Fiction

FEAR THEORY by Lizzie Challen Hubbard

February 12, 2026

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

SCOUTS by Cletus Crow

February 11, 2026

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

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

February 9, 2026

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

punk band ideas by L Scully

February 6, 2026

punk band ideas l scully first idea Motorboat Widow second idea Abort Your Kiddo third idea Muscle MILF fourth idea

MY TRAVELLING PERIOD by Dayna Weissman

February 4, 2026

They’ve brought in a man with a lie detection kit for the reunion of the seventh season of my second favorite reality television show. They’re getting all of the ladies wired up to his machine and asking them if they think they are the hottest lady in the office. The “office” is the real estate firm where they all work as real estate agents. All of the ladies say, no, they do not believe they are the hottest lady in the office. The machine goes off every time. It’s good to believe that you are the hottest lady. It’s gotten

SETTLEMENT by Benjamin Niespodziany

February 2, 2026

after Chris Erickson Tristan Funicular fell asleep not long after dawn. His teeth were on wrong and his bong was full of something less like water and more like moss. He was lost. His stress level was Jurassic. His panics were unlearned. This was a mere hours before Tristan’s door was kicked down by the scholar Parlor Hallelujah who demanded her dues. You see, Parlor Hallelujah was a crooked academic, a well-known non-peasant, an aggressive lecturer, a stirrer of sins. The hushed business she conducted was equal parts consultation and intimidation. She lived off the wisdom she gave to others. Hundreds

HOW TO SURVIVE A CROWD CRUSH by John Waddy Bullion

January 23, 2026

First and foremost, don’t panic, baby girl. And please understand that it’s not your fault—you aren’t in this situation because you’re young and dumb, or because your already-questionable decision-making has been dulled by the crumbled-up mushrooms you took in the Porta-Potty out in the parking lot before the show, or because you ditched your girlfriends and joined the stampede to the stage with thousands of others when those first chiming notes rang out; no, sweetheart, the blame lies squarely at the feet of the concert promoters who cared more about selling tickets than about crowd density, and in the hands

ROAD HEAD by Lila-Rose Beckford

January 19, 2026

Leroy wakes up in a desert turnout, contorted in his truck bed like he tried to hold himself together in his sleep. His head throbs. His mouth tastes like blood. The sun is already climbing. The sky is too clean, too wide. No eyes for miles. The desert has stripped him thin, but that’s the point. It’s burning off the wrong parts, leaving only what his wife will recognize when he goes home. Athena wakes in a guest bedroom with white plaster walls, glass doors, and a rug that was woven by someone else’s hand. The lovers have the

DEATH DRIVE by Quinn Broussard

January 16, 2026

One night, I text my boyfriend, Next time we have sex, I want you to hit me and tell me I’m worthless. He doesn’t respond to it. In the morning, I drink black coffee and don’t eat. He texts me between my classes, Come over later, and so in the evening, I sit on his couch and watch him watch sports. It’s a different one for each season and I can never keep track when one starts and another begins – it doesn’t follow logic, that the Super Bowl is in February and they’re still in these same thin jerseys

THE HOUSE AT THE EDGE OF THE FOREST BURNS by Timo Teräsahjo

January 15, 2026

The boy stood barefoot in the snow, staring at the house, a blaze of light in the darkness. It seemed like all there was in the world. The living room window gaped open; green curtains fluttered in the wind, oddly soft and warm. The shouting had stopped. Only the murmur of the spruces remained. He closed his eyes and imagined waves crashing on smooth rocks, the air salted with mist. He was very young, not even ten. His mother had pushed him through the window, and he did not know where to go. The front door banged open. His father