containment has been breached and the others are dead and it is only me, subject hunts, it has burrowed as we suspected it might and it has burrowed into the walls and writhes in the ceiling and we could not stop it before it began to kill and it has killed many and it may go next to REDACTED by the colonies or REDACTED must use lethal force, do not capture, kill it

recorded below are the dea...

The writer stared at the post-it on the wall and could not understand it.

No. That wasn't quite right. Of course she could understand it. The words were simple. The handwriting was tidy and small and legible and so very, terribly familiar. As it should be. It was her handwriting, after all.

DON’T LOOK UP.

She clenched the edge of her desk, white-knuckled. Her lips were dry and so she licked th...

Now let me tell you what, I hadn't never seen such a thing in all my life. And it’s a right shame that I was the only one home, for I don’t think ma or pa is ever gonna believe what happened to me.

See, I was out in the forests back behind the house, trying to rustle some or another up. Old Dan and Little Ann were at work, sniffing about the trees the way my ol’ coonhounds do better than near an...

I think I might be insane.

No, this isn’t a confession. Fuck you. I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t want to kill him. I just…

Didn’t care.

The hook comes in haggard. I duck beneath it. He’s tired. I’m tired. It’s the tenth round and we’re in-fighters. We’ve been in-fighting. He swings again; I sidestep. A camera flashes and I’m blind and I don’t see the cross. I feel it—my lip is blee...

The 2025 Honda Civic Sport Touring Hybrid—Aegean Blue, maybe the one Raymond sold last week—was stopped. So were the cars ahead of it, presumably. So was Raymond, in his 2015 Xterra Pro-4x, and Alicia, in the passenger seat of his Xterra Pro-4x, a mischievous expression on her face and a hand on his thigh.

Raymond adjusted his glasses and forced his expression into one of abject neutrality. “All...

I prayed this was one of my smaller mistakes.

Record scratch

It wasn't.

Y'all I'm sorry );-;) this barely anything lmao...

I blink and stare at what used to be a mirror.

My reflection is gone, replaced by images of knights riding wyverns, doing battle with demons in the sky. The sun through this vision is bright, and I feel it’s warmth; my hands are still under the sink, and the water is cold.

I glance back at the bathroom door. Back at the vision. There’s a man up on his stirrups, screaming a war cry. I watch him f...

You know how some people are just assholes?

Like, take, for instance, that guy in a souped-up Ford Raptor, who tailgates you in the left lane because your Porsche 911 is a cop-magnet and you have to go the speed limit. Or the hostess who gives you a weird look when you walk into a steak restaurant and say, "table for one please," and later you can totally see her whispering things about you to h...

The pigeons began to fall at 3:34pm, on a bright and warm Tuesday afternoon.

They fell in number, cascading off sloped roofs, tumbling into streets, hanging in trees by their wings and necks, bright and plumed red and white and gray and black and blue and sometimes gold. 

They fell all over—in the Americas and Europe and Asia and Australia and Africa. They fell over all the world, Antarctica too...

Pan didn’t much want to look over the precipice–not with the whipping wind at her back and the thousand-or-so foot drop at her front. The ground underfoot was rocky and uneven. Clouds flitted by, close enough to touch, and her mouth went dry. She swallowed, and it didn’t help. The corner of her forehead itched, and she would’ve scratched it were it not for Kaleson’s contraption.

His wingsuit, of...