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The Principle of Threes by Nicky O’Connell
There is a man who speaks for the dead,Who listed the threes of dread:Air, water, food—Miss one and you’re screwed,He’ll weigh you and measure your head. Nicky is a South African artist and writer whose work weaves together dark energy, human emotion, and the hidden threads that bind consciousness. A member of Mensa, she explores…
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Creature of the Night by Audrey Schmidt
Blood red, myFingers dripWith wantingWhat runs away—So far.I chase you like aLike an owl. Quiet as the nightI swoop downHoping to catch youOnce more,Under the moonlight.We dance our—Last dance.Because tonightYou are caught—In me.And no matter how hard you fight,Claw or beg—You are just a mouse.And you cannot scream.Blood red, myFingers dripNot with my blood,But yours,…
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Birthdays and Death Certificates by Jason Krawczyk
It should be raining. Days like today call for overcast skies and wet pavements. Yet the sun is shining, and I’m eating eggs Benedict topped with avocado. Why are there so many mothers in this cafe? Moms work these days, right? Why are so many moms trudging around with their luggage with a pulse during…
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I Think, Therefore I Am by Nina Munoz
Frail, and already damaged, Nolan’s body remained limp. For the seventeenth time in his life, he awoke to his mother hovering above him, a large present in hand. His body had been aching and traumatized for some time now, with part of his abdomen red and engorged. It felt as if something was probing him…
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Intertitles by Megan Denese Mealor
There was a skeletal continuity to the greasepaint proceedingsin the battered copy of a copy Jobyna Theater on dropout Vaudeville Avenue, the feral homeland of late-blooming flower childrenand the stillbirth of muted trains.Shadows toned with silver salts capered asplucky shopgirl Clara Bow darkened her lipswith the memory of her mother’s madness,a thousand butcher knives forever…
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Welcome to the New Macabre Magazine!
For a publication dedicated to showcasing exceptional horror and macabre works, the reading experience is paramount. The vessel holding the work must be as carefully crafted as the pieces themselves. As we looked to the future, we evaluated the standard digital publishing platforms—WordPress, Ghost, and Squarespace. While functional for many, it quickly became apparent that…
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The Biology of a Mother’s Love by Julia Rajagopalan
I love my mother, but if I ever see her again, I’ll kill her. Perhaps I love my mother because of biology, but biology can be hacked these days, so who can trust that anymore?
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Home Coming by Kemal Onor
Even after all those years, the yellow eyes still haunted him. A sickening feeling roiled in his stomach. He looked out the window and saw the ground below him menacing, almost grinning at the prodigal son’s return.
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Pump #3 by Sarah Elena Smart Vargas
You left your phone in the car when you got out to pump gas. The sleep-shorts you wore offered little protection against the cool autumn night. Gooseflesh broke out on your bare skin, and you wanted nothing more than to get back home quickly to snuggle up under your sheets.
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Observance by Megan Denese Mealor
The black velvet petunias eat away at your antipathy– sunless conduit flowers for unlit obituary candles, Drunk Tank Pink garnish of a burial shroud,