Strings By Jason Heller Art by Jason White Published Issue 101, May 2022 The wound steel buzzes beneath my finger. It’s the G string, the thinnest and highest. I play it way up past the twelfth fret, letting the A and D strings drone open while muting the E string with my thumb, wrapped around […]
Published Issue 100, April 2022 Best of Birdy Originally Published Issue 015 The knock at the door comes at 2:30 a.m. I am alone and awake to greet it. I pad down the hall in soft socks and weak shadows, my shoulder blades twisting beneath my skin like insects trapped in a napkin. Charlie says
StokerCon 2021: Colorado’s Annual Horror Lit Fest An Interview with John Palisano and Joshua Viola By Krysti Joméi Art by Aaron Lovett Read an exclusive sneak peek of the The Denver Phantom Edition — “Collateral Damage” by Angie Hodapp — below the interview. Horror Writers Association president John Palisano and StokerCon 2021 souvenir anthology editor & producer
Why We Are Whispering By Jason Heller Art by Ali Hoff Published Issue 085, January 2021 Best of Birdy | Originally Published in Issue 068, August 2019 Amy never meant to build an automaton. She didn’t know how to make anything. Nevertheless in her basement one day she heaped laundry baskets and car batteries and
MANY NOBLE NAMESBy Jason HellerArt by Luke StackpooleBest of Birdy: Story Originally Published Issue 009, August 2014 Blood was nothing new on that boulevard. Trails of it appeared on the sidewalks about once a month, shed we assumed by someone beaten or stabbed during the night. Sometimes the blood looked like rust. Other times it
MANY NOBLE NAMESBy Jason HellerPublished Issue 009, September 2014 Blood was nothing new on that boulevard. Trails of it appeared on the sidewalks about once a month, shed we assumed by someone beaten or stabbed during the night. Sometimes the blood looked like rust. Other times it was redder and fresher, perhaps dripped on the
THE HAND THAT FEEDSBy Jason HellerPublished Issue 005, May 2014 Benton walked through the hallways of the prison, half a step behind Officer Gurley. Despite the air conditioning, his palms were sweating. He’d been inside the place many times before, but never like this. “You got your knives on you?” Gurley whispered over his shoulder.
SUICIDE AT THE SODA FOUNTAINBy Jason HellerPublished Issue 003, March 2014 It was the kind of summer that sent dust swirling up in the dry sky, stinging throats and gluing tongues to roofs of mouths. The kind of summer with nothing left to do but ride bikes until we couldn’t ride bikes anymore. When we