Burrow Hello. I’m the man that lives in your house. Not your husband, or your brother. Not your son, not your nephew. The man in your...

The magic wakes him, gentle as the fall of golden leaves from the white-limbed trees that whisper softly above, in the glade of the...

Published on GrimandGilded.com Issue 7, July 2022 The planet emerges from the brilliance of the cosmos like a tombstone from the mist,...

Originally published in The Maine Review The child is below us, but we dare to whisper, knowing the rain drowns us out; it slaps the...

I, the mold, am a keen observer of human inconsistencies. When the Lieutenant Colonel begins to fib about the Xenomatter Incident in...