“Smile! Everyone’s waiting, young man.” She was mad at me again, and it was my fault— again. Camera in hand, she was trying to take a photo of the four of us and I wouldn’t, or couldn’t smile. My eyes were red and I felt self-conscious. Who wants a photo taken of themselves when they
Intimacies by Lucy Caldwell is one of those collections that you’ll remember for a lifetime, a collection that you remember exactly where you where when you read it – it’s memorable and masterful and proves yet again what a force Caldwell is when it comes to the short story form and why she is one
I first came to know of the name William R. Soldan when I picked up his collection ‘In Just The Right Light’ which was brilliant. So when the opportunity arose to read ‘Houses Burning and Other Ruins’ another collection, I jumped at the chance – and boy is it good. ‘Houses Burning and Other Ruins’
A celebration of the sinister that welcomes darkness, Only the Broken Remain is a gripping collection that turns the every day on its head. Taking inspiration from folklore images and fairytales, Coxon has produced a selection of tantalising short stories that leave us itching for answers, a quick glimpse into this maddening world. In Only
Tracy Fahey first came to my attention with the phenomenal collection ‘The Unheimlich Manoeuvre’ – and now she’s back at it again with a follow up collection from Sinister Horror Company – prepare to be blown away! I Spit Myself Out covers many themes of womanhood and is a must read for all horror fans,
Open with: two men crushed to death in a campervan. Well ok, two men, potentially crushed to death in a campervan. Fate unconfirmed. And besides, it’s more like a caravan really, if we’re being pernickety. Which we are. So two men potentially crushed to death in a caravan. But perhaps we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. Let’s back
Gil’d kill for some coffee right now. Grains of sleep linger in his lashes. That trail of gross leaves is still there. He stares. Fuck fresh air, he has just decided. Not fresh air as a thing. Not fuck photosynthesis. Not fuck that. Fuck no. But as a judgment. A kind of putdown. That greener
I. Even now, Zoë can remember all the prices in the Melbourne milk bar that her parents owned. Paddle Pops were seven cents. Sunny Boys were three. Violet Crumbles and Smith’s Crinkle Cut chips both sold for five, the same price as the bus fare to her high school. In those days, two dollars a
Grenth Enterprise Academy Mr. Jackson’s Classroom (2nd floor) Tutor Time—14:45-15:05 Tuesday: Quiet Reading -a thin girl, some would call her pale, but people don’t tend to say that about students so well-endowed in PE even if it’s true. It’s not just that is the thing. Endowed, well, in just about every scholastic or athletic endeavour
Life was good: Domestic arrangement pleasant; kids and grandkids (for the moment) unworrisome; sky bright blue, wind zero. All of which was making her tense and restless. She knew the problem: She was addicted to fiction. She had been a compulsive reader from an early age, when she’d learned that if Nancy Drew and her
