The Horror Tree Recent Markets, Articles, Interviews, and Fiction!

Taking Submissions: Trollbreath Magazine May 2024 Market

Deadline: May 31st, 2024
Payment: 4 cents per word, 1/2 cent per word for reprints, $25 for poetry, $40 for non-fiction, $150 for cover art
Theme: speculative fiction, poetry, and non-fiction
Note: Apologies for the late posting, we’ve only just stumbled across this market!
Note: Reprints Welcome

Trollbreath Magazine is a journal of speculative fiction, poetry, and non-fiction, publishing electronic issues on a quarterly schedule. Our interests are as varied as the endless amount of genres, from dark fantasy to hope punk to surrealism, and everything in between. We have a particular fondness for slipstream and fabulism in all their delightful forms, but what motivates us most are great stories by wonderful authors eager to share their visions of the past, the future, the in between, and everything that lies outside the margins. Coloring beyond the lines encouraged.

Examples of stories we particularly love (but there are too many to include):


Contest: Shallow Waters Flash Fiction May 2024 Contest

Deadline: May 31st, 2024
Prizes: Winner: 3 cents per word, second place: 2 cents per word, 3rd place: 1 cent per word.
Theme: This year marks the 50th anniversary of Stephen King’s tale of teenage retribution, Carrie. To commemorate this momentous milestone, this month’s theme is “Coming of Rage.

As one of the winners of last month’s contest, Philip Harris has agreed to host this month. Here’s the theme:

“This year marks the 50th anniversary of Stephen King’s tale of teenage retribution, Carrie. To commemorate this momentous milestone, this month’s theme is “Coming of Rage.”

Show us what happens when the thin veneer of humanity shatters. We want to see your tales of anger, of vengeance, of ordinary people driven to extremes and the carnage they leave behind. Stories of teenage angst written in blood, of murderous retirement home feuds, of parents who just can’t face listening to that song again!”


Taking Submissions: The Trouble With Time (Summer Window)

Submissoin Window: June 1st – July 31st, 2024
Payment: $10
Theme: Speculative fiction that deals with time travel

THREE COUSINS PUBLISHING, an imprint of WEST MESA PRESS, will be accepting submissions for its next anthology, THE TROUBLE WITH TIME, from June 1, 2024 until midnight July 31, 2024. Stories submitted before or after the submission period will not be considered.

This is a Themed Anthology and we’re looking for stories that fit the anthology theme. Submissions must have something to do with time travel. Horror, humor, fantasy, science fiction, or even some entertaining, but bizarre mashup of genres that we haven’t considered are welcome. Your characters may be young or old and the time frame may be from the dawn of mankind to the far future. Here’s the short list of guidelines. Pay attention, please. These are important.


How to Use Second Person Point of View

How to Use Second Person Point of View

by Melody E. McIntyre


The two most used points of view in fiction are first and third person. First-person is directly from the main character’s point of view using “I” pronouns. Some famous examples are The Hunger Games trilogy and Catcher in the Rye. Third person can also be from the main character’s point of view, but uses their name and he/she/they pronouns. Third person is probably the most common way of writing. Non-fiction is most often in third person, and some famous examples of fiction are The Stand by Stephen King and the Game of Thrones series. But what about second person point of view? 

Second-person POV is directed at an audience, like this article is. It is written using “you” pronouns. You may be more familiar with it than you realize. Letters, correspondence, emails, are all in second person. An unusual and daunting POV for some, second person is the rarest of the three in fiction. But using the second person can produce some interesting and unique stories. In this article, I will discuss some common uses for the second person POV in fiction, along with examples, to give you ideas how you might use it in your own fiction.


Trembling With Fear 5-19-24

Greetings, children of the dark. Before we get to the good stuff, let me give a quick update on our progress with submissions: I think I’ve now contacted everyone who submitted prior to the most recent submissions window. There are a handful I had marked as needing to discuss edits, so if you haven’t heard from me yet, that’s probably you. Next up: reading all of those who submitted in the April window. It really does take a long, long time to get through all of your fabulous work! We are mere mortals and volunteer ones at that, but I do thank you for your patience with us. If you’ve found a home for your story since you submitted it to us and you haven’t yet heard, do let us know so we can take it off our reading pile and save us all some time and heartache.

And now to this week’s TWF menu. Jordan McClymont takes us into the Scottish wilderness for a frightful look up at the stars (and what’s down below, too). That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

  • Emily Holman’s thunderous terror,
  • Hannah Foster’s creature in need, and
  • Ryan Van Ells’s single-minded maniac.

Finally, I announced the next edition of my Writing the Occult events this week: we’re talking about connection to the land for the week of the Solstice. There will be land myths, ritual landscapes, and spirits of place; how to use the land to spark fantasy creations or be the driving force in your story; how to connect when it’s hostile as well as beautiful; and we’ll ask how the climate crisis is impacting the writer’s connection to the land. All details, etc, over at—tickets are on sale now! We meet on 15 June, starting at 1pm UK / 8am ET. (Sorry, Antipodeans.)

Over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

First things first, please support our latest sponsors!

First: Order a copy of Backwaters on Amazon! “Like Flannery O’Connor, but with toxic mermaids and body horror.” — CARLTON MELLICK III, author of Full Metal Octopus and The Haunted Vagina

Second: Get 99 horror stories that range from quiet horror, hinting at the things buried there in your psyche – the thing that will come out to play after dark, and visceral horror that leaves no doubt what lies in a bloody heap in the middle of the floor. This UNHOLY TRINITY combines three of L. Marie Wood’s horror collections, Caliginy, Phantasma, and Anathema.

Order a copy today directly from Mocha Memoirs Press or Amazon!


Okay, this week we’re running a giveaway for ten digital copies of Cretaceous Canyon by Deborah Sheldon and with that many to give away you have high odds of winning – enter right here!

On top of this, a bit of exciting news. We’ve once again been included in Writer’s Digest 101 Best Web Sites! Here is a scan from the magazine, and we’ll be sharing links once it appears online this year. Thank you so much for the love RD!

Now, for the standards:

  • We have Patreon who raised their monthly donation; THANK YOU! The more Patreons we get the closer we are to lowering even more the amount of ads we have to display! WHEW! (We should also be cutting back when the new theme eventually gets launched.)
  • Belanger Books has a cool new Kickstarter worth checking out! They’ve previously had some neat open calls that we’ve shared so wanted to let the authors and readers who follow us know about it!

Offhand, if you’ve ordered Trembling With Fear Volume 6, we’d appreciate a review! 🙂


Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree


Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part Two by Robert Gabe

  1. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part One by Robert Gabe
  2. Serial Saturday: All The Queens Men: Part Two by Robert Gabe



Part Two


A  week later I met with Tanas mother upon her parents request. I step into Tana’s parents home which exudes an aura of timeless sophistication. Their daughter’s presence is felt. In the living room stands a grand piano and on top of it sits a portrait of Tara, her high school photo next to a bouquet of roses and next to that a mahogany bookshelf featuring a number of classics and other books on world history. Framed family portraits lined the walls, all of which feature their only daughter Tana at the forefront of them, smiling innocently as ever. Along with the officer Daniel, an up and coming rookie, who had been the first responder, they wanted to ask me a few questions on my perception of how it all went down. Every day that went by, my memory of said event got worse, as if my mind was trying to eradicate the awful imprint it had upon my consciousness. I told them what I remembered.

“I just remember one second we were all laughing and smiling. Then all of a sudden, I felt Tana pull from me as she fell to the ground.” I say. 

“Did you hear the gunshot?” ask Daniel pressingly.

“No.” I say truthfully.

“How old are you, Vincent?” Daniel ask.


Tana’s father John Molnar changes the subject back to Tana. 

“She was a victim of bullying,” says Mr. Molnar, blowing his nose. “In her early years she had a hard time. She was told she was ugly by some teacher above all people and I feel that really had an impact on her.”

I…didn’t know that.” I let out softly. The scene of grieving here is so massive I’m afraid to raise my voice in fear that it will cause an emotional uproar.

“There are many things people didn’t know about, Tana.” Daniel says. “That’s why we brought you here today, Vincent. Believe it or not, you were the last man photographed with her.”  He hands me a photograph. It’s Tana, Casey and I. Tanas smile radiates, her pearly whites sparkle. Casey is nearly a match to her. I smile sheepishly in my Tom Ford suit between them.

“Colton, did you know Tana was once committed to a mental facility?” Tanas mother Victoria speaks, she wipes her nose with a Kleenex.

“No. I didn’t.” I say truthfully.

“She had a hair pulling disorder,” She continues. “She was sixteen. She had pulled out so much hair we had her involuntarily committed.”

“Thankfully it regrew. But she did permanently damage the follicles of her hair.” John adds. Tana had been sent to a mental hospital at age sixteen for suicidal thoughts and behaviors. It’s always the people with the biggest smiles who use them to mask their inner-pain. One of the doctors diagnosed her as manic depressive, another bi-polar, another borderline personality. I didn’t put much stock into psychiatric labels. Maybe I was being thick-headed as I couldn’t relate. My moods were always stable. I had no real traumas in my life before witnessing Tana get shot. I was always content.  

“Can I ask what you’re getting at here” I say blushing.

The officer says “You said you saw a black van. Did you get a good look at the  license plate or who was driving?”

“No.” I say “and I think the windows were tinted”

“How much did you and Tana talk?” John asks.

“I only knew her in passing.” I say truthfully. 

“Did she ever tell you about a man named Mr. Henry?”

“Mr. Henry?”

Daniel starts to speak, a rather sullen tone in his voice “When Tana was 17 she met a man in an online chat room who went by the name of Mr. Henry.” He pauses “She never mentioned him in passing?”

“Like I said, I only knew Tana in passing. The only words I ever exchanged with Tana were ‘ Hello Tana’ and ‘Goodbye Tana.’ Like I said we were never really close friends. But I witnessed her from a distance and the power she had over people.” I pause “Tell me more about the man.”

Victoria says “we thought she was doing better. Her mental health struggles were behind her. We thought everything was behind her” she grabs another Kleenex. “We think Mr. Henry is a predator that was watching Tana, maybe for years.”

My palms began to clam up. Tana’s father begins to cry and outside the window I see news journalists beginning to gather outside, a desperate attempt for interviews with the family only one day after the open casket funeral which I didn’t attend. Daniel closes the blinds. 

“My baby.” John blows his nose “I didn’t want to believe it but this is all we have to go on. We think Mr. Henry is involved with the murder of Tana.”

“Wait, I remember something,” I say unabashedly. “When Tana was in my arms her last words were “Dream Rabbit…”

The room all of a sudden took on a new vibe. One of darkness and enigma. I thought for a Moment maybe it was better had I never come. I wasn’t sure what I was being invited to be apart of. Tana’s father looks at Daniel and his face contorts to one of deep despair. 

“Does that mean anything to you?” I add.

Daniel  sits down next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“Vincent, Tana had a friend named Sarah who she confided in about Mr Henry. She claims Tana often cited the words Dream Rabbit  when referring to Mr Henry.” He continues “We still don’t know the correlation between the two or the meaning of said words, but we know they tend to be consistent with one another when Tana relayed such vague messages to her friend Sarah.

“Why not talk to her?” I say, getting defensive. “She sounds like she has more useful information then I can provide.”

Victoria takes a sip of water and looks me dead in the eye. “She won’t talk to us. We think she’s scared. Scared of who Tana might have been involved with.”

“Vincent..” Tanas father turns to me “Will you meet with Sarah and try to talk to her for us. I understand bringing you here today you have probably known more about all this then you’d ever wish to know, but we are at a dead end. We need your help.”

I looked into the eyes of Tanas mother who was pleading for assistance. They were the eyes of a mother who’d lost everything. Her gaze was hopeless, but she looked at me like I was perhaps some sort of last beacon of  chance. My empathy disables me from saying no despite the fact that I was one hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet and felt impotent in all realms of human endeavor.

“I’ll talk to her.” I nod.

“Thank you Vincent” Daniel says.

“Where can I find her” I add.

“Where she works” Mr. Molnar utters softly.

“Which is?”

“The Rabbit in Silk. Gentlemens club up on route 202. Her stage name is Rose Kay Snow.”


A day later I approached The Rabbit in Silk. It was a former house that had been turned into a trashy, rundown strip-club and sat atop a bustling highway. The neon sign of a rabbit with a martini in hand glow casted itself over the otherwise ghostly parking lot. It was eight PM. I approach the club wearing a hoodie and jeans, my face clean shaven which prompts a homeless man smoking a cigarette to insult me as I go to enter the bar.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, baby face.” He yells. 

I ignore him and enter the club. I’m greeted by a three-hundred pound bouncer who shields my view of a colorfully saturated room full of scantily dressed women.

“Five dollar cover charge.” he points out “Need to see ID too.”

I hand him my ID which he looks over for what seems like ten times fold. I interrupt him as he examines it.

“I’m here to see Rose Kay Snow” I shout over the music. A band called The Sixty

Nine Eyes is playing. I recognize the song: The Chair. “Good on you.” He retorts. “She’s got one more hour before she leaves for the night.”

He points to her and I notice a woman sitting alone in the corner of the bar doing her makeup with a hand sized mirror. She takes a break to receive a text on her phone.

“Thanks.” I tell the bouncer. I walk across the room, past multiple nude women and take a seat at the bar next to Rose Kay.

“Is your name Sarah?” I ask.

“Who the fuck told you my real name?” She responds rather horrified.

“No one did, I mean… My name is Vincent. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“If you wanna dance it’s forty for one song.”

“Sure. How about we do three songs.”

“If you can pay for it, you can get more than a dance, Vincent.” She says rather sarcastically. “First time here?”


I follow her up the spiral staircase that leads to a waiting room. One of the girls is arguing with one of the male workers. We ignore them and I’m led into a hallway that breaks off into multiple rooms. As I pass said rooms I see patrons inside handling other girls in provocative ways. We go to our room. It’s lit devilish red and I seat myself on a soft cushion king chair at the far end. There’s a fake fireplace and the top part of the ceiling is covered in glow in the dark stars and Victorian art, a strange hybrid of decor I think to myself. Rose Kay straddles me. “Listen, I’m not actually here for the dance. I wanted to talk to you concerning a friend of yours.”

“Okay…” she looks confused..

“Tana Molnar.”

She immediately gets up “Security!” she yells into the hallway.

“No. Don’t!” I shout. “Please just listen to what I have to say.”

The bouncer pokes his head in the room frantically and for a moment I’m terrified but Rose Kay snaps her figures at him and he disappears as soon as he comes.

“What about Tana?”

“You were friends with her?”

“I worked with her.”


“Here, silly.”

“Tana worked here?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah but her name wasn’t Tana. She called herself ‘Night Nocturne’ a little overdramatic if you ask me. Most of the girls have names like ‘Vixen’,’ Darby’ ‘Rosa’

“But your Rose Kay Snow” I retort.

“Yeah, well I’m high class ass. I’m the smokeshow of this shit hole. You got a problem with that?”


Rose Kay Told me more about Night Nocturne. She would scam the patrons. At age twenty-three, she began doing escort work. Tana was selling herself out to early on to club members, but later became a high end call girl. During said time she left the strip club to be a hostess for the Casino which was right down the street.

“Is that where she met Mr. Henry?” I ask Rose Kay freezes up.

“I’m not sure I want to continue this conversation any longer.”

“Listen, Tana was murdered as I’m sure you’ve heard. Her parents are devastated. They sent me here to talk to you hoping you could help us.”

Rose looks at me puzzled. “Tana’s parents sent you here?” she laughs.

I grab both her hands, pleading. “Tell me about Dream Rabbit.”

She puts a finger to my lips to quiet me.

“Meet me outside in the back alleyway in fifteen minutes. I want to talk to you in a more secluded place.”

I leaned up against a wall in the back alleyway thinking she would never show up. Thirty minutes later, she did dressed in a rich fur peacoat. She waddles towards me

and my first intuition is to back up in fear, but I let her caress my face as she inspects me, smoking her clove cigarette.

“Mr. Henry is Dream Rabbit?” I say.

“Good work detective, but that’s about as far as you’ll get.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mr. Henry is the manager of this place. Well, he owns the bar. But I’ve never actually seen him in person. I don’t think he’s ever set foot in the place as far as anyone who

works here is concerned.”

Stray cats call out in the middle of the night as I walk with Rose Kay through a deserted backstreet, the air hanging heavy with a scent of decay and the collective trauma of a murder pageant winner. Overhead, rusty pipes drip rhythmically amongst fire escape exits. I see a young man in a T-shirt that reads “DARKTHRONE” leaning up against a garage bin. I ask him I can bum a smoke and he abides. Rain in the distance. I pull my hood over my head and turn an alley way onto a cobblestone streets, worn smooth by countless footsteps. There stands a picture of Tana with a crown of flowers at it’s base reading: 


Rose Stares at it.

“She wasn’t even that pretty.” She says 

“Have some respect.” I retort. 

“If you wanna get along with my Vincent you’re gonna have to come around to my sense of humor” She continues “I feel bad for the poor girl, I really do.” 

I told Rose Kay I’d walk her back to her apartment whereupon she revealed to me that Mr. Henry was not normal. Tana spoke of him is if he wasn’t even human. She claimed “He was not of this realm.” And Tanas day time image of her helping disabled kids and volunteer work starkly contrasted her ice cold persona of ‘Night Nocturne.” Before dropping her off at her place she gave me a little black leather book with the initials “N.N” on it.

“Look I don’t know much of anything, and I’m not willing to jeopardize my safety for some chick I barely knew. But here’s her client list.“

I take the book and put it into my back pocket.

“You look lonely. Why don’t you come up to my place?”

I get flustered. “I ugh, I don’t know does it cost anything?”

“You can pay me next time you come to the club. You’re very handsome. I’ll give you a discount.”

We enter the messy apartment and Roses body pushes against mine as we embrace. I take off her pea coat and throw it to the bed and grab her ass feeling the

garter belt alongside her thighs. She fumbles for my jeans and tells me me don’t need a condom and that’s she’s disease free. Later in the night Rose sleeps next to me and I smoke one of her cloves that I fished from the pack on the nightstand. I flip through the black book. I notice the first name belongs to an auto mechanic who lives no further then a few blocks down from Tanas parents house. I make note of that. I see a black leather jacket on the hanger of the door. I take it and assume Rose is alright with me doing so.

The next day I got a cup of coffee at the nearby diner and looked over the black book. To my amazement there were fifty clients. Tana was indeed a busy girl. The waitress who knew me as a regular has been giving me the eye and I finally humored her.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You look different, Vincent”

“How’s that?”

“You have facial hair now. Less of a boyish look. I like it.”

I don’t know how to respond.

“The charm will come too. You just have to grow into your own.” She says. I made my way to the auto shop. The place sat on the outskirts of town and was mostly abandoned aside from a guy named Bill who frequented the place. Apparently it was his business. I walk through the front door and the place is a mess. Dust everywhere, papers scattered, a half eaten sandwich sitting next to the old Macintosh computer at the front desk, whereupon flies were swarming. I’m startled by a man who puts his hand on my shoulder from behind.

“Can I help you?” he says. 

“Jesus, you scared the shit outta me.” I say. “Yeah I’m looking for a man named Bill Smith?

“That’s me. Who are you?”

“My name is Vincent. I work for… ugh..”


“I wanted to talk to you about a girl name Tana.” I continue.

“I don’t think I know any Tanas.”

“You spent a night with her at a motel six a few years ago.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“She was a prostitute.”

“Oh, is she dead now? I had nothing to do with it.”

“No. Listen, I’m not a cop. She was just a friend of mine and I wanted to see if I could ask you some questions.”

“Shoot. I’ll see what I can recall from my memory. Problem is, I already got a bit of the old dementia going these days.”

I told him all about her altered persona Night Nocturne and that she worked at The Rabbit in Silk. He seems to not remember her until I started describing her features. Blue eyes, about five-ten. During all of this this I couldn’t get past how Tana, one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid eyes upon had lowered herself into sleeping with a man, for lack of a better way of putting it, resembled a horrifically obese monster. He was greasy and bald and from the smell of him had not showered in days.

“She was so nice to me. You see, I am not a handsome man. But Night was good to me. She made me feel at ease. She told me she wouldn’t laugh at me or make fun of my body. She put me in a real heavenly state of mind.”

“What else did you talk about?” I ask.

“Not much. I would’ve thought she was a drug addict the way she chain smoked.”

“Did she ever mention anything about a so-called “Dream Rabbit?”

“Why yes, I do believe she did.”

“What did she say?”

“The poor girl seemed scared— Terrified really. I thought she was schizo or something the shit that was coming out of her mouth.”

“Go on.”

“She claimed she knew of an ‘immortal being.’

“I don’t understand.”

“The chick sounded like she had been in the loony bin her whole life or something. She was going on about some immortal being named ‘Mr. Henry’ and how he was someone who, in her words, could lead girls out of the worlds dark crevices and into a new realm that consisted only of the world’s best earthly pleasures.”

“Such as?”

“Earthly pleasures… You know. Food, Sex, Wine. She kept using big words I didn’t understand like hedonism and other fancy words.

“How many times did you see Night?”

“Once and never again.”

The guy seems clueless for the most part and I can’t think anything else to ask him so I thank him for his time and I’ll be on my way. He offers me food but I’ve already eaten at the diner this morning and the look of the place has me questioning the credibility of anything he can offer me. I close the door behind me and start walking towards the empty lot. The rain is coming down hard now. As I’m walking with my leather coat over my head he calls me from the office.

“One more thing.” He mutters.


“She had the ass of an angel.” He says grinning.

I smile back at him sheepishly but inside feel a mix of envy, resentment and disgust.

 Seeing Rose Kay at the club had awakened something in me. The night we slept together I did not know how much I needed her until after the fact. I felt stronger because of it. More competent, less fearful of any death that was surrounding me. I had seen death up close and I was no longer afraid to leave this world. Tana had left it already. Maybe I was marching toward my demise as well.


Epeolatry Book Review: Dead Girl, Driving and Other Devastations by Carina Bissett


Our reviews may contain affiliate links. If you purchase something through the links in this article we may receive a small commission or referral fee. This happens without any additional cost to you.

Title: Dead Girl, Driving and Other Devastations​
Author: Carina Bissett
Genre:  horror
Publisher: Trepidatio Publishing
Release Date: 9th March, 2024

Synopsis: In this powerful debut, Carina Bissett explores the liminal spaces between the magical and the mundane, horror and humor, fairy tales and fabulism. A young woman discovers apotheosis at the intersection of her cross-cultural heritage. A simulacrum rebels against her coding to create a new universe of her own making. A poison assassin tears the world apart in the relentless pursuit of her true love-the one person alive who can destroy her. Dead Girl, Driving and Other Devastations erases expectations, forging new trails on the map of contemporary fiction.

Includes an introduction by Julie C. Day, author of Uncommon Miracles and The Rampant.


Unholy Trinity: “Red Sky Morning” by Shilo Morlang

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.


Day 3


It was August when the sky turned red. A couple days passed before the scale and explanation were known: An electronic storm, or plasma, a strange bending of light and spectrum the world over. Temporary. 

And that was the problem. The plants were fine. The animals too. Fish in the sea, and birds in the trees. Only the people would not, could not, accept it. The sky had turned red. 

“No need for a panic,” representatives at NASA assured. “A week, maybe two. Blue skies will return.”

It was enough for most people. Others not.

It would be over soon. 


Day 13


“How the hell am I supposed to retire!” Charles raged.

His financial advisor frowned. “I’m sorry. This thing with the sky, it has everyone spooked. It’s temporary.”

“I’m sixty-seven years old! My entire life. What did you do with my money?”

“Please, Charles, understand. These things happen. They take time. But they always work out in the end.”

Charles stood up, the financial advisor, too. An open hand extended across the table.

Charles shuffled to his car. “All the time in the world,” he said to himself, opening the glovebox and unsnapping the buckle on the holster of his glock.


Day 27


“This too shall pass!” the Preacher bellowed from the concrete steps of the corner church.

“God, I hope he’s right,” Marci thought, steering through the right-hand turn and the red light. The suicides and occasional sacrifice were piling up in the morgue at the hospital where she worked. She slammed the brakes.

“Damn it all!”

A crowd of protestors had filled the street ahead. “Repent!” demanded the faithful. The guy behind her laid on his horn.

In the distance, between high rises, Marci saw a flash in the sky. That unforgettable blue and gray clouds.

A crack of thunder.



Shilo Morlang

Shilo Morlang is a writer in the Minnesota NorthWoods. His stories explore the thin places where science, faith, truth, and terror intertwine. If you like this work, please check out his book The People Who Came from Nowhere available on and wherever books are sold.