The race is on to get out of post-apocalypse New York in an all-new Flashback thriller. Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes. From The Ghosts in Their Boroughs:She loosed her hair and shook her head, allowing the locks to spill down her shoulder-and I zoomed in on them to get a focus."Do I look any different?" she hollered."Yeah . you shine."Which she did, like a candelabra, as the lights reflected off her hair, her skin, her beaded jacket. As the music played and she reached for the brass ring-and got it. As she circled and laughed and gripped the pole and the camera went click, click, click. That's when I saw them; or thought I did. The shapes. Gathered beyond the farthest poles (I'd zoomed up on the opposite side whilst waiting for her to come back around); gathered like outsized crows. That's when I focused through and saw their eyes; their awful, red, vertically slit eyes, before dropping the camera and unslinging my rifle-pointing it directly at them . and finding them gone. That's when I realized that I was starting to lose it-to slip, as the writer Hugo Eagleton once said. That the terror and uncertainty of what had happened-the sky, the missing people, the remaining people who seemed intent on burning the city down-had affected me more than I realized. Sylvia, for her part, only looked at me like I was insane. And I would have agreed with her; had I not looked behind her and saw them again. Had I not seen with my own eyes their black bodies and crimson snouts as they weaved between horses and slowly closed the gap; as they stalked her like panthers and the carousel went around, the music like a carnival, the horses rising and falling. As they closed to within about twelve feet of her and I fired-causing them to stop and to crouch and to look around-only to inch forward again as I resumed shooting (missing, it seemed, every time). Until there was an ear-piercing pulse which I recognized as coming from Madsen's sound cannon (he'd demonstrated it for us before we set out) and the animals scattered-even as Sylvia crouched and covered (from the excruciating noise) and I did the same; paralyzed, debilitated.

The Ghosts in Their Boroughs

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:ANOTHER MAN'S POISONMarlin BressiFEAR AND LOATHING IN ALPHA CENTAURIColby WoodlandLEGACYWilliam JensenRAINRod MarsdenSPIDERS, SPIDERS, EVERYWHERE!Bill LinkSUBSCRIBEDMikel J. WislerTHE HAND COLLECTORChristian RileyTHE SCARECROWKurt NewtonTHE SOUNDA. S. RemlandKINGS OF THE ROADWayne Kyle Spitzer

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 10 | November 2022 - Dark Horses Magazine, #10

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse. How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather-which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees-it didn't take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn't take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback-which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake-to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded. Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse. In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.

A Best of the Flashback Almanac: A Treasury of the Very Best from the Flashback Universe

Welcome to Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder, an extraordinary anthology magazine that transcends the boundaries of science-fiction, fantasy, and horror. Prepare to embark on a thrilling journey through the darkest corners of the human imagination, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the mundane transforms into a realm of unspeakable terror and awe-inspiring wonder. Within these pages, you'll discover a collection of captivating stories carefully curated to transport you to realms beyond the mundane. Each issue presents an array of unique tales crafted by talented visionaries, both established and emerging, who dare to defy conventions and push the boundaries of speculative fiction. Whether you're a seasoned lover of the fantastic or just curious to explore new frontiers, Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder will be your guide through the realms of the extraordinary. Prepare to be enthralled, enchanted, haunted. So put on your dark sunglasses . and unleash your inner Black Sheep. In this issue:THE BREAKWilliam CouperDESPERATE TIMESJessica BindnerCOME BACK HOMEHana CarolinaIMMUREMENTKen FoxeTHE CONCRETE VELDTWayne Kyle SpitzerSOMEWHERE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATHS. E. WillTHE JOURNAL OF MARY GURNEYNathan PerrinTHE MIRROR DUELISTMichael FowlerBLIND DATEMatt DennisDESCENTSean MacKendrick

Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder No. 4 | October 2023 - Black Sheep Magazine, #4

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:HOLINGER'S GALLERYJohn Garland WellsDEAD CITYStephanie Athena ValenteTHE GIRL IN THE LAKESarah Das GuptaMATT THE RATDavid FoxSADIEWayne Kyle SpitzerSHRODINGER'S TRAINRobert RuntéTHE CANDYMAN'S CURE FOR AMNESIASabina MalikTHE MAN WHO REPAIRED COBWEBSArthur Allen MidwinterTHE SEARCHL. N. HunterWHAT LIES INSIDERyan Klopp

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 19 | August 2023 - Dark Horses Magazine, #19

He refocused on Blotto just as the smile faded from the man's lips and his mouth drew tightly closed, as if he were desperately trying to stifle a belch. His eyes shown suddenly wide and intense, yet their expression had not changed so much as become frozen in stasis. His shapeless body jerked once, his flesh seemed to roll as does water in a boat's wake, and then his fat lips were parted by what first seemed his tongue, but was revealed to be a budding red rose, which emerged into the fire-light and blossomed its pedals, spilling blood onto the gangplank and filling the air with scent. Glancing to the hand with which the man gripped Rosethorn, Dravidian saw that she'd sprouted thorn-studded rose stems, which had penetrated Blotto's beefy wrist and chewed their way through his body. His heel lifted off the wood and his ankle seemed to lock with paralysis, and then his body listed to the right and he began to fall. The rose imploded as if growing in reverse, retracting into his mouth which fell shut with the clacking of teeth, and an instant later Rosethorn fell to the plank and Dravidian stooped to snatch her up. Blotto's body fell into the void.

To the End of Ursathrax - The Ferryman Pentalogy, #5

He'd stepped on the gas considerably-all that adrenaline from feuding with Tucker, I suppose-and no one noticed the buck standing in the middle of the road except me until-"Jesus, look out!"-until it struck the grill like an oncoming vehicle and tumbled up against the windshield, breaking it into a thousand spidery rings, and smearing it with blood as the truck careened wildly about the road and finally came to a rest in the ditch. It didn't take long to access the damage, and the short of it was: we weren't going anywhere-other than on foot. The old Ford had a crushed radiator, and, somehow, a flat tire. I'd never see Danny quite so upset, quite that livid, and I guess I never will again. As for Tucker, he seemed more bemused by the situation than anything, and volunteered to stay with the truck-but really just the kills-while the rest of us hoofed it into town-to fetch a tow truck, I suppose. It was Billy who first noticed the thing's eyes, and called us all over. Sure enough, the buck was a dead ringer for the one I'd missed in the clearing, right down to the red diamond above its snout. It even had 13 tines. After checking the doe in the payload by holding open its eye, Danny said, "Some kind of disease, maybe?""I ain't never seen a disease that turns eyes white, " said Billy."Yeah. Me neither, " said Danny. He exhaled sharply, looking down at the thing. "Okay, that settles it.""What do you mean, " said Tucker."What do you think I mean? I mean it can't be eaten. We don't even dare butcher it until someone from fish and game has a look. So guard your prize, asshole. But I wouldn't get too attached if I was you.""Is that so?""Yeah. That's so." He turned to the rest of us as if to say, Ready?We were.

American Monsters: Horror Stories

There is a byway between reality and dream. A transit we call Möbius Blvd .Inspired by the enigmatic Möbius strip, a mathematical construct that defies conventional notions of linearity and infinity, Möbius Blvd has no beginning or end but exists in a place where reality and dream have fused . coalesced . merged. With each turn of the page, you'll encounter a unique blend of horror, fantasy, and science-fiction-fiction that will challenge your perceptions and leave you in awe of the infinite possibilities that exist within the written word. Indeed, Möbius Blvd is far more than a magazine; it's an experience. It's an exploration of the infinite, a passage through dimensions where the only constant is storytelling at its most daring, a kaleidoscope of wonder and terror. Join us on this winding, never-ending journey of speculative fiction that will keep you entranced from the first twist to the last loop. Open your mind to the limitless worlds of Möbius Blvd . and discover that the boundary between fiction and reality is as thin as a strip of paper with a twist. In this issue:SEEING IS BELIEVINGGale HuxleyFIRSTNAME LASTNAMEWil MagnessON THE BUSMatthew SpenceCROSSROADSRob RosenTHE AUTUMN OF '79Wayne Kyle SpitzerTHE TIMES THAT BROKE BONESK. A. HunterSOFT SCIENCEJoseph HirschTHE UNMASKEDDaniel LoeblTHE WAY OF THE WINDRick M. ClausenTHE UNWEAVINGElana Gomel

Mobius Blvd: Stories from the Byway Between Reality and Dream No. 1 | November 2023 - Mobius Blvd: Stories from the Byway Between Reality and Dream, #1

When she awakened, there was a fly buzzing about her Jell-O and the ice-cream had melted. The storm was still on, but seemed farther away - so much so that she could hear the solemn ticking of the wall-clock. And something more: a squeaking sound, like the protests of a wheelchair too long neglected. It was coming from outside her room. It was coming up the hall. She looked at the doorway. Sure enough, an old woman in a wheelchair muscled her way past, skinny, ashen elbows working. It was a comical sight, frankly. Slow down, you old bag, Tika wanted to call out - and almost did. Then the squeaking stopped, abruptly, and the old woman backed slowly into view again. She looked at Tika. The younger woman looked back. Between them, up on the wall, the old IBM clock ticked. The resemblance was uncanny. Both women had long hair, though the younger's was blonde and flowing, like lemon molasses, and the older's was thin, platinum, flyaway. Both were skinny. Both had blue eyes, fine features, were gaunt as castaways, and -Suddenly, the crone was rolling, charging, Buchenwald elbows  pumping rust-spotted wheels, a hand like a dead tree branch reaching out, groping, flailing, batting away Tika's I. V., tumbling her saline bottle which shattered against the blood-red tiles .When she awakened, there was a fly buzzing about her Jell-O and the ice-cream had melted. The storm was still on, but seemed farther away - so much so that she could hear the solemn ticking of the wall-clock. And something more: a squeaking sound, like the protests of a wheelchair too long neglected. It was coming from outside her room. It was coming up the hall. She looked at the doorway. Sure enough, an old woman in a wheelchair muscled her way past, skinny, ashen elbows working. It was a comical sight, frankly. Slow down, you old bag, Tika wanted to call out - and almost did. Then the squeaking stopped, abruptly, and the old woman backed slowly into view again. She looked at Tika. The younger woman looked back. Between them, up on the wall, the old IBM clock ticked. The resemblance was uncanny. Both women had long hair, though the younger's was blonde and flowing, like lemon molasses, and the older's was thin, platinum, flyaway. Both were skinny. Both had blue eyes, fine features, were gaunt as castaways, and -Suddenly, the crone was rolling, charging, Buchenwald elbows  pumping rust-spotted wheels, a hand like a dead tree branch reaching out, groping, flailing, batting away Tika's I. V., tumbling her saline bottle which shattered against the blood-red tiles .

The Girl in Room 22: A Book About Disability, Hope, Friendship ... and a monster

Scenes & Interludes ... From an Improbable End | A New Series in the Flashback Universe ... "And here they go! They're on their way down the stretch. The break was good; every animal got a clean shot out of the gate. And as they come down here to the eighth pole, it is Mesozoic Nights and Caligula ."I peered at the announcer's booth, wondering once again what they were using for power, and so much of it-the stadium lights alone would have overwhelmed most generators. But then Maria nudged me and I focused on the action-seeing, to my horror, that Bromtide had already fallen behind; Bromtide, whom we had unanimously voted to support."Caligula is trying to force his way to the front and doing a good job of it as they pass the stands. Here on the outside comes Lovely Bones, in a good position. And as they go by me it is Caligula on the lead by one length. Caligula has the lead and then comes Mesozoic Nights in second place right along beside him. Going into the first turn is Caligula by a length. Mesozoic Nights is second and on the outside of him is Lovely Bones. Far back in the crowd, on the inside, in about fourth place, is Bromtide. They're going into the stretch; they've gone about half a mile .""Jesus, " I said, even as something like thunder rumbled and a flash of light illuminated the stadium. "What's wrong with him, you think?""Might be the T. rex piss, " said Luther, leaning in, and chuckled. "Had to spray him down with it-otherwise the allos would be all over him. Guess we forgot to tell you that."I glared at him before shifting my gaze to Maria and Caleb and finally to De Santo, at the very end, who looked like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, Caligula!" he cried, and clasped his hands above his head. "Beautiful! Beautiful!"

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Six: "The Low Rumble of Distant Thunder" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #6

Dark, nuanced, and sometimes twisted dinosaur stories for adults ... From Terrible Lizards:"Don't thing I haven't noticed it, " she said, slurring slightly, and added, "I see the way you look at me."I uncorked the bottle and filled my glass. "You're a very beautiful woman, " I said-and sat the bottle between us-too hard, I think. "And a talented one. What would you expect?" I watched as she shimmied and did a little pirouette. "And I'm enjoying the conversation-more than you could know. You move beautifully, by the way. Like a cat."And then she attempted to spin again but only stumbled suddenly and fell smack into my arms; at which we just looked at each other, she with her boozy, breezy smile and me with an apparent moral dilemma: i.e., should I make a pass at her, like I wanted to, or should I just put her into bed and tuck her away safe (as though she were a simpleton, perhaps, or even a child) like, say, John-Boy Walton might. A dilemma I answered by taking her head in my hands and kissing her-heatedly, hot-bloodedly, restlessly-what a friend of mine used to call a "come fuck me" kiss; because she was no child. And I was no John-Boy. And then we went to her room and lay together; drunkenly, sloppily, unspectacularly, and after a while, I dreamed: of lightning permeating everything and rain pounding the roof like nails, like hail; of wives and friends and girlfriends and my father-most of whom I hadn't seen in years; of small, predatory dinosaurs, deinonychuses, with dark skin and wet backs-who held vigil around our bed like cultists, like priests, and who trilled, softly, faintly, as though they were meditating. As though they were communing.

Terrible Lizards

"As for what it proves beyond that is anyone's guess, " said the woman, sounding suddenly tired. "That they're experimenting on us as well as exterminating us? We don't even know who they are, much less what their relationship to the Flashback is. We don't even know if 'they' applies; or if they're just a force of nature, like the weather." She pulled down her mask. "It just feels so pointless sometimes, this whole operation." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'll be all right, I just ."The man reached out to her and touched her shoulder. "It's been a long day, Maggie. Why don't we just . retire to the Tiki Tent." He tried to sound optimistic. "There's still enough vegetables for Bloody Marys-I'll be the bartender." He looked at her hopefully. "Please, God, " said the younger woman. "I'm dying here."Maggie looked back and forth between them and then at him, at Ank. She stroked the side of his snout gently. "So we know now that you're thinking . we just don't know what. Nor what to do with you."

A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend: "The Beast in the Iron Mask" - A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), #3

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:BAD DAY AT SORALLIO 6 CANTEENGavin TurnerDEAD THINGSVincent EndwellDEAD MAN'S HANDDale T. PhillipsFALLING SUNWARDMikel J. WislerA REIGN OF THUNDER (PART TWO)Wayne Kyle SpitzerI AM NOT BERTHASeán McNichollTRINKETSFreddie KölschMY MOON, OH MY MOONAngus StewartSAY HELLO TO ALPHA CENTAURIScott CoonTHE INSIDE OUT MANLamont A. Turner

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 26 | March 2024 - Dark Horses Magazine, #26

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:THE EIGHT-YEAR LOCUSTSJennifer S. HaneTHE GARDENCarla WardTHE TORTURED WAIL OF MACHINESLamont A TurnerTHE WITCH AT KHOLAT SYAKHLT. K. HowellTHE RETURNWayne Kyle SpitzerTHE PAINT GODS MUST BE ANGRYSabina MalikTHE HEARTBEAT BETWEEN USA. E. S. THE ENTERTAINERSR. OstermeierSUPERMAN AND THE HOLLYWOOD WITCHT. K. HowellSWEET PETUNIAEdward Ahern

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