Macabre Magazine

  • Bone Sour by J.R. Blanes

    The moment the waitress steps over to take my order, I sniff the scent of menstrual blood lingering beneath the stench of grill smoke and fryer grease. My mouth waters more for her than it does the plates of meatloaf and country fried pork making the rounds of the fifties-themed diner. So intoxicated am I…

  • Constance by Mike Cripps

    It was an accident when I saw Mom cry for the first time. I was cutting class and snuck home during lunch—freshman year, each day a unique disaster; I had been slighted by some former best friend and needed to get away—but when I tiptoed into the apartment, Mom’s racking sobs were coming from the…

  • I’ve Always Had a Little Brother by Maxwell Folkman

    Monday I’ve always had a little brother, haven’t I? He’s eleven, between Kesley, nine, and May, thirteen. I remember when mom and dad brought him home from the hospital. “Isn’t he adorable?” they asked as they showed him to me. When I look back at that day, why can’t I see what he looked like…

  • The Escort by Jeff Turner

    Gretchen Ellison was a beautiful young woman, as many men (and a great many women) would attest. Though modest by nature, she wouldn’t disagree. She knew her face had a Madonna-like, cherubic innocence. Her hourglass figure was exquisite. She sometimes braidedher flowing chestnut hair into a ponytail for work. The male clientele really seemed to like that style with a lily-white sundress.…

  • Ink by Jon Adcock

    Dragović cursed softly as he approached his storefront. The front windows were shattered, with shards of glass glinting in the morning light as they lay scattered across the sidewalk. He unlocked the front door, carefully draped his suit jacket over the counter, and brought out a trash can. He went back in for a broom…

  • Water and Brimstone by J. M. Williams

    It is a lonely thing, to die in a world that is not your own. That is the fate that my brother and I now face. It is even more cruel that the world we find ourselves in is so like our own in so many ways, yet so hostile at every turn. The village…

  • The Cobwebs by Stephen Paul Jackson

    Kevin Mulligan was scared shitless. He was twelve now. Twelve was the age you started cleaning the cobwebs. Kevin grew up hearing stories about the spiders. There was always a spooky tale for campfires or sleepovers. Ben Watson told one at Tim Rollins’s house just before his dad came in to say lights out. Ben…

  • The Allen Affair

    Luther Balor was woken from his dozing by the hard strike of a match. The faint smell of burned sulfur lingered as he blinked hard and turned his eyes to the butler hovering beside him: a young man dressed sharply in the customary tuxedo of a servant; a white tie knotted snugly around his throat.…

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