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

Taking Submissions: Common Bonds 2

Deadline: August 15th, 2025
Payment: 0.08 USD/word or $60 for poems.
Theme: Stories that belong in the fantasy or science fiction genre, have a clear aromantic MC, & centers around a non-romantic relationship

For Common Bonds 2, we are particularly interested in stories featuring these elements:

– Stories bold in their aromanticism and unafraid to explore its many facets
– Horror with strong SFF elements/settings
– Allosexual aromantic characters, and/or the exploration of platonic fuck buddies and other forms of non-romantic sexual partners
– Worldbuilding that decentres romantic pairings as the highest form of attachment or a central structural unit of a society,  especially inspired by authentic cultural and historical norms

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Taking Submissions: Tractor Beam Volume 3

Deadline: July 21st, 2025
Payment: $1,000
Theme: Speculative Fiction, Soilpunk

YOUR FICTION, OUR FUTURE.
We are looking for original written and graphic works that have actionable soil-based technologies as their premise.
For our upcoming issues, we’re specifically seeking stories celebrating decay and rot, ice and snow (the frozen earth), the ocean and soil under water, fashion and style, soil as tech, soil as the origin of life and anti-apocalyptic futures. Literal or abstract, near term or on distant horizons: worlds can take inspiration from innovations or alternative practices in earth and material science, regenerative agriculture, food, microbiology, and more.
A perfect Tractor Beam story gets readers thinking: “What if this really could happen?” “What’s the soil science behind it?” “What do I need to learn to be a part of a thriving planet?”
Think optimism! Think cross-genre submissions. A soilpunk romance, spy thriller, coming of age story. Interrogate what it would actually mean for us to successfully take on the climate crisis. What would that world look like? What technology would have to exist? We’d love to see people look at the latest soil science and dream.

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Epeolatry Book Review: Urban Legends: Three New Tales of Terror (Dark Tide Book 20) by Nick Roberts, Dan Franklin, and Leigh Kenny

Disclosure:

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: Urban Legends: Three New Tales of Terror (Dark Tide Horror Novellas)
Authors: Nick Roberts, Dan Franklin, Leigh Kenny
Genre: Horror
Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing
Publication date: 6th May, 2025

Synopsis: Enter the world of terrifying urban legends where the lines between myth and reality blur into a nightmare of unexplainable horrors. In this spine-chilling volume, the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and familiar fears are taken to unimaginable heights.
Features a foreword by Adam Cesare, the author of Clown in a Cornfield (now a feature film).
“Nesting” by Dan Franklin, “Knock on Wood” by Leigh Kenny, “Poltergeist Password” by Nick Roberts
Dark Tide 20 takes you on a terrifying journey through some of the most unsettling myths and folklore, where terror lurks in the shadows and urban legends come alive in the most horrific ways. Prepare for twists, fear, and truths you may not want to know.
Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing—Where Stories Come Alive!

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Taking Submissions: Journalstone July 2025 Novel/Novella/Collection Window

Submission Window: July 1st – 15th, 2025
Payment: Royalties
Theme: Horror novels, novellas, short story collections

Submissions are open from July 1st to July 15th, 2025. Submissions outside this window will be deleted unread.

We want horror in all its forms—from literary to weird, Gothic to psychological, and (almost) everything in between. We’re looking for amazing stories from amazing authors, regardless of race, gender, religion—if you’ve got something good, we want it. (Please do not submit YA, romance, erotica, or religious fiction; we do not deal in those genres. Also note that anything involving vampires, werewolves, zombies, or serial killers will be a hard sell, currently.) Need a firm idea of what we’re looking for? Check out the JournalStone website.
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Trembling With Fear 6-29-25

Greetings, children of the dark. Keeping it short and sweet for you this week; just the facts, or at least just the dark stories. Mainly because it’s been a busy week and today I’m off to be with all the other teen rebels at an Olivia Rodrigo concert in Hyde Park in London. Yes, I am in my mid-40s. What of it?

Here’s the dark and speculative stuff. For our main course, Maddox Emory Arnold haunts our very beings. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

  • Dawn Colclasure’s forgotten house,
  • Jessica Gleason’s spell-binding blood, and
  • Corinne Pollard’s painful payments.

Oh, and I almost forgot: congratulations to Tiffani Angus, whose story “Oracle at Dairy”—which was originally published on these pages—has been shortlisted for the Best Short Story category at the British Fantasy Awards! Dr Tiff is also co-author of the Spec Fic for Newbies series of non-fiction books (also award-nominated) and an all-round good egg, so I highly recommend checking out what she does. 

Over to you, Stuart

Lauren McMenemy

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Hi all.

First off, I’m thrilled to share the news that once again, we’ve hit the top 101 websites for authors according to Writer’s Digest!

I’m thrilled that we’ve once again had this armor of being a source for speculative fiction authors! 

Onto this week’s news. Not too much to report. I made a little progress in a few areas for the new layout, the new newsletter source, etc. However, all of them need a big sitdown from me, and I need to plan a day or two off work to really knock these out, I believe. 

As previously stated, our next goals are to get the newsletter swapover done, the new layout put in place live, and finish Trembling With Fear: Year 8, which is this year’s release. Fun fact, that last one we’ve got a digital copy to start proofing. Hopefully, that’ll begin soon! 

Just a reminder that Trembling With Fear: Year 7 and More Tales From The Tree: Volume 5 are now available for order! Again, a huge shout out and a big thank you to all of the authors who contributed to it and all of our editing staff for helping push this one live!

Now, for the standards:

  • Thank you so much to everyone who has become a Patreon for Horror Tree. We honestly couldn’t make it without you all!

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

For those who are looking to connect with Horror Tree as we’re not really active on Twitter anymore, we’re also in BlueSky and Threads. *I* am also now on BlueSky and Threads.

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree

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Serial Saturday: Caught Looking by Marcus Field, Chapter Three

Chapter Three

                                                          

A few days later Cassie guided my hand as I carved runes into a long birch spoon with a boline knife. The ritual, she claimed, required my hand to perform the rites. Sometimes I chopped what felt like dried herbs, other times I slid the knife through things slimy and rubbery. I lit candles, burned incense, and unscrewed glass jars filled to the brim with foul-smelling things. All of it went into a cast iron cauldron that we shoved into a fireplace filled with crackling birch logs.

As I stirred the bubbling potion with the birch spoon I wondered what I had gotten myself into, whether this was a harmless hobby or if Cassie had some strange beliefs about how the world worked, but I played along.

“How long does it have to brew?” I asked.

“Several days.”

“Days? Will your parents care?”

“They won’t mind. My mom used to do stuff like this all the time.”

I stirred the potion in silence. It gurgled and murmured and the birch logs popped and hissed.

“I should get home soon,” I said at last. “I can’t stir it for days.”

Cassie clicked her tongue and drummed her fingers against the coffee table.

“I think your hand has done enough. There’s more that needs to be done, but it might be better if I do it alone.”

She took my hand and led me away.

 

***

 

A few days later Cassie declared the potion ready. She scooped out the vile concoction with a wooden bowl and placed the bowl in front of me on the coffee table. The murmuring brew, the house, Cassie and her long hair, all of it reeked of charred rotten fish with a hint of something fruity like strawberries. I felt sick breathing in that air.

“I know how it smells, and it’ll taste worse, but I promise it’s not toxic. Worst case scenario, you wake up tomorrow still blind.”

I started to bring the bowl to my mouth, then stopped. 

“I don’t know,” I said.

Cassie sat on my lap, straddling me. Her body felt soft and warm against mine. The tips of her nails stroked my back under my shirt and she breathed into my ear. She pushed the bowl closer to me and with one hand I brought it up to my mouth and gulped the potion down. It was the worst thing I’d ever tasted. My tongue stung as it went down. It was more earthy than I expected, like muddy compost, and when it reached my stomach it felt like I had been kicked in the balls. At the slightest movement I thought I might vomit.

Cassie saw how I was feeling.

“Let’s get you home,” she whispered. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

I didn’t think I would ever feel better. On the drive home I started to sweat. Flashes of hot and cold raked my body, and I ached all over. More than once I demanded Cassie tell me what the fuck she had done but she just kept saying to be patient. When her car stopped in front of my house I didn’t wait for her to help me to the door. I bolted out and staggered to the door, threw it open, and stumbled to my bedroom. I thought I felt too horrible to sleep, but once my head hit the pillow I was out, and I stayed out for the next twelve hours.

 

***

 

When I sat down at the breakfast table the next morning Mom said she opened my door last night to see if I wanted dinner but all I did was mumble nonsense with my eyes closed so she decided to let me sleep. What a morning that was. The most magnificent morning I’d ever experienced. Even what came afterwards could not fully erode the elation of seeing shafts of yellow sunlight spill through the blinds, the floor that was covered in dirty clothing, the crinkled blankets that kept my body warm, my own hands opening and closing. A pretty mundane view, I admit, but it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

I called Cassie from my room barely able to suppress myself from shouting into the phone. I whispered that I couldn’t wait to see her for the first time, that I would spend the rest of my life indebted to her, that nothing I ever did could compare to what she had done for me. She had given back everything that had been taken from me, my entire life, but something was wrong. Cassie sounded like she’d gone without sleep for a week, her voice a distant croak, and her usual exuberance had vanished. She suggested we wait a few days before seeing each other. I told her that was the stupidest thing she had ever said, that I wanted to see her as soon as possible. It was Saturday so instead of the library we decided on the park around the corner from my house, where it all began, where we could watch the sunset.

I hung up and prepared to astound my parents at the breakfast table. 

 

***

 

A part of me felt lousy that I couldn’t share the full story with my parents. It made me wonder if I had done something wrong, but seeing the smiles on their faces, faces I hadn’t seen for over a year, was a great moment in my life. That day they took me for a long drive along a rural road that hugged the coastline, twisting and turning along rocky cliffs, then winded through green hills so high they could have been mountains. 

It was a great day, but night came fast.

The sun was already fading behind the horizon when I arrived at the park, which was empty except for someone on the swings. She faced away from me, hood over her head, but I knew it was Cassie. I sat on the swing next to her.

“Beautiful sight,” I said, thinking myself smooth. Then I looked left and gasped. A chill caressed the back of my neck. My insides twisted.

“Cassie?” I asked.

“In the flesh,” she said.

The woman on the swing had long graying hair, fingertips yellowed from cigarettes, crow’s feet and glabellar lines. She must have been in her late forties. Her smile revealed yellow, crooked teeth.

“Are you… is this… did the ritual… is this what you meant by… consequences?”

She burst into laughter.

“How flattering,” she said. “No, sweetie, this is how I’ve always looked.”

“I thought you were in high school,” I said.

“Honey, I never even went to high school. Does my age bother you?”

I didn’t reply. I looked away from her at the sand beneath my shoes. She placed a hand on my thigh. 

“You didn’t seem to mind yesterday.”

I jolted to my feet and stepped out of reach. Her giggle was as girly as the day I met her but this time it made my skin crawl. Cassie started to swing back and forth. The chains groaned and creaked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Is that really what you want to know?”

She rubbed her eyes. The last of the sunlight faded, leaving us alone in the meager light cast by the distant street lamps.

“Don’t you want to know how?” she asked.

Cassie swung higher and higher, and at her peak an awful change overcame her face. Her skin appeared stretched tight over a thin avian skull with a lopsided mouth, a wide black maw from which emanated her sickening girly giggle, like a horrid creature trying to burst through a membrane of flesh. But when she swung down low she was just an older woman again. A trick of the shadows, I thought.

“Was… anyone… hurt?” I asked.

This time she responded not with a giggle but a deep cackle so loud crows flew from the trees along the perimeter of the park, but something caught in her throat and the laugh decayed into a hacking cough.

“Sorry, sorry” she said, clearing her throat. “I’ll tell you what.” She spread her thighs. “Come over here and I’ll make you forget all about it. If you thought it was good before you wouldn’t believe the things–”

That’s when I started to run. A deep primitive fear compelled my legs to move, move, move. I heard an abrupt squeak as Cassie hopped off the swing, the thud of feet hitting the sand, but I didn’t look back. I ran out of the park, down a long quiet street, and turned the corner. I hadn’t run that fast for over a year. I thought my lungs might burst and my thighs might snap, but when I thought of that monstrous face floating high in the shadows tittering like a young child I was propelled onwards. When I reached my front door I looked behind me. The night was dark and silent and empty.

Indie Bookshelf Releases 06/27/2025

Got a book to launch, an event to promote, a kickstarter or seeking extra work/support as a result of being hit economically by life in general?

Get in touch and we’ll promote you here. The post is prepared each Tuesday for publication on Friday. Contact us via Horror Tree’s contact address or connect via Twitter or Facebook.

Click on the book covers for more information. Remember to scroll down to the bottom of the page – there’s all sorts lurking in the deep.

 

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Taking Submissions: Of Love & Dragons

Deadline: July 20th, 2025
Payment: 8 cents/6 pence per word for original stories, 6 cents/4 pence for reprints.
Theme: Love stories between dragons and humans (Dragon lords, princesses, etc)

We’re seeking short stories for our brand-new Romantic Fantasy series, a paid market for new and established writers. We’re looking for tales featuring strong-willed, independent women who are resilient, perhaps flawed or possess hidden powers, secrets or royal bloodlines. Such protagonists would not be defined solely by their love interests but grow through emotionally charged journeys. Friendships and love interests might be brooding, mysterious or dangerously alluring. Relationships might emphasize deep emotional connections, with lyrical, romantic scenes central to each character’s arc.

Ideal submissions will weave emotional tension such as longing, betrayal and love into epic fantasy worlds depicting prophecies, injustice and conflict. We welcome stories that explore moral dilemmas or sacrifices tied to love and duty, and will look out for richly imagined settings, from fae realms and alternate worlds to magical kingdoms, complete with unique magic systems, mythical creatures, royal courts and epic quests. Romance should be integral to the plot, with other elements such as slow-burn attraction, enemies who become lovers, forbidden love or fated matches. If you’re ready to immerse readers in unforgettable adventures where love and fantasy collide, we’d love to read your story. Read on for more tips on the specific titles…

Of Love & Dragons

Dragons may be fierce but they are symbols of great power, and the bond between human and dragon, once forged can never be broken. Or can it? Can romance deal a deathly trail of vows abandoned, or forgotten, can realms beyond our time conjure tales of Dragon Lords and warrior princesses, of great rivalries and oceans yearning with desire and determination, can you tempt the ancient ways into new meanings, and new stories.

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