TABLE OF CONTENTS

Every dreadful thing we’ve ever published.

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What We Look For at the Night Market

When meeting death, there is first a moment of confusion—a space in-between where ghosts wander—wonder—until they do not. Guilt is a fickle thing—forgetting is even

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Lost

On foreign land, memories of you slowly fade, but the dolls still stay,
their eyes rolling to the back of their heads, refusing to watch you leave.

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Mermaid’s Purse

By the time she started her job at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, Rachel had seen countless fish born. Nothing she’d seen was like what came out of the giant egg case in the saltwater tank.

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Punk’s Not Dead

Around me is complete chaos. The soldiers open fire, bullets everywhere. They’re better armed, but we’re out of our fucking minds.

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