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Matt Dovey

6:00pm, 11th March 2016

A Debutante in the Underworld

Skeleton, dancingThis cover of New Order's Blue Monday done with instruments from 1933 is haunting my mind, and I find myself writing fanfiction for a cover song. Listen to it as you read.

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TAGS: nonsense


10:10am, 16th December 2015

Techromancy: A Definition in Story

There is an art, a delicate gift, to the act of bringing dead technology back to life. It is an art I know well. Let me tell you of it.

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TAGS: nonsense


9:07pm, 4th November 2015

The Pot of Life Eternal

It can be tough to peak early in your career, and know that it's all downhill from here, but sometimes you've just gotta take what the fates deal you. Will I ever hit the heady heights of local press again? Is this my sole moment in the blinding sunlight of Lincolnshire gossip?

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TAGS: nonsense


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About

Matt Dovey is a writer of short speculative fiction. He is very tall, very British, and probably drinking a cup of tea right now. His surname rhymes with “Dopey”, but any other similarities to the dwarf are purely coincidental. More →

Latest Story

I have left you a snack on your bedside table. Open your mouth, and chew carefully.

Audio Recording Left by the CEO of the Ranvannian Colony to Her Daughter, on the Survival Imperative of Maximising Profits

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Narrations

Last night, I dreamt of the drowned man again.

It starts with a murmur. A prayer, slithering through a sleeping shipmate's lips. Or perhaps a confession, or a memory caught in the fog of the ghostly hours before dawn. It lingers little down here, in the stale air heavy with the stench of urine and unwashed bodies. Soon it rises higher, amidst the sails and the riggings, hungry for fresh air. Then comes the scratching against the ship's hull. Grip by grip, claw-like hands dig into the wood dragging upwards God knows what.

Drowned Man's Kiss by Christine Lucas
Tales to Terrify #409

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Random Story

This is the sound of the end of the world: a billion voices raised in song, a harmony twisting and ululating around the colossal vibrating bass of the core immolators, twelve shining lances of light from the Yattari ships that pierce the now-dying planet of Korthia at equidistant points and pin it in space like a dissected animal on a metal tray.

This is the Sound of the End of the World