!” Ah, but first a morning swim! I am escorted to the brackish waters of the Hudson. It is brisk this early in the spring, and less buoyant than the sea, but it makes for an invigorating workout, and gives me time to get my head in the game. Yes, the Resolute desk is well within my reach! But, alas, I will never actually sit behind it. Because I lack the ability to sit. Nor do I have a fist to bring down upon its smooth lacquered surface. But these are mere technicalities. At times it may weigh on me—but not today! Half an hour in the mighty Hudson, and I can take on the world! With the help of a slinged winch, I am loaded back into my travel tank, and we roll! My travel tank is a modified tanker truck. State of the art. Eleven thousand gallons kept at a constant sixty-seven degrees. Waterproof screens for communication with the team, and various floating diversions to ease the stress of overland travel. A morning rally in New York, afternoon in Philadelphia, and an evening fundraiser outside Pittsburgh are on the day’s agenda. The team confirms that the venues are all set. “The oratory tanks are in place,” the event coordinator tells me, in his own little Zoom window, which looks like its own little tank. “Clear polycarbonate. Completely bulletproof.” It pains me that the tanks from which I present my vision for the nation must be impervious to ballistics, but these are the times we live in. There are those naysayers who would question my capabilities. Insist that I am defined by my physical limitations. Backward thinking. Besides, a great leader knows how to play to their strengths. My cool manner. My smooth movement. How I cut through liquid space like the most graceful of Olympians; the envy of any species sentient enough to comprehend so complex an emotion. And managerial skills? Please! I can balance a budget as easily as balancing a beach ball on my snout. “Any questions, Mr. Breacher?” asks the event coordinator. “Eeek eeek e-e-e-e-e-eeek!” Georgina translates for me. “As long as the tank is set to the proper temperature, I’ll be fine.” Next, the team discusses accusations and attacks by the opposition, who have questioned my ability to sign official documents without opposable thumbs. “Thumbs?” a loudmouthed pundit proclaimed on some partisan news station. “It doesn’t even have hands—why are we talking about thumbs?” But before I can say anything, Georgina jumps in. “That’s exactly that kind of insensitivity tha