Discover more from tiny frights
tiny frights vol. 2 no. 2
Welcome to the 4th issue of tiny frights! I was impressed with the quality of submissions for this issue. I had to turn a lot of good work away only because it didn’t follow the guidelines or else didn’t fit the (intuitively defined) “vibe” of the zine. It was a pleasure to go through the manuscripts.
Yes, tiny frights has a podcast! A new episode drops every Wednesday night, each featuring one work from a previous or upcoming issue of the e-zine. It only takes a couple of minutes to listen.
Thanks for reading tiny frights! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
You can probably find the tiny frights podcast from your usual podcast source, or from Bandcamp (https://caracabecreations.bandcamp.com/) or Redcircle (https://redcircle.com/shows/bd120807-a3c4-49a2-b380-80cc1a2c7442).
By the way, if your tf-published work is not selected for the podcast, it’s not because it isn’t good enough. Some works lend themselves better than others to an audio performance.
If you’re on Extwitter alternative Bluesky, so is tiny frights. The handle is @tinyfrights.bsky.social. (Bluesky is in closed beta right now. tiny frights doesn’t have any invitations to give out, alas.)
Find a complete list of the zine’s social media manifestations at https://tinyfrights.com/about-tiny-frights/.
tiny frights will be open for submissions from November 1st, 2023 to March 31st, 2024 for the Walpurgis 2024 issue. I’m particularly interested in reviews of horror media: books, movies, music, art, and so on.
And, as always, I want good, short poetry, microfiction, and visual art.
That’s it. Creepy reading!
— Carl Bettis, 10/31/2023
Art, Poetry & Fiction
Mental entities gobble your hour
the ghouls are floating up
Disney teeth and raucous voice
prepare for the eve’s desecration
soul packaged as skull
mother another number
tattooed on cheek
sign of money--freedom
Get thee to a beauty store!
Buy silk wig and face paint
You‘ll fool them all right
the infants you maul
when no one is looking
worst of you!
It’s only a game!
(a joke a party)
Goblins concocted and mild explosions
to push back boredom
Wait! Don’t be impatient.
Christmas lights in their boxes are ready
for the next round of forget
and have another drink
— Roberta Gould
like jarred bugs
tooth fang and claw
the whetstone moon
holds a broken-bottle bouquet
sings of women’s knowing
dead hearts to life
crow-black souls soar
bright above the blasted heath
a ray of sunshine
a lightning bolt
— Thomas Zimmerman
by Francesco Levato
Bile coats my tongue. I can’t keep it down, but my options are diminishing. There’s little left of the corpses to eat anymore. A gallbladder’s a lucky find, better than brains—no risk of prion disease. I may be undead, but I don’t want to end up a shambling cliché.
by Francesco Levato
Their skin smells of honey, undercut with ambergris, a rotting scent, sweet and animal. You can sense it as they walk past, subtle like a memory lost in the crowd. We don’t know its origin, or how the curse spreads—but we know they’re dead, even if they don’t yet.
Golden Shovel: Cemetery Sibyl
— after Stephen Dobyns
With expiration dates carved neatly, the
Gridlock of grim assures folks death’s sooner
Than gypsies warned — defying candles they
Insisted bring you good fortune. You’ve become
Obsessed about your fate but only dust
Defines what’s left behind. Disclosures the
Psychics avoided were for the better.
Excerpt: “The sooner they become dust the better.” Source: “Cemetery Nights V" (1986) by Stephen Dobyns (1941 - )
— LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Bram Stoker’s Recipe
His peppermill mind
Ground Romanian folklore
Dished out bloody bites.
— LindaAnn LoSchiavo
One moment of hope poached
like an egg
then swallowed whole,
the coolness of a dark sky
as the stars fade out:
in such a perfect way
love ruins each of us.
Eyes searching the sky,
distance measuring time:
no amount of light ever warms us.
We accept we will not recover.
Then in a chilly instant,
we realize we must recover.
We can only recover.
— Corrine Walsh
year by year
around new graves
— Carl Bettis
by Cecilia Kennedy
The World of Plants Garden Center was hiring, so I applied for a job, though I hate plants and can’t keep any alive. It turned out I wouldn’t be keeping plants alive. Instead, I’d keep guests who visited alive—and safe from a plant that was supposed to be kept in a glass case: the malevalentia herbicia. This plant could kill humans in seconds with just one touch. I wore metal gloves to handle it, but I wasn’t allowed to warn guests because that wasn’t the vibe my employer wanted. So, I had to disguise myself as a large, potted fern and turn the malevalentia herbicia away from guests as it reached out at them with long spindly things, hell-bent on poking people.
Once, I saw squirmy forms writhing under its leaves, and the owner told me they were poison sacks. Millions of spores could fly out in mere milliseconds. The victim’s skin would turn rancid, seeping with massive sores and oozing blood. The victim would then choke on their own bile and drown—and no one could touch them to help because of the poison. So I had to remain vigilant. Until the day I blew it.
Children, playing hide-and-seek, ran into the malevalentia herbicia. The children’s bodies disintegrated, pouring onto the floor in dark pools of liquid.
I was fired, but ever since then, every branch in the moonlight that casts a shadow on my walls grows a poison sack and shrieks like a forlorn mother whose children have slipped through her fingers and dissolved.
What the House Told Me
Come enter here
Forget to breathe
Hang from windows
Down hallway floors
There’s a growl
Coarse in my ear
Get the Fuck
Out of here!
— Jennifer Rodrigues
Shortly after the bubonic plague occurred in London in the 1600s, the rhyme Ring Around the Rosie appeared as well. The ring refers to the red rash around the lymph nodes, sometimes swollen to egg size on people with the disease. Pocket full of posey refers to the herbs and seeds people carried in their pockets hoping to fend off the fleas that caused the disease. Ashes symbolizes death which translates the last line of the nursery rhyme to read, roughly, we all drop dead.
Smoke filled skies
Once I would have been surprised
That May you live in interesting times
Was considered a curse.
In this time of bad to worse?
But despite the fear
It arouses in me
That the end is near
The news has become the best show on tv.
Ring around the rosey.
— Eve Ott
by Cassandra Daucus
The package arrives on a Saturday afternoon, along with a credit card bill and a handful of political brochures. You frown, turning the padded envelope over. There’s no return address.
Ripping into it at your dining room table, you’re surprised to find an old cassette tape, plain white and unlabeled. The liner in the case has CHANGE THE WORLD! LEARN TO SPEAK A FUN NEW LANGUAGE! printed on it in a spiky font that’s hard to read.
You chuckle, wondering if one of your friends is playing a practical joke. But you’re curious. Digging around in the closet, you come out with an ancient Walkman. You've never owned a Walkman and you aren’t sure where this one came from, but you’re thankful it’s here, and it works.
You press play, listen to the end, then flip the tape over and listen to the other side. It’s full of static, which is disappointing.
Your phone rings; it’s your best friend. You answer, say hello, ask how they’ve been doing. Your friend shrieks, the sound cut off by a sudden, harsh sound, like a walnut crunching underfoot.
Your confusion is interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. It’s a couple of missionaries, and when you tell them “no, thank you” they both scream and double over. Their heads pop like grapes, dousing you in warm wetness. You scream, too, terrified, jump over their bodies and run down the street, shouting for help. Your neighbors step outside, drawn by the ruckus. As you pass, every single one of them falls.
Five of Wands
we walk through the foundry
our only light a candle
it illuminates the bellows
all pointed at us
we shrink into ourselves
hunched tiptoe across
the cracked stone floor
seek the wall on the other side
and everything seems
like it's going okay for once
until we hear an impossibly
large indrawn breath
— Robert Beveridge
often mistaken for a crocodile, but keeps
his wall street affiliation a secret. has learned
to hold his arm rock-steady when a gopro
is involved. his ultimate goal, of course,
is to direct. touches up the paint
in abandoned asylums in the downtimes.
loves EVP, but has never found Waldo.
sings in a countertenor. has been known
to turn out an excellent meatloaf,
but not on a consistent basis. has discovered
the unmarked gravesites of three Chilean
immigrants who died of natural causes
in the seventies. loves you for you.
— Robert Beveridge
Those Who Will Not Be Missed
by Maggie Nerz Iribarne
Alone, Mike wanders to the tub of Mich Ultras looming under the dead apple tree. He reaches in, sits down on his hard front step, the can on his knee, imagines pulling the tab back. He misses his kids. Years ago, they’d be yanking on his sleeve, desperate to trick or treat, not wanting to socialize. Last year, he sat here with Janice, whose mood worsened with each sip he took. He feels a certainty: Everything that matters is gone. Mike grimaces, fixing his lips to the cold tin, knowing this bad choice is the last one left.
[Originally published in Halloween Frights, October 2021]
The One Who Remains
by Maggie Nerz Iribarne
After wandering the yards of his abandoned neighborhood, 12-year-old Gavin cannot find his family and cannot escape the fireworks’ finale. “Too loud,” he cries, rocks, holds his hands to his ears as he stands alone. The booms and sputters of orange and yellow spark light up the sky and yards around him, but Gavin responds only to the noise, running from it. Finding the closest house, he punches through glass. Shards explode, cut his skin, blood runs in streams. His face turns upward as he howls into the emptiness. The fireworks persist, insist on celebrating the end of this, all of it.
[Originally published in 100 Word Fiction, July 2021]
My Dog’s Murder Weapon
My dog is honing her toy t bone into a murder weapon
Day after day she refines its point
A point sharp enough to pierce cartilage
And she has begun testing optimum placement
She started with the sofa
But moved on to the bed
Now she is testing the floor
Other toys will be used for tripping
Strategically placed by size
We have one question
Who is the target
Who will survive
We each bribe her
My wife with savory sauces on her food
Me with hours of play
If you hear sirens at our home
It wasn’t an accident
It was murder
— Jim Calvert
her intuition told her
to go back inside,
but she didn't listen;
instead she walked into
the darkness to meet
a perfect stranger—
but there was no human
standing in front of her,
and she knew looking at
him instantly that he
wasn't human but what he was
she couldn't say;
"incubus, love," were the last
words she ever heard.
— linda m. crate
There are those your friends taught you,
Those taught at the play ground,
red light, green light.
And those you made up,
don’t laugh, don’t cry,
run & hide,
when the steps creaked,
when mom’s boyfriend got home.
— Phyllis Becker
by C.M. Saunders
It was just a plain old green vase, but it was special to Jed. He was horrified when he accidentally knocked it off the shelf and watched it shatter on the floor.
He swept up the pieces and took them to the shed, where he'd fixed so many other things over the years. There, the vase quickly became a metaphor for his and Dorothy's marriage. Once perfectly formed. Now, permanently fractured.
He did a serviceable job at sticking it back together. But cracks still showed, and there was no way he'd ever be able to put Dorothy's ashes back inside.
By C.M. Saunders
There’s no doubt about it, we lived in a broken world. War, famine, poverty, unemployment, greed, corruption, terrorism, debt, stress, air pollution, despots on power trips, plastic choking the oceans.
It was almost a relief when the bombs fell.
Now, whatever is left can start again.
This Year for Halloween
We’ll sew costumes of sophisticated discourse
of books, stocks, votes, and climate,
and not until we’re home in the dark
will we shuffle off the shoddy chatter
and remember the creatures of skin and meat
we are, and roll in one another’s scent.
— Thomas Gorn
Your necklace traps my hair,
twists it to the nape.
Each time I turn, it tugs –
plucks another strand.
I fetch scissors, blindly
cull the splintered curl.
What do you want from me,
clawing at my neck?
— Suzanna Fitzpatrick
She hid the bruises under makeup,
under long sleeves of her black dress.
Other mourners thought her eyes
were swollen red from grief.
They didn’t know he
punched her in the face
before he died of something
she put in his drink.
She bowed her head to hide the smile
as his casket went into the grave.
She knew she should feel guilty,
but she only felt relief.
— Nolcha Fox
A New Life In Red
There are monsters
And then there are monsters
If I had a potato peeler
The size of a baseball bat
I could show you
Start at the top and peel
In the sort of spiral
My mother could make
With a paring knife
Around and around
Separating skin and veins
From everything under
Growing quickly slick with
Blood and potential
Viscera and promises
Losing my grip
Failing to stop
With one frail life
But spiraling out
Into the room
Out into the city
Giving us all
A new life in red
— Douglas Gwilym
A Wind from the East
A wind from the east
the first chill of Autumn
darkness shadows abandoned graves.
Broken crosses, like splintered bones
jut out at dislocated angles.
Dark shapes slip and slide
over broken angels’ wings
wrecks of divine aspirations
crashed and scattered in dying grass.
— Sarah Das Gupta
Early Morning in the Village
The dead have
risen from their graves.
The living have
risen from their beds.
You tell the difference.
— John Grey
something scurries by, uber-fast,
in the pre-dawn semi-darkness.
a rabbit, most likely—
but solitariness prompts more sinister fears.
an angry rodent, perhaps, of Willard proportions
a rabid possum or back-alley raccoon.
the flickering streetlights above me—
on. off. on. off—waiting for the sun to emerge,
do little to squelch the screech in my heart.
out of the corner of my curb-adjacent eye
I see its low-lying acceleration
and feel relief this is no 2-legged creature
malign in its intent to inflict harm on my person.
at least, not here. not yet.
— Julie Allyn Johnson
by Donald A. Ranard
The House of Disappearances
When windows reflect violet and rose
it appears. The dark visage spooks
in suddenness, like a pop-in from a video
game. The front door stands open, a gaping
mouth of shocked invitation. Over a sliver-laden
threshold is a river of black, a void sipping light
and eating visitors. Feet feel compelled to walk, fists
tap the siding before entrance. Polite gesture before
soles caress floorboards groaning in protest
like grandmother's spine. Voices whisper welcome
from upstairs. Quiet descends as people climb, picking
a bedroom to sleep in, for a nap that lasts forever.
— Jennifer Ruth Jackson
Poem from Dracula's Coffin
He lies inside of me cold, heavy, and stiff. We should decay together but don't. His unnatural aura bolsters my strength and luster; his hair is the same glossy hue as my varnish in candlelight. "I crossed an ocean," I want to tell my long-dead parents who rotted in the clearing they were planted. My voice withers the way my leaves no longer do in autumn. "I'm not supposed to be conscious," I think as that little toady Renfield runs his sweat-sheathed palms across my top. Every inch of me wishes my corpse was a pile of stakes at a hunter's feet.
— Jennifer Ruth Jackson
Shiny, slimy worm slides into her cavernous mouth
past blue lips, black teeth. Her tongue slithers
and smacks against it. Pink-on-pink dance tangles
her in warmth gone scalding. Slivers of remembrance
prod her nerves. She savors until it slips to her stomach
and forget rolls in like a welcomed fog obscuring
fragments of breath and life felt now only in consumption.
— Jennifer Ruth Jackson
Reviews & notations
by Carl Bettis
Annihilation; Jeff VanderMeer, author; Farrar, Straus and Giroux. The first book in the Southern Reach Trilogy, Annihilation straddles the line between science fiction and horror. An expedition of four unnamed women enters an area on the US coast known as Area X, where reality seems to be transforming, and where previous expeditions have come to horrible and inexplicable ends.
Authority; Jeff VanderMeer, author; Farrar, Straus and Giroux. The second book in the Southern Reach Trilogy. Slower and more cerebral than the first, Authority nevertheless delivers some truly chilling scenes in a Kafkaesque milieu.
Crom Cruach; Valkyrie Loughcrewe, author; Tenebrous Press. A novella in verse, Crom Cruach is a gripping story for the most part well told. Colonialism, Catholicism, and Paganism mix in this tale, which begins with a murdered family who don’t seem to realize they are dead. The documents collaged in between sections are effective in establishing background and atmosphere. Minuses: some superfluous commas, the occasional cliched phrase. (Prose can absorb this more easily than verse — kudos to the Loughcrewe for taking the more difficult road!)
Curious Toys; Elizabeth Hand, author; Little, Brown and Company. A grisly coming-of-age tale whose queer protagonist, Pin, investigates a series of child murders in the amusement park where Pin’s mother is a fortune teller. Along the way Pin teams up with outsider artist Henry Darger, who may not be quite sane. A page-turner.
Inside Out; Lor Gislason, author; DarkLit Press. An enjoyable (for those who like body horror) set of connected tales. Could have used another round of proofreading. There’s a list of content warnings at the end of the book.
Jawbone; Mónica Ojeda, author; Sarah Booker, translator; Coffee House Press. Schoolgirls Fernanda and Annalise are adolescent girls who are so close they are practically twins. Together, they lead a clique of classmates in bizarre, sometimes dangerous, sometimes perverse rituals. But one of the two girls has limits, and the other does not. A work of psychological horror with suspense, dread, and heartbreak that build almost unbearably from page to page. It should come with all the content warnings.
Macbeth (graphic novel); William Shakespeare, author; John McDonald, Jon Haward, Gary Erskine, and Nigel Dobbin, graphic literature adapters; Classical Comics. Graphic literature; original text version. This book has made it unlikely I will buy another Classical Comics adaptation. The graphical interpretation is stereotyped and on-the-nose. The Weird Sisters look straight out of a Tales from the Crypt comic book. Lady Macbeth, with her lowered eyebrows and two dangling, snakelike tendrils of hair, looks evil from her first appearance. Also, she can’t mention her breasts without grabbing them.
Mapping the Interior; Stephen Graham Jones, author; Tordotcom Publishing. Jones packs a lot into this novella. Teenage protagonist Junior thinks he sees the ghost of his father in the trailer where he lives with his mother and younger brother. When Junior tries to find the truth behind the possible haunting and his father’s death, he discovers hidden dimensions in his home, the past, and reality itself.
Poe: Stories & Poems; Edgar Allan Poe, author; Gareth Hinds, artist; Candlewick Press. Graphic literature. This is an impressive collection of Poe adaptations. I can truthfully say that I had never read Poe’s poem “The Bells” closely until I read it here, and the graphical interpretation of “Annabel Lee” made me cry. The artist did each story or poem in a different medium, but there are subtle visual interconnections.
Zero Saints; Gabino Iglesias, author; Broken River Books. Antihero Fernando, drug dealer in the USA illegally, finds himself in the middle of a drug war that involves cosmic forces. I always read Iglesias with Google Translate pulled up, because my two years of high school Spanish left me long ago. It's worth the effort. He's one of the best writers working in horror today. One thing about I appreciate about Iglesias is the solidity of his fictional worlds, no matter how bizarre the narrative.
Doctor Sleep (2019); Mike Flanagan, movie writer and director; based on a book by Stephen King; Warner Bros. Pictures. Based on Stephen King’s sequel to The Shining, with Danny Torrance all grown up and, like his father, an anger-filled alcoholic. He and Abra Stone, a teenage girl who also has “the shining,” face off against ancient creatures who feed on psychic powers. Definitely worth watching, but my suspension-of-disbelief muscle strained under the load here and there, and the movie could have been more tightly edited.
Evil Dead Rise (2023); Lee Cronin, writer and director. Though Evil Dead Arise doesn’t lack humor, its comedic elements don’t reach Raimi’s gonzo levels. On the other hand, there’s no woman being raped by a tree. (FWIW, Raimi has expressed regret for that scene.) There’s more logic to the plot, more internal consistency to the world-building, than in Raimi’s Evil Dead films. This movie gave me a bit of a cardio workout. Not for the squeamish.
About the contributors
Phyllis Becker is coordinator of the Riverfront Readings series, which features local and regional writers. Her poems have been published in numerous literary magazines, and she has a chapbook, Walking Naked into Sunday (Wheel of Fire Press) and a book, How I Came to Love Jazz (Helicon Nine Editions 2008).
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry on unceded Mingo land (Akron, OH). Recent/upcoming appearances in Last Leaves, Taj Mahal Review, and Linked Verse, among others.
Jim Calvert was raised in Emporia KS where he developed a love for music and theater. He taught English for 15 years at Cameron High School in Missouri, and was faculty sponsor of the student yearbook. He retired in 2020. He is now newsletter editor for the LWVKC and writes a political column with Bob Grover for the Emporia Gazette.
Linda M. Crate (she/her) is a Pennsylvanian writer whose poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has twelve published chapbooks the latest being Searching Stained Glass Windows For An Answer (Alien Buddha Publishing, December 2022). She is also the author of the novella Mates (Alien Buddha Publishing, March 2022). Her debut book of photography Songs of the Creek (Alien Buddha Publishing, April 2023) was recently published.
Sarah das Gupta is an English Teacher from near Cambridge,UK who has taught in India and Tanzania. She began writing within the past year after being in hospital after an accident. Her work has been published in ten countries, including US, UK, Australia, India, Canada and Nigeria.
Cassandra Daucus writes soft horror and dark romance.
Newsletter sign-up: https://tinyurl.com/CD-newsletter
Social Media: https://linktr.ee/residualdreaming
H.L. Dowless is a national & international academic/ ESL Instructor. He has been a writer for over thirty years. His latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing, a fictional novel by Atmosphere Press, and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines: Leaves Of Ink, CC&D Magazine, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales. He recently signed three contracts with Pen it Publications.
Suzanna Fitzpatrick (she/her) has had poems aired on BBC Radio 4 and widely published in magazines and anthologies in the UK, US, and Canada, including Writing Motherhood (Seren), The Emma Press Anthology of Contemporary Gothic Verse, The Emma Press Anthology of Slow Things, Furies (For Books’ Sake), and Birdbook III (Sidekick Books). She was shortlisted for the 2019 Bridport Prize, longlisted for the 2018 National Poetry Competition, won third prize in the 2023 Shepton Snowdrops Competition, second prize in the 2016 Café Writers and 2010 Buxton Competitions, and won the 2014 Hamish Canham Prize. Her pamphlets are Fledglings (2016), and Crippled (due 2024) (both Red Squirrel Press, UK).
Nolcha Fox's poems have been curated in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Alien Buddha Zine, Medusa's Kitchen, and others. Her poetry books are available on Amazon and Dancing Girl Press. Nominee for 2023 Best of The Net. Editor for Open Arts Forum. Accidental interviewer/reviewer. Faker of fake news.
Thomas Gorn (he/him) started writing poetry at the age of 12 in a doomed attempt to enchant an attractive English teacher. Even though it didn't work, Thomas fell in love with the process and never stopped.
Roberta Gould writes, “My work has appeared widely in poetry journals and anthologies and my 14th book, Day True ( Lyon Mountain Press), was released several months ago. I live in the Hudson-Valley and I'm an amateur entomologist. Web site: robertagould.net."
Andrew Graber writes, “I am a self taught artist who also likes to write.”
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Sheepshead Review. His latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert, and Memory Outside The Head, are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and California Quarterly.
Douglas Gwilym writes, “I am celebrating that my story ‘Poppy's Poppy’ was a finalist for a Bram Stoker Award this year. I co-edit The Midnight Zone, first edition NOVUS MONSTRUM, a collection of never-before-seen monsters from big names in strange dark fiction. Ellen Datlow recommends my story ‘Year Six.’ Check out my work in LampLight, Lucent Dreaming, Dark Horses, Shelter of Daylight, Tales from the Moonlit Path, Penumbric, Creepy podcast, and Tales to Terrify.”
Maggie Nerz Iribarne is 53, lives in Syracuse, NY, writes about witches, cleaning ladies, priests/nuns, struggling teachers, neighborhood ghosts, and other things. She keeps a portfolio of her published work at https://www.maggienerziribarne.com.
Jennifer Ruth Jackson writes about reality's weirdness and the plausibility of the fantastic. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Star*Line, Apex Magazine, and more. When she isn't writing, you can find her crafting a variety of things or playing video games with her husband. Visit her on Twitter: @jenruthjackson.
Julie Allyn Johnson is a sawyer's daughter from the American Midwest whose current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting and the accumulation of fabric. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, her poetry can be found in Star*Line, The Briar Cliff Review, Phantom Kangaroo, Lyrical Iowa, Cream Scene Carnival, Coffin Bell, The Lake, Haikuniverse, Chestnut Review and other journals.
Cecilia Kennedy (she/her) is a writer who taught English and Spanish in Ohio for 20 years before moving to Washington state with her family. Since 2017, she has published stories in international literary magazines and anthologies. Her work has appeared in Tiny Frights, Maudlin House, Tiny Molecules, Meadowlark Review, Vast Chasm Literary Magazine, Kandisha Press, Ghost Orchid Press, and others. You can follow her on Twitter (@ckennedyhola). Instagram: ceciliakennedy2349
Francesco Levato is a poet, professor, and writer of speculative fiction. More about his work can be found at francescolevato.com.
Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo (she/her), a four time nominee for The Pushcart Prize, has also been nominated for Best of the Net, a Firecracker Award, an Ippy, the Rhysling Award, and Dwarf Stars. She is a member of SFPA, The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild. Forthcoming in 2024: "Eros and His Entourage" (Naked Cat Press). This year, her poetry placed as a finalist in Thirty West Publishing's "Fresh Start Contest" and in the 8th annual Stephen DiBiase contest.
LindaAnn Literary: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHm1NZIlTZybLTFA44wwdfg
Anna Maeve is a 30 something jill of all trades, hailing from beautiful New Zealand.
Eve Ott’s fiction and poetry have appeared in The Same, Imagination and Place Press, I70 Review, The Whirlybird Anthology, Kansas City Voices, Redbook, Thorny Locust, Rebirth of Power, and various campus and regional publications. She has published two books, a full length collection, Album from the Silent Generation (Kelsey Books, 2014), and a chapbook, On the Jefferson Line (Prolific Press, Inc. 2018).
Donald A. Ranard's writing has appeared in The Atlantic, New World Writing Quarterly, Gargoyle, Litro, The Best Travel Writing, 100 Word Story, and elsewhere. His one-act play, ELBOW. APPLE. CARPET. SADDLE. BUBBLE., won second prize in Veteran Repertory's 2021 playwriting contest and was recently performed at Vet Rep's theater in Cornwall, New York.
Jennifer McKeen Rodrigues (she/her) currently lives on Powhatan land in Fairfax, VA. She is a certified yoga therapist, mom, & queer military spouse. She’s been published as either poet or photographer, & has been nominated for a Best of the Net Anthology 2023 in photography. She wishes to thank the Universe.
Chris Saunders, who writes fiction as C.M. Saunders, is a writer and editor from south Wales. His work has appeared in over 100 magazines, ezines and anthologies worldwide and his books have been both traditionally and independently published. His latest release is The Wretched Bones: A Ben Shivers Mystery on Midnight Machinations, an imprint of Grinning Skull Press.
Corinne Walsh is a limerent poet.
Justin Z writes: “I’m a developing artist from Vancouver, Canada pursuing a post secondary education in illustration. I am interested in philosophy and metaphysics with a preference for the dark, ephemeral and liminal places both in and outside of the mind.“
Thomas Zimmerman (he/him) teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared recently in Revolver, Roi Fainéant, and Trigger Warning. His latest book is a poetry chapbook collaboration with Scott Schuer, Two-Headed Monster (Reaction Press/Zetataurus Press Press, 2023).
Jim Zola is a poet and photographer living in North Carolina.
About tiny frights
The zine is published twice a year, appearing at the end of April (Walpurgis Night) and the end of October (Halloween).
tiny frights also has a weekly podcast, each episode consisting of one work chosen from a past or upcoming issue of the e-zine.
Facebook: tiny frights
Editor, publisher, social media team, and webmaster: Carl Bettis.
Podcast performer and engineer: Anne Calvert.
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