Leather-bound tatters Blood-ink maters to parchment Read atop an escarpment Fire-blue tines rape the sky On-high violations as Motivation for Necronomic Incantations, audible permutations Of flesh, veins, and hatred Eyes red with sound and fury Signifying there is no worry Of nine clouds of judgement As Mephistical mystics Regurgitate cannibalistic Fetid decay disguised as lyrics… Continue reading Grimoire
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A Local’s Guide to Wood Wraiths
Hi there! My name is Cathy Haan, and I have been a licensed realtor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, for over fifteen years. One of the most common questions I get from potential homebuyers is about the prevalence of wood wraiths. So, I’ve written this article for my blog, Haan Talks Houses, in the hopes that I… Continue reading A Local’s Guide to Wood Wraiths
A Named Storm
We agreed: it had to be a drifter, an outsider. That much was clear. Our town wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big enough to hold, to hide, an appetite such as this. We knew this to be true. We knew this because we knew everyone. Of course, the first person we would have suspected—the only person—was her brother. But… Continue reading A Named Storm
Smash
Homecoming Dorothy absentmindedly bobbed her head to the beat of “Espresso” pounding from the car speakers. Her friends—Kianna, Zoe, and Gabby—hollered the lyrics, way off-key but not caring. Her forehead pressed against the window, Dorothy watched the towering redwoods blur by, pulling away each time the Lexus jounced over a pothole. Gabby never spotted them… Continue reading Smash
The Laundrette
It was barely four o’clock, and already the thick, wet Scottish dark of winter had fallen around the loch like a shroud. The car mounted a rise and began the descent into the valley. Maggie didn’t like coming this way, but she didn’t trust the Big Road, what with all the lorries—not in this junkheap.… Continue reading The Laundrette
A Little Terror
It is crying again. A loud, incessant wail that rattles the eardrums and causes the cutlery to tremble in the cupboards. Give it another few minutes, and the hollering will turn into a full-blown tantrum, with spectral fists smashing against the floorboards and tiny…
Words
Reginald Cathcart squirms. His stomach’s disquiet. The past week’s stories have been weak, not up to his usual standards. He can feel the Words’ gurgitation roil. They push against the inside of him. He senses them weave through his intestines, circle his stomach like they’re on a Gravitron ride, snake upward through his esophagus. He… Continue reading Words
The Hole in the Corner of the Dining Room Floor
My piece-of-shit cousin Brice waved the card in front of my face for just a minute too long, each wag building the pressure bit by bit. I stared blankly ahead. My body became a bubble, holding back an unspeakable rage with the thinnest of films. “Finders keepers,” he sneered. The bubble popped. It was inevitable.… Continue reading The Hole in the Corner of the Dining Room Floor
Slip
Most horror stories people recount from their university years take place first or second term. Perhaps they went out drinking and got lost in the city’s winding streets, their impaired minds guiding them deep into unknown alleyways and ivy-covered husks, leaving them totally disorientated. Or, inhibited by unfamiliarity, they attempted to find their class only… Continue reading Slip
I Know You’re There. Somewhere.
We were hiking in a dense wood when a sudden rainstorm blew up. We ran for shelter and came upon an old abandoned house. A mansion, really, that must have once been beautiful. “How lucky is that?” you said and bounded onto the porch. I nearly fell through the rotten boards, but you caught my… Continue reading I Know You’re There. Somewhere.