Matt Dovey

home about stories

Stories

A Spider Trapped in Wax

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?"

Continue reading →

Horror; 5128 words; first published 28th December 2018 at PseudoPod #628 →; podcasted 28th December 2018 at PseudoPod #628 →


Search

About

Matt Dovey is a professional writer of short science fiction & fantasy. 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

There weren't no good way to say Colin, mate, this is shit, you don't deserve it, but we bloody love you and we'll get through it, alright? Cos no matter how you said it his head was too full of angry buzzing to hear it.

Clouds in a Clear Blue Sky

Subscribe

Sign up to the newsletter:

or subscribe with RSS.

Narrations

Each morning at precisely seven, Georges, famulus to Magus Hugarth Madswom, stabbed his master in the heart. It was a fairly complicated affair as the linens needed to be spared staining and Georges had to make the thrust quickly, lest his master wake up and become angry with him for failing in his duties. He had suggested abjuring the sheets against such stains, but his master claimed that doing so also meant his sweat would pool about his body during the night rather than being absorbed by the sheets, and Georges' master refused to wake up stinking and slimy. So, no abjurations.

The Masochist's Assistant by Auston Habershaw
PodCastle #586

Blog

Anatomy of a Golden Pen apology award Dublin2019 fermi paradox free harm homebrew interview lessons new story news nonsense podcast politics responsibilities retrospective roundup science science fiction waffle wotf32 writing

Twitter

Facebook

Random Story

Two corners, three, it's still on them, four, six, nine. Then Vik stumbles, trips, scuffs across the floor. When he picks himself up, his fibrous face mask is torn and shredded.

Remember to Breathe