"We've stepped out of a safe line somewhere ..."A screen adaptation of Algernon Blackwood's celebrated story by Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" | A Scriptment

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

Erik peered out the window at the corpse, noticing how the falling snow was beginning to cover it, as it had his forgotten toys, and noticing, too, that the monsters, the velociraptors, which bore nothing in common with the plush toys he had in his bedroom, were nowhere to be seen. Nor were the lights of his father's car-or anything, for that matter; there was just the corpse (one hand of which seemed to reach for the sky like a twisted, dead tree branch) and the snow, which had whited out everything, rendered the world void.". this speaks for the most troubling aspect of what scientists are calling 'the Flashback': the sudden disappearance of people all over the world, including entire families ."He looked at the sky, at the ceiling of snow clouds, amidst which the lights mentioned on the TV pulsed and glowed, bleeding in and out of each other, shifting colors, none of which he recognized, and knew in that instant-the instant before the raptor came crashing through the glass with its splayed feet first-that nothing would ever be the same; that he would never see his father and sister again and would never return to school and would never, ever be a boy, not even for an instant. And then the raptor did come, and he was knocked backward against the floor with a violence he could not have imagined, and after a moment there was a flurry of gunshots which blew the back of the animal's head apart so that its full weight fell upon him and he was spattered with blood and brains. And the last thing he saw before blacking out completely was the monster's dying eye, which stared into his own, an eye which contained in it the same colors as the lights in the sky-until they, too, faded and became as the dead.

Tales from the Flashback: "And Let Loose the Beasts of Prey" - Tales from the Flashback, #5

Scenes & Interludes ... from an Improbable End. Atticus, meanwhile, had been counting down. "Three . two . one." He sighed and lowered the megaphone-then lifted it to his mouth again. "The problem with you, Jaime, is that you just-don't-listen. Now I just explained to you what was going to happen if I reached 'one' and you hadn't come out, and goddamned if you didn't come out. So. What's going to happen now is that we're going to kill one of these people for every 30 seconds you remain inside the vehicle-starting immediately." He directed the bullhorn at the upper floors of one of the buildings. "Hershel? You awake up there?" "Get ready, " I said. "I'm awake, " came a voice, though it was impossible to tell exactly where from. "Fine, " said Atticus. "Hershel, in 30 seconds, I want you to place your site on the head of . that little girl, right there." He gestured at a storefront on our right side-Simply Seattle. "Green coat, last one on the end, right next to the display window. Copy that there, Chief?" The man didn't hesitate. "Twenty-nine! 28! 27 ." I toggled the loudspeaker myself. "We're coming out, " I said, suddenly, and glanced at Sam. "We're trying to figure out how." There was a silence as Atticus seemed to think about this. At last he said, "Well, how complicated could it be? Just open the door. Hershel, keep counting ..." "Twenty-three, 22, 21 ." "It's not that simple, " I hurried to say, "It's, like, pressurized or something." To the others I said, "On my mark, okay? Get ready." "We're at 18 seconds and counting, James, " said Atticus. "Best clean your glasses and get with it." "Seventeen, 16, 15 ." "Okay! Okay. We're depressurizing. Right . now." And then Sam was toggling the smoke as I gripped the joystick tightly and Nigel took over the loudspeaker and Lazaro opened the side door, after which we cursed loudly and bent to our tasks, and, together, threw wide the gates of Hell. A new series in the Flashback/Dinosaur Apocalypse Universe ...

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Three: "Ride" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #3

She was in the habitat-actually in it, not seated at her workstation on the other side of the glass. She was standing before Napoleon in her white lab coat, which, inexplicably, she unzipped and shirked from her shoulders, allowing it to slide to the marshy floor. She didn't know how she had gotten there or how time had rewound so that the habitat and its great glass window were still intact . she only knew she was there to take the experiment to the next level. And as Napoleon looked down at her with eyes that had become strangely human, she knew that he knew why she was there as well .And then she was awake as fast as she'd gone out, and she was standing, slowly, amongst the trees again . wondering why she would dream such a thing. And wondering, too, about the hidden obsessions each and every human being might harbor in the darkest recesses of their subconscious. And then she scanned the trees, realizing, suddenly, that they were swaying-even though there was no wind-and saw Napoleon glaring back at her.

Napoleon

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:CLARITYMark J. SchultisCONSUMEDOphelia VangTHE MIRRORAngelisa Fontaine-WoodALUKA OF THE WITCH DOCTORSWayne Kyle SpitzerMY FEELINGS ARE PLOTTING AGAINST MESabina MalikPUMP AND GOCaitlyn PaceSPLENDID ISOLATIONPeter Emmett NaughtonTHE NIGHT WITCHRobert John JensonUNINVITED GUESTSAdam NewnhamVISITORJeremy Schnee

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 8 | September 2022 - Dark Horses Magazine, #8

They both felt it at the same time, even as the train lurched forward and the cars jolted thunderously-a tremor in the very fabric of things, like a ripple in a foam of potentiality which contained in it the threads of all their possible futures. Something, somewhere, had just happened-something directly related to their current endeavor of delivering the bomb to Barley and detonating it amidst the Enemy. communicated Ank, still smarting from his struggle to climb onto the flatcar with the added weight of the weapon."You felt it too? Like one door closed and another had opened, but with disastrous consequences, for us all ." Williams looked at him, rattled and bewildered. "Ank, how could we know that?""Ank, don't."Williams leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. "Our friendly engineer, in case you haven't noticed, is clearly insane!"And then Williams was leaning over the side using one of Ank's spikes for a handhold while simultaneously yelling at the engineer, who poked his head out the engine's side window, his long, gray hair flying, and shouted, "You want speed, you got it, ha-ha! The world, she's a comin' back, yesiree!" He sounded the horn suddenly and Williams covered an ear, even as his hat blew off and fluttered away behind them. "The New World Special is back in service-and it's taking its passengers to the Promised Land! Ha-ha!"

A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend: "The Demon and the Avatar" - A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), #9

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

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

Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" | A Scriptment

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