Welcome to the werewolf issue. More accurately, werewolves and other werethings, so it seems appropriate that half the stories are werewolf ...

by Eirik Gumeny We don’t always understand the truth. About the world, about ourselves. Even when it’s staring us in the face. Or spat...

by Susan Moffat Trees, mud, branches. A howl. Sprinting paws, panting. Hurried breaths, pounding chest. A growl. Heavy paws, gnashing teet...

by John Xero Tree branches tore like claws into Lillian’s flesh as the storm roared around her. She fled with arms across her face, protec...

by Madeline Mora-Summonte Errol struggles as his fellow townsmen drag him into the woods, chain him to the Sacrifice Tree. In the torchlig...

by Carolyn Ward Swathes of bluebottles fizzed on the drying blood like an undulating black curtain. Max walked past the empty shop and pau...

by Matthew Schickele Kasia followed the bloody tire track along the dark street and through the splintered door of the library. Werewolv...

by J. H. Malone Little Franz awoke. Outside, an icy moon hung pregnant over leafless winter trees. The boy whimpered, then pressed his h...

by Voima Oy The girl with the moth eyebrows, they call me. Yes, my eyebrows are like furry caterpillars, like dark moths on my forehead. ...

by Grove Koger Handsome brute, she thought, and he heard the faint words, saw them shimmering across her face. Smelled them. He passed his...

by John Xero “I’ve never used Tinder before.” “Me neither,” she lied. “My sister convinced me. Silly. Happy I did, though.” He smiled ...

by Cassondra Windwalker Moonlight dripped from his open hand hanging over the edge of the bed. She padded closer. His heavy breathing, bor...

by Ann Roberts He stayed on his knees, hope reflecting in his azure eyes. Her hands fidgeted, wringing a pinch of her skirt on her lap. Sh...

by Renée Bennett The psychologist says, “Let’s talk about feelings.” Feelings? Like grass beneath my feet? Breath in my body and moonlig...

by M. Yzmore I didn’t leave when my family called me an abomination, then sent me to conversion camp because I liked women. I left after...

by Michael S. Manley Lying in front of the basement TV, fuzzy UHF broadcast painting us in flickering black-and-white, we watched Lon Chan...

by Wm. Brett Hill Night descended leisurely, but Jack felt little of its languid nature as his skin crawled and rippled. He hated being tr...