New Releases

Latest Stories

  • “September 1″ by Ho Cheung Lee

    We prayed. (And there was an answer: Beslan must be a wrong name.) I still go back to the school where we died. The phantom ball should never stop. Let the tune blanket the hollow roof; the tapping be the verses of the gun-born flowers on the obstinate walls; our tears wash away the greed and hatred of those dark

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  • RIP All Zombies: An Opinion Piece by Craig Stafford
    RIP All Zombies: An Opinion Piece by Craig Stafford

    This piece originally appeared in Vol 2 No 2 of Under the Bed Magazine.  In addition to scary stories, we feature opinion, reviews, and commentary on hot horror topics.  Mr Stafford is an occasional contributor and damn smart cookie.  You can find him on Facebook if you’re so inclined.  

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  • Leaves:  By Doward Stevens
    Leaves: By Doward Stevens

    This story appeared in Vol 01 No 12, which you can buy right here.

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  • “On the Farm” by James L Grant

    This story appeared in our Undead October issue, which was damn amazing and chock full of zombie goodness.

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  • “Boy in the Window” by Elahzar Rao

    In dark rooms I used to see the lingering silhouette of a boy cut into the daylight of the window. He always disappeared as soon as I pulled up the shade to tell him to leave and never return. And by the time I summoned him he no longer appeared to me at all. Yet I am certain those on

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  • “The Western Front” by Gary Beck

    Explosions rend the night. People fall, bleed, scream, sirens shriek, piercing the smoke, echo in debris-filled air, responders arrive, treat the injured, carry out the dead. Neighbors yanked from sleep line dangerous streets, trembling in apprehension expecting attacks, yet this is not Baghdad, Bombay, Beirut, foreign and disorderly, but civilized New York City entertaining terrorists instead of tourists. For more

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  • “Fallen Too Far” by Delia Devry

    I turned my face away, Withdrew, But I’d fallen too far and now Every shadow, Every whisper Reminds me of you. For more poems by Delia, buy FIVE Vol. 1 No. 8. 

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  • “The Light Blue Rope” by Kumar Harsh

    The light blue rope has seen all those years. The laughter, the tears. It stood there hanging taut on the nails, remembering the times as the day slowly trails. The clothes of generations, dried on it by the sun, memories at every turn. Sometimes it turns inwards slaughter, butchering straining the rusted nails. The light blue rope, every finger that

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