A Psi of Relief

by Shawn M. Klimek


Once the mushroom’s psychotropic effects kicked in, Philip and Janice realized they could read each other’s minds.  The thought stream which culminated in their copulation went as follows:  I sense we’re both horny. Horny, not desperate. Screw you, then. Sorry, that just came out. Don’t pity me. Your vulnerability is attractive. Your compassion is sexy. Oh, screw it, let’s do this.

It was during the post-coital denouement, a morphing, emotional stew of confused lust, self-loathing and disillusionment that the telekinetic effects kicked in, allowing Janice to satisfy herself and Philip to stack all the beer cans into an impressive tower.


Shawn M. Klimek

Shawn M. Klimek’s stories and poems have been published in scores of e-zines and anthologies, including “Grumpy Old Gods, Volume 1”, Zombie Pirate Publishing’s “World War Four”, and “Gold: The Best of Clarendon House Anthologies, Volume One, 2017/2018. Find more, including links to all his published works at A Jot In The Dark


Other Oceans

by Blair Frison


An epidemic of suicide and madness swept the planet as the Thing neared. Many believed it was God himself, bringing with him his promised purge.

As the shape in the sky grew more rapidly, Earth was unchained from her eternal path, succumbing to the immense gravitational pull. Soon, the Thing was so close, its face filled the spinning horizons. The sky was a fast-flowing sea of eyes and teeth, a sight that brought the remnants of humanity to their knees.

Titanic jaws chewed through continents ravenously while the beast continued on without pause, savouring its sustenance as Earth died screaming.


Blair Frison

Blair Frison lives with his family on the island of Cape Breton. He has written for various publications such as Year’s Best Transhuman SF 2017, Fossil Lake IV: SHARKASAURUS!, The Edge: Infinite Darkness, Deadman’s Tome, Boxing 24/7, and Haunt of Horrors. Blair is currently working on a collection of  stories.


Cosmic Horror

by Dustin Pinney


Ray saw the asteroid long before anyone. He understood, has always understood, that space, with all its wonders, wants us dead.

For years he searched the sky for the one constellation missed by vast generations of stargazers, the sum of the Zodiac, the sinister face scowling at mankind.

On a ridge in San Pedro de Atacama, the cosmic clockwork came into view, a billion points of blazing light sneering on the little man facing it down in defiance.

The rock spat from the mouth of the cosmos barreled towards him. Trembling with rage, Ray said, “No.”

And the universe blinked.


Dustin Pinney

Dustin lives and writes various kinds of things in upstate New York. He is both inspired and terrified by outer space.

He has published short horror, sci-fi and fantasy stories in both print and online venues, as well as dozens of articles for and His screenwriting work has produced several short fan films, commercials for Marina Vape, and content commissioned by New Japan Pro-Wrestling. 


The Tailor

by Ezekiel Kincaid


I slipped on the suit. The sleeves and pants still felt damp. Next time I’ll have to let it dry for another hour, at least.

I walked into the bathroom to check on Jim. He still lay in the bathtub moaning, with his skin removed and muscles glimmering in the flickering light. He slapped the side of the tub, leaving a bloody hand print.

“Stop your complaining. Looks better on me than it did on you.” I looked in the mirror and adjusted my new suit.

I was never comfortable in my own skin, that’s why I wore other people’s.


Ezekiel Kincaid

Ezekiel Kincaid resides in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with his wife, four children, and two dogs. The only other language he is fluent in is sarcasm. For fun, Zeke enjoys watching people get in socially awkward circumstances. He hates cat videos but loves watching wrestling promos from the 80’s. You can keep up to date with him on his website – 



by Denzell Cooper


The wheat grew past our heads, ears of corn brushing our ears. Will ran on ahead. I tried to keep up but lost him in the dense jungle of our imaginations.

When I almost hurtled into him, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“That thing is creepy,” he said, staring up in awe at the scarecrow, nailed to its post like a hobo Jesus.

Its face was made of leather. Its clothes were ripped and torn.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

Will nodded and we backed away, then turned.

“Help me,” begged the scarecrow.

We screamed and fled.


Denzell Cooper

Denzell Cooper is a multi-genre writer from Cornwall, England. For as long as he can remember he’s been a fan of horror and the macabre, and loves telling stories where creepy things happen to ordinary people. Find him on Twitter @DenzellCooper.


When the Cat’s Away…

by Thomas Kleaton


Norman scratched his head, pondering which resupply ship brought the rats.

He and Nancy had rats on their Wisconsin farm, but their retirement home in space was fully automated.  Pest control, even funeral arrangements. All in the contract.

Except it hadn’t responded when Nancy died the week before.

Hadn’t responded to the rats.

Modern technology. Worthless.
Norman held the trap, stout wood with VICTOR stamped on it, grimacing at the irony as he baited it with Nancy’s fingertip.

The finger she’d used to grasp her beloved brick cheese, the only part of her body not gnawed down to gleaming bone.


Thomas Kleaton

Thomas Kleaton is a freelance horror writer whose stories have been published in The Horror ‘Zine, Final Masquerade, Pernicious Invaders, Spooky Halloween Drabbles, Alban Lake Drabbles, and What Has Two Heads, Ten Eyes, and Terrifying Table Manners? He lives in the woods near Auburn, AL with his wife, Sheila.


Allison’s Ghost

by W.T. Paterson


The house wasn’t haunted when she moved in, but something followed Allison closely behind.  After a few days, the lights started to flicker. The stove started to buck. Blood leaked from the hallway light bulbs.  She thought about calling someone, but after her company lost funding, and her husband left, and her brother forgot her birthday, Allison embraced the attention.

The next month, the entity wrote her little notes on the steamed bathroom window.  “I love your new haircut.” She would respond by holding neighborhood seances every Friday.

When all was said and done, the companionship was more than welcomed.


W.T. Paterson

W.T. Paterson is the author of the novels “Dark Satellites” and “WOTNA”.  A Pushcart Prize nominee and graduate of Second City Chicago, his work has appeared in over 40 publications worldwide include Fiction Magazine, The Gateway Review, and a number of Anthologies. He is a current MFA candidate at the University of New Hampshire. Send him a tweet @WTPaterson.



by Connor Greenaway


He put the pen down, defeated. He couldn’t get the words right. No. He always had the words right, he just struggled to get them out.

They were all there, those beautiful, perfect words swimming around in the soup of his consciousness, caged inside his skull, an unjust prison.

She was watching him, always silently watching, judging.

Help me, please, he breathed wordlessly to her, my beautiful muse I’ve always needed you.

She was always there to inspire him, she never failed. Dead eyes gleamed lifelessly inside her rotting face as he kissed her, enraptured.

Work your magic, baby girl.


Connor Greenaway

Connor Greenaway is 25 years old, from South London. He works as an IT engineer and submits dark short fiction to obscure publishers in his spare time. He has recently appeared in anthologies by Gypsum Sound Tales, Tales from the Moonlit Path and Bloody Ribbons.


Devil’s Triangle

by Caleb Echterling


During the drinking game Devil’s Triangle, Ryan collapsed.

Brett covered Ryan’s face with penises drawn in Sharpie. Julia called the coroner, who pronounced Ryan dead.

At the visitation, a string of damp-eyed last-respect payers snaked past the casket. Snickers would bubble up after a glimpse of the obscenity decorating the deceased, and once mourners reached the family receiving line, it was guffaws all around.

The priest dispensed with a funeral mass in favor of playing Devil’s Triangle. Brett passed out. Ryan’s mother shaved off his eyebrows and wrapped him in duct tape. Everyone had a good laugh about that one.


Caleb Echterling

Caleb Echterling’s work has appeared a few places, including X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine and Drunk Monkeys. He tweets funny microfiction using the clever handle @CalebEchterling. You can find more of his work at


Big Bad Consequences

by Tim Hawken


Pneumoconiosis has taken its toll. The Black Lung they call it. Black Death, more like.

My breath is ragged where it used to be strong. I gasp air where I used to draw in entire storms of wind.

I would send it blasting from my mouth, past razor teeth to destroy homes. Straw, sticks, it didn’t matter. Stone too, despite what the stories say; I shattered granite to rubble.

Perhaps it was the dust from the destruction that got into my lungs. My only regret is I didn’t wait until the air cleared before feasting on that luscious pork steak.


Tim Hawken

Tim Hawken is a dark fiction writer who lives with his laptop in Western Australia. Most known for the Hellbound Trilogy, Tim also posts a weekly drabble on his Instagram feed inspired by the artists he follows. You can check out more about Tim’s weird world over at