Coming June 1, 2026 in The Razor!
Drive up to the front of this gorgeous lakeside cabin and imagine your future! Admire the weathered cedar shakes, that quintessential New England silver you’ve been dreaming about since your honeymoon on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee. Lying on the cool, uneven planks of that private dock, you pointed out the thin streak of light that cut across the Milky Way. With a stunning lakeside cabin of your own, your silent wish might finally come true.
First published in HOPE: The Thing with Feathers Anthology
August 2, 2025
I took the stairs. I didn’t want to risk the elevator in case the grid failed.
I jumped down the last three steps to the fifth-floor landing, braids slapping sharply against my upper back, and used my momentum to shove open the heavy fire door. It was probably stupid to stop on every floor. I should have been fleeing like the rest of the city.
First published in What Lurks: A Cryptid Anthology
August 29, 2025
“I don’t think we should stop here, Maddie,” Shirley says, peering into the darkness.
“What do you want me to do, drive to the next town on a flat?” I snap, shutting the car off. The rushing sound of the corn enters through the open windows.
Reprinted in NECKSNAP Magazine Issue 0
November 2024
First Published in Potato Soup Journal
August 2022
On a muggy spring afternoon, the clouds sense a secret is about to be discovered. They crowd low, peering over a verdant bog. The sound of a pickaxe falls in a rhythmic swish-thump. The axeman’s worry rises like perfume.
Another woman was taken yesterday. The clouds hadn’t been in attendance, but they know the axeman’s sister was there, and that she looked away for only a second. All that remained of her friend was the basket spilling red, glistening berries onto the ground.
(Click to page 11 of the PDF)
First published in 3Elements Literary Review
May 1, 2023
Nominated for a Puschart Prize
Poppy pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to squeeze out the final image of the dream (his hands, reaching for her). It repeated a thousand times over as if reflected between two mirrors. Hands, teeth, dark, dark eyes. The same, but different every time.
(Click to page 15 of the PDF)
First published in Grim & Gilded
February 2023
I read a story once, where the main character turned into a cockroach. As my classmates argued about allegories and the unbearable weight of banality, I doodled a bug in my notebook. The story made no sense at all.
In the yellow light of the bathroom’s naked bulb, an overturned cockroach wiggled feeble legs. “I feel ya,” I mumbled through toothpaste foam.
No one ever returned. None before. None after. Just him.
Until now.
A figure exploded from the edge of the forest, scattering twigs and scraps of mist. Donafel let out a sharp breath, a plume of condensation. Ghostly antlers crowned the figure’s head and, for a moment, the familiar terror gripped him. But no—the antlers were merely the crisscross of branches.
Cool air slinks between the blankets, startling goosebumps from my skin. Tarek must have opened the window sometime in the night. I reach across the bed, expecting to feel his warm, bare shoulder. My hand meets cooling sheets.
On the nightstand, my phone buzzes and I jolt. The sound claws away the hush of the apartment.
When I pick it up, it vibrates again. My gut twists: something isn’t right.