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For a publication dedicated to showcasing exceptional horror and macabre works, the reading experience is paramount. The vessel holding the work must be as carefully crafted as the pieces themselves. As we looked to the future, we evaluated the standard digital publishing platforms—WordPress, Ghost, and Squarespace. While functional for many, it quickly became apparent that… Continue reading Welcome to the New Macabre Magazine!

We agreed: it had to be a drifter, an outsider. That much was clear. Our town wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big enough to hold, to hide, an appetite such as this. We knew this to be true. We knew this because we knew everyone. Of course, the first person we would have suspected—the only person—was her brother. But… Continue reading A Named Storm

Hi there! My name is Cathy Haan, and I have been a licensed realtor in Minneapolis, Minnesota, for over fifteen years. One of the most common questions I get from potential homebuyers is about the prevalence of wood wraiths. So, I’ve written this article for my blog, Haan Talks Houses, in the hopes that I… Continue reading A Local’s Guide to Wood Wraiths

Leather-bound tatters Blood-ink maters to parchment Read atop an escarpment Fire-blue tines rape the sky On-high violations as Motivation for Necronomic Incantations, audible permutations Of flesh, veins, and hatred Eyes red with sound and fury Signifying there is no worry Of nine clouds of judgement  As Mephistical mystics Regurgitate cannibalistic  Fetid decay disguised as lyrics… Continue reading Grimoire

The black velvet petunias eat away at your antipathy– sunless conduit flowers for unlit obituary candles, Drunk Tank Pink garnish of a burial shroud,

Most people are blind to life’s distractions. Normal people can move smoothly from one task to the next, allotting each one exactly the attention it needs. They don’t see how dirty the cabinets are or how tall the pile of mail has gotten.

You left your phone in the car when you got out to pump gas. The sleep-shorts you wore offered little protection against the cool autumn night. Gooseflesh broke out on your bare skin, and you wanted nothing more than to get back home quickly to snuggle up under your sheets.

If she squinted and imagined nightmares, the house would have looked haunted. With eyes wide open, and her darker dreams tucked away, it was just a big gray building adrift in a sea of trees. Charity Barnes opened the rental car door in a cloud of dust she’d trailed in from the gravel road and dirt driveway.

We were hiking in dense woods when a sudden rainstorm blew up. We ran, looking for shelter, and came upon an old, abandoned house—a mansion, really, that must have once been beautiful.

Even after all those years, the yellow eyes still haunted him. A sickening feeling roiled in his stomach. He looked out the window and saw the ground below him menacing, almost grinning at the prodigal son’s return.

The heat oozed through the windows and pooled behind Scott’s blackout curtains. If he sat still, hunched over his desk, he could stay cool enough to think.

When I was a child, my father used to scare me with this rubber Halloween mask. It’s burned into my brain like the remnant image left on a TV screen after you power it down. It covered his entire head and changed his skin from pale white to black and red with a piercing set of yellow eyes.

I love my mother, but if I ever see her again, I’ll kill her. Perhaps I love my mother because of biology, but biology can be hacked these days, so who can trust that anymore?