Content Warning: Gore, bullying
They surround us both in the school car park, enough of them that numbers don't matter, their shadows snatching the hot sun from our faces. Boys stalking like hyenas; a pack mentality of cruelty and fear.
Madeleine hides behind me. I try to stand tall and brave for her sake, to show her the only honest way to justify your existence in this world: pride.
Horror; 496 words; first published 28th June 2023 at Nightmare Magazine (issue 129) →
Content Warning: Abuse of children: emotional (bullying, belittling) and physical (hitting)
Lindom Hall was a cold place; a lonely place; an empty place of stone and echoes. Margaret had her servants, of course, but they hardly counted. She had grown used to the silence, perhaps, but never truly comfortable with it.
Yet now that her son was returned at last to the Hall, she took no solace in the company.
"Mother, please," he said. "It is not so much money to ask for, is it?"
Horror; 5128 words; first published 28th December 2018 at PseudoPod #628 →; podcasted 28th December 2018 at PseudoPod #628 →
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 →
You're not a person, they say, circling. You're one of Them. From the other side.
”Tomorrow they would send a message faster than the speed of light--or not. If they succeeded, they would make history. If they failed, it wouldn't be because of George Conrad's equipment. He left when everyone else did but returned to test each circuit in the prototype of the QE terminal. He got more done when working late.
”Anatomy of a Golden Pen apology appearance award Dublin2019 fermi paradox free Glasgow2024 harm homebrew interview lessons new story news nonsense podcast politics responsibilities retrospective roundup science science fiction waffle wotf32 writing
Inside, I drip: I leak I throb I pulse I glisten. Everything is moist underfoot and my walls leave stains of bile and bloodclot on the black-robed priests that pass through like infection.
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