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

Taking Submissions: Corvid Queen 2024 Submission Window

Submission Window: January 1st – 30th, 2024
Payment: $5.00
Theme: Original feminist tales, feminist retellings of traditional tales, and personal essays related to traditional tales. Although we started as a magazine of fairy tales, we’re now open to pieces based on or related to fairy tales, folklore, myths, legends, and pop culture.


We’re looking for original feminist tales, feminist retellings of traditional tales, and personal essays related to traditional tales. Although we started as a magazine of fairy tales, we’re now open to pieces based on or related to fairy tales, folklore, myths, legends, and pop culture.

We accept fiction, poetry, creative non-fiction, and pieces that are in-between. For prose, we accept stories of up to 5,000 words. Longer pieces will be declined.

Please note that you do not need to be female or femme to submit a piece; writers of any gender identity and expression are welcome.

We’re listed on Duotrope & Chill Subs!


Taking Submissions: Pyre Magazine Winter/Fall 2024 Window

Submission Window: January 17th – February 28th, 2024
Payment: $10
Theme: Dark genre-bending works in the realms of horror, sci-fi, the weird, the macabre, fantasy, and magical realism.

Pyre Magazine is a biannual publication. Issues are released Spring/Summer & Fall/Winter.

We are most interested in dark genre-bending works in the realms of horror, sci-fi, the weird, the macabre, fantasy, and magical realism. We want stories that grab us by the throat and ask questions about what it means to be human. Make us feel something long after we are done reading.

The Editor is particularly fond of stories in the vein of The Twilight Zone, Black Mirror, Night Gallery, The Outer Limits, and Creep Show. When it comes to literary inspiration, think of Shirley JacksonRichard MathesonRay Bradbury, and Mary Shelley.

The Editor also enjoys almost anything produced by A24.

Think of Pyre as a bonfire — a place of storytelling and sacrifice. Take a seat near the fire and listen or spin a yarn of your own. Here at Pyre, we worship at the altar of storytelling done well. We love genre work that tells us something about the human condition.

Pyre is personally funded and maintained by the Editor. he asks you are patient with him as he gets back to submissions.


Epeolatry Book Review: A Vindication of Monsters: Essays on Mary Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley, ed. Claire Fitzpatrick


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: A Vindication of Monsters: Essays on Mary Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley
Author: Various, ed. Claire Fitzpatrick
Genre: Non-fiction, biographies and memoirs of women
Publisher: IFWG Publishing International
Release Date: 15th October, 2023

Synopsis: In 1797 an extraordinary visionary died, leaving behind a grieving husband, a two-year-old daughter, and a newborn. The woman was Mary Wollstonecraft, her daughter Fanny Imlay, and her baby Mary Godwin, who, through many trials and tribulations, grew up to become the remarkable Mary Shelley, creator of one of the most important books in literature: Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus. While many books have examined both women’s lives, their remarkable similarities, their passions, joys, and their grief, A Vindication of Monsters: Essays on Mary Shelley and Mary Wollstonecraft, delves deeper into the stories behind both women, their connections to historical events, society, their philosophies, and their political contributions to their time. These essays and memoirs explore Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, and Shelley’s circle of friends, including her husband, the capricious poet Percy Shelley; the libertine Romantic Lord Byron; the first modern vampire author John Polidori; and other contemporary creatives who continue to be inspired by both women today.


Taking Submissions: Monsters in Masquerade

Deadline: December 31st, 2023
Payment: 10 cents per word
Theme: A horror fantasy fiction anthology focusing on the Upper YA (18+) to New Adult and Adult age range.

Submissions are now open for “Monsters In Masquerade”

Coming in mid-2024, Monsters In Masquerade will be OwlCrate’s first-ever published anthology book as part of a larger fantasy fiction anthology by OwlCrate!

About Monsters In Masquerade

Monsters In Masquerade will be a horror fantasy fiction anthology focusing on the Upper YA (18+) to New Adult and Adult age range.

Utilizing our amazing in-house team of creatives, graphic designers, and readers, we are partnering with our incredible friend and editor of this anthology, Robin Alvarez, to bring you new and exciting stories from your favorite subgenres of fantasy.⁠ ⁠

BUT!⁠ ⁠

What makes this even more exciting is that YOU, our incredible community members, will have the opportunity to earn a space in our anthology and get your work published alongside acclaimed bestselling authors!


Taking Submissions: In the Eyes of the Hungry

Deadline: December 31st, 2023
Payment: $50
Theme: Short stories in the style of John Steinbeck or in his book’s settings that also include classic monsters

In the Eyes of the Hungry, ed. by Barbara Castro-Rojas and Michael Tichy, expected publication date: Summer 2024.
One of the great American authors wrote a werewolf novel and sadly, we will likely never see it. But wouldn’t it be great to speculate on what such a book might look like? We invite you to do exactly that.
We are asking for short horror stories, 2500 to 6000 words, in the style of Steinbeck, in his settings, and/or covering his themes. But we’re not going to limit you to werewolves. What fun would that be? We invite you to populate these stories with any of the classical monsters (think Universal), so if you can find a way to put the Creature from the Black Lagoon into a Steinbeck-style yarn, go for it!


Trembling With Fear 12-3-23

Hello, children of the dark. How’s your week been? Mine has been so crazy busy and overwhelming that I absolutely, honest-to-god nearly forgot to put together this week’s issue. The boss likes to have these mid-week so he has plenty of time to do his thing and schedule it all in. This week? I’m sitting at my desk at 1pm on Saturday afternoon, prepping Sunday’s edition. Whoops. Sorry, Stuart!

With that in mind, let’s just jump straight in with this week’s dark and speculative TWF menu. Our short story offering from Alyson Faye sees a young woman find her forever-soulmate. Then we’ve got three fabulous tasty morsels for dessert:

  • Robert Allen Lupton will make all the writers groan with this one, 
  • Jordan Kocevski is rushing to escape from something, and 
  • Ron Capshaw writes this one in tribute to the late, great Shirley Jackson.

Finally, we’ve been getting an absolute influx of subs to our 🎄Christmas special🎄. The deadline for submissions to this one is the end of this week, so get ‘em in quick. TWF special editions editor Shalini is going through the (frankly) huge amount of stories we’ve received, but you’ll likely hear from her much closer to the date of publication as to whether you’ve been successful.

Now, it’s over to you, Stuart.

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Hey all! I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. This is the LAST WEEK of my current class. On top of that, I’ve got a huge project at work. After this week, our focus will be getting Shadowed Realms contracted, formatted and out into the world. 
Don’t forget – Trembling With Fear Volume 6 is out in the world, and if you’ve picked up a copy, we’d love a review! Next year, we may be looking to expand past just the Amazon platform. If we do that, what stores would you like to purchase your books from?

ATTENTION YOUTUBE WATCHERS: We’ve had some great responses so far but are open to more ideas – What type of content would you like to see us feature? Please reach out to [email protected]! We’ll be really working on expanding the channel late this year and early into next.

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree on places that aren’t Twitter, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

If you’d like to extend your support to the site, we’d be thrilled to welcome your contributions through Ko-Fi or Patreon. Your generosity keeps us fueled and fired up to bring you the very best.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree


Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5

  1. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 1
  2. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 2
  3. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 3
  4. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 4
  5. Serial Saturday: Parasites by R. Minter, Part 5



Parasites: Part Five


Leila stared at the convent from the sidewalk. It looked straight out of a medieval manuscript—all sharp edges, crosses, and stained glass windows. A statue of the Virgin Mary prayed on the wildflower-dotted lawn.

The business card flipped between her fingers as Leila thought about going in. The convent looked a lot more professional than her actual destination.

The address on the card pointed toward a squat, ramshackle house across the street. Its windows were barely hanging on, and there wasn’t a religious symbol in sight. In fact, it looked like the kind of place young girls went into and didn’t come back out.

“Can I help you?”

Leila lashed out at the voice, hitting a gray-haired guy in a threadbare business suit right in the gut. He grunted, but didn’t budge as pain radiated up her arm.

“My apologies for startling you.”

Leila yanked her throbbing hand back. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Uh… sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

In reality, she wasn’t sorry at all, and wished he’d move on. But a small, still civilized part of her wanted this to be a normal conversation with another normal human being.

“Understandable. Especially if you’re desperate enough to seek me out.”

She stared at him with a frown.

He motioned at the card still clutched in her hand. “That’s my business card. Matthew Newcomb.” He held out a hand, then retracted after an awkward moment of silence. “I only give those out to my closest acquaintances. They only give them out to those in the greatest need.”

“Oh, great.”

This is stupid, the civilized voice said. It played over and over in Leila’s mind as Matthew looked her over.

Satisfied with whatever he saw, he motioned toward the ramshackle house. “Care to tell me your troubles?”

Leila glanced in its direction, pretty sure the house had grown darker since she last looked. “Can we talk here?”

Matthew chuckled, an affable sound that did nothing to calm the prickling of Leila’s skin. “If you want. Let’s start with what’s happened recently in your life. What makes you think you need an exorcist?”

“I don’t.” Leila blurted the words out, then backpedaled at his skeptical expression. “I mean, I’m not sure I do. A lady came to me and gave me this card.”


“Some accidents have happened where I work.”

“Go on.”

“They’ve all… happened near me, and—” Leila swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “One was to someone I care about.”

“Describe the accidents to me.”

That was the last thing she wanted to do, yet the words poured out of her mouth in grisly detail. A feeling of being detached, a passenger in her own body, came on in full force. The corners of her mouth twitched as she neared the end, as if she was about to smile.

Leila forced her mouth down, clamping her jaw shut mid-word.

Matthew stared at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Have you been having nightmares?”

The middle-aged lady’s words echoed back in Leila’s mind. Have you been having nightmares, Ms. Roberts? She glared at Matthew. A bit of vagueness was to be expected from anything related to religion, but this was getting ridiculous. “Why? What’s so important about bad dreams?”

“It helps—”

“Yes.” Anger boiled up, burning away the last vestiges of discomfort at the situation. She’d started the week partying with her best friend, and since her life had all gone to hell. Now she stood on a strange sidewalk next to a strange man while her friend bled out in a hospital. None of it made sense, and she was sick of it.

“I’ve had a few nightmares,” she said through clenched teeth. “Nasty ones. Ones I could swear were real, yet couldn’t possibly be. Do you want me to describe them to you as well? Maybe they’ll haunt you as much as me. Did I tell you my friend is dying? Why the hell am I here, and not with her?”

“Because you need my help. Your soul knows it, whether you do or not.”

Leila scoffed. “My soul? Are you going to preach? Is that what I came out here for, a sermon?”

An image flashed through her mind. Matthew, stretched across the pavement, with his ribs split open. The copper scent of blood filled the air, along with a deep earthen tang. A bulbous headed creature, barely reminiscent of a newborn, dug into the open chest cavity and giggled.

Leila choked, gagged, then vomited the remains of her lunch into the street.

Matthew reached out to touch her shoulder.

She shied away, her hand dropping to her stomach, where the sharp pain had quickened in tempo. “Can a baby be possessed?” she asked. Desperation creeped in thick. “Before it’s born?”

He hesitated. “I’ve never seen it.”

Leila coughed out a short laugh. “So that’s a maybe. What about eleven?”

“I don’t—”

Leila yelled, doubling over as the pain in her abdomen turned sharper. This time, she didn’t have the strength to move when he wrapped an arm around her.

A woman’s voice she didn’t recognize called out from the direction of the convent.

Matthew called back. Leila tried to focus on their words, anything to distract herself from the searing agony spreading across her mid-section.

A long, thin knife.

Creatures with needle-sharp teeth.

She heaved.

Motion. Matthew scooped her up, folding her in his arms. A bulge in her abdomen. Leila cried out as the agony sprouted more blades. The bulge grew, pushing out from under her shirt. The surface of her skin rippled, contorted, as something writhed to be free. A hand pressed from the inside, tiny fingers etched in her flesh.

“Don’t worry, now,” Matthew said in a strained voice. “We’ll take care of you.”

He yelled something about a book and a circle, but the words lost meaning. Leila screamed as the blades pierced out and down. Whatever was inside wanted out. Shadows covered her vision as they entered the church. A loud boom and rattling. A shock of cold on her back as Matthew laid her on hard ground.

Leila screamed again and kicked, bashing her head against something hard. A numbness spread, blessed relief as wet poured down on top of her, soaking into her skin and pooling underneath.

The relief was short-lived.

Fire burned it away as her insides twisted, turned inside out. A wail, not her own, cried out. High, piercing.

The agony faded to dull throbbing.

A high-vaulted ceiling hung over her, a prism of colors dancing across stone walls from stained glass windows. Leila lay on her back in a puddle of cool and warm, gasping for breath.

Rhythmic murmuring came from all sides. She forced her shaking limbs under her and pulled herself up into a sitting position. A holy water basin lay upturned beside her, its contents spilled on the marble floor where it mixed with crimson.

Leila’s breath caught as another wail echoed off the convent walls, answered by a boom of thunder which shook the stained glass.

Nuns surrounded her in a circle. Praying, hands clasped at their chests and mouths. One sat at her feet, habit sleeves red.

Don’t look. That small voice, long ignored. Leila ignored it once more.

She looked past her bare legs, pants awkwardly pulled to her ankles, to the pile of flesh, blood, and holy water between her legs. An infant thrashed, gray wrinkled skin contrasting with the red covering it. Large, rheumy eyes stared at her. It sucked in another breath, opening its mouth wide to reveal rows of shark-like teeth.

“No, no, no.” Leila tried to scramble back. Her hand slipped in the mess, laying her on her back once more. Pain bloomed in her skull, but she didn’t care. She had to get away from this thing.

The nun with blood on her sleeves moved up beside her and pushed down on her chest.

“Let me go, damn it!” Leila swung a fist, hitting the nun in the shoulder. She didn’t get a second chance. Two more nuns appeared, pinning her arms to the floor.

She fought, but it was pointless. She was too damn tired, too weak to dislodge the women. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

The chanted prayers got louder. The sky answered. A peal of thunder shook the church as if God himself hammered at the ceiling.

“Our God in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Matthew’s voice at her feet. Leila tried to look, but the bloody nun blocked her view.

“Thy children call upon thee in their hour of need.”

More hammers from on high. Rain pelted the roof, melding with the ever-increasing volume from the chants and prayers, creating a cacophony that vibrated in her bones. Leila gritted her teeth, wishing she could block out the noise, but the pounding of her heart would have given her no respite, anyway. She choked out a sob and screamed.

“Have mercy on this innocent soul,” Matthew continued. “Cast out the demon. Remove it, and cast it into the bottomless pit.”

Glass shattered as another hammer fell. Multi-colored shards rained down outside the circle of nuns. Then, silence.

Black clouds dissipated outside of the broken windows, giving way to a sunny day in seconds. Two of the nuns holding Leila down moved away. One stopped, removing the outer layer of her habit and draping it over Leila’s lower body. The last nun wrapped her arm around Leila’s shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position. 

She felt numb, drained, teetering on the edge of an abyss that refused to claim her.

Matthew stood in front of her, dangling a cross pendant over the baby he cradled in his other arm. He looked at Leila and smiled. “The exorcism worked. It’s a boy.” He leaned over and offered the naked child to her.

Bile rose in the back of her throat. “No.”