(Featured posts)
Written By: Robin S. Bloom My quiet reverie in the park is interrupted by voices upon voices — by clownish music blaring from an ice cream truck, and the barking of a hot dog vendor pitching his wares.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jul 31, 2026
Written By: Robin S. Bloom The Victorian structure at the end of Junedale Lane housed Rigby’s Apothecary on its first floor and its proprietors, Alfred and Jane Rigby on its second.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jul 31, 2026
Written By: J.T. Trigonis Another storm sliced across the skies.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jul 31, 2026
Written By: Patrick Joel Quinif Eva clicked away from the window in which her virtual friends were working doggedly to build a tidy compound in the candy-coated anime landscape of the ‘Zone.’
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jul 26, 2026
Written By: N.Z. Thorne On a curving stretch of road through the Oregon woods, the night was a chaotic playlist of heavy rain and howling winds.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 29, 2026
Written By: Thom Schilling Kyle MacDougall awoke at his usual time, 5:30. However, today is when the unusual took over. He sat straight up and rubbed his face.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 25, 2026
Written By: Nicholas Starr Kellogg My name is Rubert, Rubert Bernie, and I’ve never been afraid of the woods.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 25, 2026
Written By: J.W. Wood I stared at the guy. Was he trying to control me? And how come he knew so much about my work? I’m here to rent a house – not tell him my life story.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 25, 2026
Written By: Rebecca Kemp My fingers caressed the new bottle, the words shone brightly in my fluorescent bathroom lights, promises that I knew would be granted.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 25, 2026
Written By: Chester Rogalski There are two types of women in the world, those who wear makeup and those who lie about it.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 24, 2026
Written By: Nick Young It could be said with little disputation that there was no more desirable bachelor in all of France than Jean-Louis Armand de Compiègne, son of the Comte Lucien Armand, widely respected as a man of property and heralded as a favorite of Bonaparte.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 24, 2026
Written By: Gina N. Anderson The bell rang on the door of Eva’s Psychic Healing shop. Half of her expected to see Charlie; the other half wished he’d never return.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 24, 2026
Written By: Cheyanne Larinan Once upon a time in a village isolated by mountains and ocean cliffs, there was a family of four. Daddy called the oldest daughter Pup and so she was.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 24, 2026
Written By: Ilyana Kunzer It took thirteen decades after the introduction of artificial intelligence—the generative and truly intelligent kind, not those little floor vacuums, practically antiques by then—for the Future’s Automated Experience, more commonly known as FAE, to reach completion.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 09, 2026
Written By: DC Diamondopolous Tammy had nightmares of the man she saw in her store window. His elongated face chased her through the streets of the San Fernando Valley, her terror mounting like a progression of staccato hits rising up the scales on an untuned piano.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 08, 2026
Written By: Felipe Rubinstein Ortiz Deep in the woods bordering the west side of Faroe County, the ones that met Route 39 running southbound parallel to the Llanwelly town line, something large limped out of a cave.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 05, 2026
Written By: Robin S. Bloom I told the guys, “ I better get my ass home, or I’ll have hell to pay with the Old Lady.” Just as I was pulling out, Donny stuck his head in the passenger’s side window and said, “If you go to Beanie’s, get this week’s special.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 03, 2026
Written By: Gregg Maxwell Parker The first thing I do when I wake up is let Grover out. Covers kicked off, early-morning sunlight through open curtains, I turn the ancient knob and walk to the living room.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 03, 2026
Written By: John Sloan Mike Flannigan is sharing a bed with dead people. Bodies are piled on top of him on a narrow hospital gurney. His face breaks the uneven surface between the shoulders of two corpses.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 03, 2026
Written By: Kevin Ramsden It was late on a weekday afternoon, and James was nearly two-thirds into his second beer of the day.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 03, 2026
Written By: Dasia Brown Welcome to complete isolation, you think. This is what you’ve been looking for, what you think about all of the time.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 01, 2026
Written By: Nü Creature Mere Mortals Hubert has a love in his life and that makes him stronger than anything that the cabal satanists and prostitutes that he works with can throw at him.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jun 01, 2026
Written By: Vivian Pearl There is a video of a fireplace on the TV I can hear the crackles and see the light but there is something missing from their red brilliance I don’t believe those flames ever burned, I can’t feel their heat.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 26, 2026
Written By: Holly Eakins Deep in the hills of the west, nestled into the thick, heavy heat of the land, there was a village
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 26, 2026
Written By: Nate Hoil Anyone other than Melbourne Ritz would’ve been suspicious about the dumpster behind the barber shop— the mountain of hair inside the unfamiliar business’s waste disposal unit was so overstuffed the lid would not close properly.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 26, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker Hello Sarah, how may I assist you today? Would you like to call your brother. It has been a while.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker DNA unwinds in strings binding helix twisting into definition, that which we become.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: Alice Baburek Lester Quinn watched his father, Elliot, as he washed the body with disinfectant. The deceased’s eyes had been glued shut, and the jaw secured with wire.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: Luca Zani Years after the fact, he couldn't quite remember the order of events as he recounted that special day to his friend on the porch.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: E.K. Larson-Burnett The taste of raw meat, sticky and gummy and too warm, lingered on Mara’s tongue. Blood still trickled down her throat like a melting blade of ice, sharp and tangy.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: Paul Tristram … Inner Demons Prison Warden-ing your Outer World
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 25, 2026
Written By: Meghan Haydon Dear Diary, I have made a wonderful discovery today. To be successful at anything requires sacrifices: time, energy, patience, sanity.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 24, 2026
Written By: Lilith Mae It’s lonely out in the woods. Rarely does anyone visit anymore. I’m more of a legend that people don’t search for, than that one place in the woods.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 24, 2026
Written By: M. Atchleross Harliver Hill, defined by acreage east of the blue mountains, occupied land whose redeemable nature varied according to who was asked.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 23, 2026
Written By: Alex Masters The vampire had drawn the blood from her neck so gorgeously she hadn’t even known it was happening.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 23, 2026
Written By: by: C.M. Meighan It started on quiet walks, alone, in the night. She felt familiar, not haunting, but reminiscent of a past I could not quite place.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 22, 2026
Written By: Monica Luo Continue straight for 5 kilometres. Stay in the right lane. Merge onto Highway 1. Take the exit.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 17, 2026
Written By: Alex Weimer Get up. Get up. Get up. Morning dove and dew and rise Bright and blue and sight for sore eyes World does not sleep and neither should you No curtains you have for me to seep through Might be morning might be day Yet you have
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 15, 2026
Written By: Christina Irvin The meeting of sun and ocean. It was a simple phenomenon, deceptively so. The boat rocked beneath my feet as I watched, testing my balance, and it left me nauseous.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 14, 2026
Written By: Kayla Schimmel James is refusing to make eye contact with me, and has been since I asked him to talk after dinner. He’s looking at the TV, pretending to watch it nonchalantly. His restless hands betray him. I have to be careful.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 14, 2026
Written By: C.M. Molina By flowers A corpse was there tangled up in a tree's branches
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 14, 2026
Written By: Ian Berling The storm had come in from the North and worked the ocean into a frothing, foaming cauldron ready to boil over at any moment.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, May 11, 2026
Written By: John Grey Seven crows on a tree branch, seven monks with keen eyes and bowed heads, seven undertakers in wind-blown black coats.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Apr 18, 2026
Written By: John Grey The woman in the room blurts out how much she misses me. But the man has nothing to say. He barely knows who I am.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Apr 18, 2026
Written By: John Grey Even this far north, I would rather the winds came from even farther north.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Apr 18, 2026
Written By: Allison Hummel “Shut the curtains, Nella, it hurts.” Camille shifted on the sofa and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Her hand trembled slightly, resting against her sternum.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Apr 07, 2026
Written By: Danielle Bauman I used to be a dreamer. Your classic wish upon a star kind of daughter. Little girls are full of so much hope until the real world drains it out of them.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 25, 2026
Written By: Paul Grammatico Another Saturday at Liam's Grandad Rowan's house, they watched his seanathair's favorite game—Irish hurling—on the flatscreen.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 20, 2026
Written By: Liam Johns Clancy sits slouched at the restaurant’s edge, spooning clods of fried rice into his mouth. Above him, the mall’s fluorescent lights hum, the smack of his lips punctuating their drone.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 19, 2026
Written By: D. C. Martin Sometimes a picture brings you back. Sometimes it drags you there even if you don’t want to go. Sometimes you have no choice.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 16, 2026
Written By: Cecilia Kennedy Streaks of orange and gold color the mountain tops in the distance, shadows filling in where the sun won’t reach. The air feels dry, and the public pool glistens in arctic blue.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 03, 2026
Written By: Paul Tristram I cannot describe the ‘Un-Bear-Able’ PANIC… it’s a Mountain
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 03, 2026
Written By: Chester Rogalski Forty years I was a deacon at First Calvary. They’re tearing her down now, but it’s still good of you to go about collecting her history.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Mar 02, 2026
Written By: Jackie Massaro Inspired by true events Her hand trails down my back, her fingers like a belt along the side of my waist. She was excited to see me. She had told me so the whole week in text messages and on phone calls. I can't wait to see you. I miss you.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 25, 2026
Written By: Michael Sussman “Do you live?” It was Lyuba’s hoarse rasp through the crack in the cave wall separating their pits.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 24, 2026
Written By: Heather Drain Los Angeles. 1983. Theo looked at the ebbing streaks of sunset melting into the ocean. The sky's last shades of blue were slowly being swallowed by deeper and darker colors.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker Canvas wrapped in a vortex of arms. Ripping wounds and clawing skin I bite the bit to feel a signal.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Hansen Adcock Never eaten cauliflower, it doesn't do anything for me. My grandmother made an excellent thistle soup. Or was it nettles? Never got stung once.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Teege Braune I awoke with a runny nose and congested sinuses, the kind of throbbing, itchy discomfort that seems to extend from one’s face like a keratinized outgrowth and puts in one’s mind the apt nomenclature “rhinovirus.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Allison Noonan I. Autolysis Nothing wakes you up at eight in the morning like the smell of death.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 21, 2026
Written By: Adara Schwartz Each night, my husband sleeps on his back with his hands crossed over his chest, as though he is in a coffin.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 21, 2026
Written By: Martin Taulbut It was almost nine when Linda stepped off the bus at Holyrood. Shivering, she buttoned up her blue serge jacket and strode to the studded wooden gates.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 11, 2026
Written By: Spencer Rohloff What a lovely grave I’d dug! The ground was soft from last night’s rain and came up easy by the spadeful. Springtime fragrance filled my nose and all I smelt was sweetness. I would have enjoyed this more if not for the two boys prattling behind me.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 11, 2026
Written By: Luke Barron The Body lies still. It lies in its grave, rotting and fraying in its flesh, soil and muck soaking up the spoils of its decay as it stays lifeless and deceased...
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By: Patrick Joel Quinif “Oh, babe, you’ve got…” Tom pointed to the spot on her neck. “Is that a scratch? You’ve gotta be careful about that.” He turned his vacant gaze back to his burrito, took a too-big bite, and stared at the television, bits of rice clinging to his greasy beard.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By: Spencer Keene I was weaned, at the ripe age of three, off of formula and onto offal, blood-drenched giblets of gizzard, liver, and disemboweled windpipe.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 10, 2026
Written By Kaitlin Milliken-Flohr She used to brush my hair. Mom running my fine strands between boar bristles, ever so gently. In the morning, she twisted sections into braids. At night, she dragged her fingers through to undo her work. We rarely touched.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 30, 2026
Written By: N.Z.Thorne PRELUDE: CHANGE A nine year old girl, sat on a large tree stump in a lush, green meadow. She wore a blue sundress, and her long, wavy black hair was held back by a single snap clip that kept her bangs out of her eyes. She sat there, seemingly upset and crying.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 30, 2026
Written By: John Grey Flashlight under chin, his face is a ghost and at such a young age.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 29, 2026
Written By: M.D. Smith IV The GPS flickered, chirped like a dying insect, and went blank. Eric laughed and kept driving. “It’ll come back. It always does.” Shirley didn’t laugh. Southern Mississippi had thinned into something older and heavier.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 29, 2026
Written By: Pam Avoledo She has an edge inside her skeleton poking out from her ribs. It appeared after she coughed and coughed for months.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 26, 2026
Written by: Norman Goodman “I’m giving away a Yamaha VMAX. This is not a joke. My younger brother Marko died on it just a week ago. Nothing in life would make me happier than for this infernal machine to carry yet another careless soul to death.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Jan 10, 2026
Written by: Graham Smith | It was a crime scene — an especially bad one by St. Mary’s standards. The quiet village, nestled in picturesque cottage country, saw no more than thirty deaths per year.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 19, 2025
Written by: Saint Nick | I wish to speak with the dead. I long to hold conversations with rotting loved ones. Long to be face to face with their corpses, listening carefully while they speak the indecipherable words of a cadaverous language, a language which is carefully composed of corpse logic.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 19, 2025
Written by: Megan Rach “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. There’s hardly anything solid left.” The scientist motions toward the door. “You can go in, but I’m telling you now, you’re going to want to put some equipment on.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
Written by: Emily Decloux His eyes were like black glass when I met him. But I don’t know what else I was expecting. After so many sleepless nights wondering if it was true, my suspicions were finally confirmed. It doesn’t make a difference anyway, no one would ever believe me.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
Written by: Graham Smith AG Number 989204902, District A458. MFG 2023. Display incomplete. I can’t see your spectrum of colour. At least not until the next update. My input data is a greyscale map, assigning values to visible light.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Oct 04, 2025
(Latest posts)
(96 Posts)
Written By: Arden Falker Sleepwalking toward an old oak door in slippers I forgot that I put on.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 24, 2026
Written By: Heather Drain Los Angeles. 1983. Theo looked at the ebbing streaks of sunset melting into the ocean. The sky's last shades of blue were slowly being swallowed by deeper and darker colors.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Arden Falker Canvas wrapped in a vortex of arms. Ripping wounds and clawing skin I bite the bit to feel a signal.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Hansen Adcock Never eaten cauliflower, it doesn't do anything for me. My grandmother made an excellent thistle soup. Or was it nettles? Never got stung once.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Teege Braune I awoke with a runny nose and congested sinuses, the kind of throbbing, itchy discomfort that seems to extend from one’s face like a keratinized outgrowth and puts in one’s mind the apt nomenclature “rhinovirus.”
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 23, 2026
Written By: Allison Noonan I. Autolysis Nothing wakes you up at eight in the morning like the smell of death.
by Slash Magazine Contributor, Feb 21, 2026