The Curse of Old McBoaty: Part 2 by Norton McClure

If I told you that I’d passed my Crimping course at the Academy with the most dazzling display of flying colors you’d ever seen, you probably wouldn’t be very surprised. If I told you that my crimping skills would save Andronica, well, that might be more of a shocker. I try not to brag on myself more than a handful of times per day, but this story is worth the risk of being arrested by the Condescension Police. Continue reading The Curse of Old McBoaty: Part 2 by Norton McClure

Correcting the Slave Narrative: Toni Morrison’s Take on Horror to Challenge Antislavery’s Gothic Literature by Tom Garback

Horror seems to be an instantly recognizable concept, be it channeled through monsters like vampires and zombies or through criminals, madmen, serial killers, and the like. Diving deeper into the subject, across the mainstream, one may find arthouse films like A24’s The Witch and It Comes at Night. These remind us that horror can have hard-hitting emotion and mature, provocative themes, items greatly lost in popcorn thrillers and torture porn flicks. The most nuanced offerings of the horror genre, and thus the most artistically fruitful, are perhaps works of literary horror. Continue reading Correcting the Slave Narrative: Toni Morrison’s Take on Horror to Challenge Antislavery’s Gothic Literature by Tom Garback

The Wallpaper by Claire Fitzpatrick

The wallpaper was the colour of filth, of excrement, of something unclean. Despite its inanimateness, it seemed to leap out from the wall, its invisible arms outstretched, fingers uncurled. Once, it was probably an airy and welcoming room. It might have been a nursery. It might have been an office. But the colour had filled the room with an air of ugliness that could not be mollified by the addition of bedside table flowers or lilac curtains. Continue reading The Wallpaper by Claire Fitzpatrick

Skorsgard’s Blues by Tuckerman Wunderle

Skorsgard lingered outside of a cafe, wondering whether to turn left or right. He had a few hours before his meeting with Huxley, and was determined to spend it in a way consistent with the dignity of his new position. He adjusted his tie and smoothed his grease-licked hair to the back of his head, upper lip twitching slightly. Continue reading Skorsgard’s Blues by Tuckerman Wunderle