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En la Casa de Fantasmas, by Brian Holguin
I. Everyone knows about La Bruja. They say she lives somewhere down in the Avenues south of Eagle Rock. She is a tiny thing, short and round. Always dressed in black no matter the weather or time of...
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The Atomic Hallows and the Body of Science, by Octavia Cade
Lise Meitner Co-Discoverer of Nuclear Fission A spear breaks its blade upon ribs and punctures hearts. It shines with ice-coated needles in the salt air, over breakfast. “I’ve had a letter,” says Lise...
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Raise-the-Dead Cobbler, by Andrea Corbin
The air was muggy, a heatwave burning through the spring, on the night that we met to conjure two people out of almost nothing at all. None of us could’ve done it without the others, and none of us...
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Me, Waiting For Me, Hoping For Something More, by Dee Warrick
Tiptree Honors List, 2018 I’m aware that there is an extra set of stairs in the basement that doesn’t usually exist. Behind the big silver ventilation pipes, past the row of tenants’ bikes parked down...
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The Imitation Sea, by Lora Gray
You find the dead Angel at five a.m. in the slurry of broken bottles and rotting fish on the Lake Erie shore. It almost looks human in the morning light, a ten-year-old, maybe eleven, boyish, face...
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The Passenger, by Emily Lundgren
I try to take a picture of the eerie. The power’s out, so I’m like, okay, standing outside the Pump n’ Stuff, looking at the gas pumps. My last customer was twenty minutes ago. Down the street by the...
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Bleeding Through the Shadows, by David Rees-Thomas
The store has been here for a hundred years. It’s outlived the coal mines, the dead of world wars, the indecencies of Thatcher, the indiscriminate violence of South Wales valleys youth. Every day I...
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The Ghost Pet Detective, by Ryan Row
Art’s funeral is full of crying girls. Law thinks this should tip some of them off, but there it is. Crying girls everywhere. White flowers in their hair. Black dresses and the scent of clean...
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Lighthouse Waiting, by Gwendolyn Clare
I am alone now. The gates mostly stand dark against the starscape; you are the first to come this way in some time. I hold myself together, hold myself out, and after so much practice I can do it...
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Ghosts of Bari, by Wren Wallis
Salvage is the only long-term game in the universe. No tyrant of the star-nets or titan of trade ever admired a salvage crew; we’re the crows on their trash-heaps, the rats in their walls. But I don’t...
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