THE FACEPLANT by Jamey Gallagher

We got the plant at the plant show and we brought the plant home and we put it on the windowsill and we watched it—not constantly but a lot more than we watched our other plants.  Its lanceolate leaves grew fast. It got these paper-thin blooms that grew and unfurled and became translucent and turned out to be faces. Lips, nostrils, cheeks, eyeholes: all the usual face parts. The faces, after they unfurled, made little motions all day. Moues, I guess you could say. Women’s faces, men’s faces, it was hard to tell which. Some of the faces were stunningly…

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WITNESS by Katherine Shehadeh

Mustawteneen. Every summer I visit Palestine, I learn new words. Some force their way to the forefront, defining the summer the way “songs of the summer” take hold of collective consciousness in America.  Wanting to put this summer’s defining words to paper while the ordeal is raw, I’ve moved outside to an overlooked corner of the home abutting an olive grove. Someone hammers at the metal shop across the street. It’s windy and hot, a typical August in Palestine. We’ve been in Silwad, a hillside village with a respectably-sized population of about 6,000, for four days.  Our first morning in,…

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DISCO AND THE INFERNAL CITY: AN INTERVIEW WITH CALEB BETHEA by Rebecca Gransden

The city lights up after nightfall, and Caleb Bethea knows the way. With Disco Murder City (Maudlin House, 2025) Bethea takes the lead, chasing fear along emptied alleys, into pulsating nightclubs filled with star-kissed divas. The sweat of violence and the will to get down infect every pore, and demons release their energy with a smile. Bethea decorates the city in cinematic grit and sparkle. The only thing more silver than the screen are the knee high platform boots. I spoke to Caleb about the book.   Rebecca Gransden: Disco Murder City takes place in a world saturated in the…

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FETISH by Courtney McEunn

He loved how pale lines looked on my skin. After we fuck, he’d trace his fingertips up and down the jagged, raised scars. One night, he admitted jealousy. He wanted—no—needed to be there when it happened. Who was I to deny?  I came over when the sun set. Every three nights. After his confession, he led me to his at-home office, grabbed a dull pair of hot pink Fiskars from the desk drawer and made the cuts. Not deep, but enough for warm bubbles to spill. He spread my blood with his tongue. He couldn’t wait long enough to take…

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JULIA FISHWELL by Kai Broach

When I met Julia Fishwell, I was trying out a lot of different deodorants. A fungal infection had left my armpit skin itchy and brittle. The Old Spice I’d used since puberty was too harsh. All the new ones too. Every week I smelled like a different person. Julia stared straight at me from behind the drug store counter. “You don’t want this one.” She swept my hypoallergenic stick from the conveyor to clatter against other rejections in a basket at her feet. She rapped the counter like I was a distractable pet. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped from…

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FEAR THEORY by Lizzie Challen Hubbard

Everything I know about love I learnt working weekend shifts on the Ghost Train. It was a sweet gig for a 15 year-old — sitting in the mucky perspex booth, trading tokens for screams. We opened after the sun went down, when the kids from nearby villages would descend in packs. In the queue, the mating ritual would begin. They would size each other up and pair off, giggling and bopping to the music. People go crazy for fairground music. Despite this, there was always a gap between partners. Sometimes it was small but it was always there, as if…

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SCOUTS by Cletus Crow

Drake catches a boot with the foot still inside. The policeman lets him touch his gun. We all eat mandarin oranges, even the policeman. We’re not allowed to talk about the foot, but we talk about it because we’re boys. We’re not allowed to tell scary stories around our campfire. When everyone else falls asleep, I hike up to the lake with my rod, hoping to catch hands, arms and legs, maybe a head. I want to compile one whole man. I only hook bass and some brim. Then, I feel a greater tug. I wonder if the policeman will…

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IT’S ALL IN THE EDIT: AN INTERVIEW WITH CHELSEA SUTTON by Rebecca Gransden

Chelsea Sutton’s rollicking novella Krackle’s Last Movie (Split/Lip Press, 2026) deals in magic and monsters. The mythology of horror icons meets the world of the film documentarian, in a whimsical ride full of frisky humour and spooky glamour. At its ghoulish heart the tale is a quest—a resolution residing somewhere within old videotapes and archived audio cassettes. I spoke to Chelsea about the book.   Rebecca Gransden: Travelling back in time, what is the first monster you remember? When did monsters enter your life? Chelsea Sutton: Monsters very clearly entered during The X-Files era of my life — which was…

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FISH ON THE SHORE by Miklós Vámos, translated from Hungarian by Ági Bori

Silence and semi-darkness inside the market hall. Only the moon strolls among the empty stands, with a shopping basket on its arm.  Faint lights on the counters and their retractable shutters. Loose apples and cabbages hiding under them. The building is somber, surrounded by dark houses. The windows—illuminated squares. There is not a single soul around at the market at this time but the fish in the aquarium. This is their time. Tubes carry whirring air under the water along the sidewalls.  There is a lot of jostling for room. The stronger ones swim up to the edge of the…

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