Macabre Magazine

The tumbleweed appeared out of nowhere.  It had been a typical summer night in central Jersey, humid with the weariness of clouds trying to hold onto the rain a little longer. A flash of lightning later, and there it was. No rain, just a bramble of knotted twigs. It didn’t tumble as one might expect;…

He delivered the flowers a whole hour early. Patty N. hadn’t even finished pulling up the shades on the Juniper Street Market windows when his purple delivery truck pulled up to the curb, Mr. Flowers Florists emblazoned on the side. Even though Easter was days away, the air was crisp enough to need a coat,…

The closet door was locked shut. For the first few hours, she kept expecting the door to open. Connolly Hall locked itself every night at ten. No one could remember when the rule had started. It was simply how things were done. Amy pounded the door with her fists and kicked at it the way…

I stood before the door to my apartment again, just staring at it. It had been months since I’d even considered looking through the little peephole, let alone opening the door and taking a walk outside. It wasn’t like I needed to leave after all; the world could come to me. Groceries could be delivered.…

1 Lydia Whitecliff keeps to herself in Unit 602. She’s my oldest resident. Silver haired, partial to crochet. Quiet. Not a troublesome tenant. A proud native to This City. It’s a shame how few of her kind remain.  Ron Morris, Unit 211, is a lonely bachelor who lives only for his dog. A runty, three-legged…