Submission Count Update!

We’re 18.3% of the way through 2026 (and 34% of the way through this shit show of a presidency for those keeping tabs of that particular garbage fire) and, while I can’t tell if I’m amazed this much time has gone by or disgruntled that it’s only been two months when it feels like an entire year already, I can highlight that I’m keeping up with my goal of sending out 77 short story submissions this year (and likely amassing 77 rejections).

As of today, I’ve sent out 18 of which I’ve gotten 10 responses, all Rs at this point. But the goal is just to get them out, because they can’t be acceptances if they don’t get in the slush pile to begin with. Regardless, 18 of 77 equals out to 23.4% of the way there! So I’ve got a head start on the year - that’s fun.

Reading, Watching, Playing

A triumph occurred during the second month of the year of our universe 2026: I finished, for the first time, the entire series of the US version of The Office. What started in November and continued through the holidays and into the new year has finally wrapped up. I get the hype. Even being nearly two decades late to the party (just in time to clean up after everyone else’s good time) I get it. Was it perfect? Nah. But it was a solid 8 out of 10 and I'm very glad my movie-preferring-commitaphobe-ass took the plunge on nine (NINE) seasons of over twenty (OVER TWENTY) episodes each…

Between finishing The Office, the Olympics, and the coming tide of March Madness (for my fellow collegiate sports fans), there weren’t as many movies watched during this short month nor did as much reading get done. The second month of the year saw one (yes only one) novel, Not Your Final Girl by Mikayla Randolph (more thoughts on this one here: Not Your Final Girl ), and the novelette, Squid Teeth penned by Sarah Langan. The later, published last year, is a beautifully disturbing read that definitely belongs on the…

… HWA Final Ballot for the Stoker Awards

Yup! The premier list in horror and otherwise dark writing and media has been released. You can find the full list here: Stoker Awards Final Ballot

Squid Teeth was nominated under the Long Fiction category and it’s well worth a read. Both Stomata and Autogas Ferryman, both nominated under the Short Fiction category and written by L.E. Daniels and Champ Wongsatayanont respectively, are both phenomenal pieces as well.

Fiction First

Well, technically it’s last since this is the end of the newsletter but in our collective hearts we know it’s always first. A little treat - for those that want something to read and like the macabre. Below, is my unpublished flash fiction piece Purpose. A short horror tale following Death as she attempts to poison a party full of people, Purpose has been through a few revisions but hasn’t gotten in front of an editor - this one’s just for you (so all spelling/grammar errors are my own). CW: death, suicide

Until next time - stay safe, be weird. - BT

Purpose

By Benjamin Thomas

Death arrives at a party she’s not invited to and passes by the doorman unseen and unknown. She smiles from beneath a black veil and lifts a glass from the cocktail table. No one notices it disappear once her fingers—nails painted a violent red, the same color as the drink—touch the thin, glass stem, and if someone does, they chalk it up to liquor, drugs, or giddiness.

And why would they not? The world hasn’t ended as so many thought it would. Outside this towering monolith of glass in the middle of a savage concrete jungle, existence continues. Ungrateful blobs of flesh and bone not grasping how closely they had come to returning to the dirt which they plough and disregard.

Death smiles and sips her drink, relishing in the knowledge of what she is about to do. This will be yet another attempt at restarting the game with rules that haven’t been crossed-out and rewritten only to be disregarded entirely. Fresh off the results of her last attempt: over 3.4 million souls captured directly, while others found their way to her eventually, the lingering effects and complications of the disease refusing to let them go.

Behind her, a quiet, feathery voice says, “Is it really worth drinking if you can’t feel the alcohol?”

Death turns, bewildered, and takes in the woman before her. She’s wearing a maroon dress that shimmers as it hangs from one shoulder, wrapping her body from chest to feet like her figure is an elegant gift. Death doesn’t recognize this woman, but the glimmer in her green eyes is intoxicating.

“It’s about the taste,” Death says. A person turns, perplexed at a sound they think they hear. Death ignores their curiosity and asks the woman who she is, her presence intriguing.

The woman smiles and saunters towards the balcony where several people stand with drinks and cigarettes in hand. Several take drags on joints rolled with the weed that smells like tangy, wet moss. The air is chilled. Below them, the metropolis bustles with life and lights.

Death observes the woman move past a couple pressed against the railing, lips and tongues entwined, and smiles at her invisibility to those still breathing. “You’re stuck in Limbo,” she observes. “Odd though, to still be on the mortal side of things. Didn’t like waiting by the river?”

The woman shakes her head and Death asks her what happened.

“Botched suicide. So now my body’s in some hospital in the city while I wander around waiting for someone to tell me which side of the karmic scale my life added weight to.”

“Modern medicine,” Death says.

“It’s interesting having a foot in both worlds yet not existing in either. It’s kinda like the afternoon hours at a boring job, your mind running through a million other things you could be doing but can’t because your ass belongs in that chair staring at a glowing rectangle that’s slowly causing you to go blind.”

Death leans against the railing, her robes curling around her like fog. “The inability to realize how fleeting time is happens to be one of humanity’s biggest failings.”

“Believe me, I know,” the woman says, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Death watches the people inside, dancing and laughing. Drinking and flirting. Men and women sneaking upstairs alongside people they didn’t arrive with. “They think they’re entitled to this world of theirs, inside these see-through walls.”

The woman looks to the streets below. Steam rises from vents while homeless vets sleep on cardboard mattresses. “Tell me about it. As if the wealth gap will save them from pestilence.”

“Will be such a shame when they realize they’re on the wrong side of the divide.”

“You’re here to start something,” the woman says. “You are, aren’t you? Whatever it is let me do it.” Death looks at her, confused and intrigued by the absurdity. The woman leans closer. “Please?”

“Not allowed.”

“Technically, I’m not allowed to kill myself either yet here we are.”

“That is a gross oversimplification and a false equivalency. It’s my job to do.”

The woman’s eyes flicker like distant stars, their glimmer slowly fading, lost in a dampness threatening to spill into tears. “I spent my life wanting to do something, but everything I did was wrong. After so many failed attempts, all I could think of was to remove myself from the decision. And now I’m wandering aimlessly, forced to exist in space I can’t take up.”

Slowly, Death nods with understanding. “There is no good that comes from a lack of purpose.”

“Exactly!”

The couple pawing at one another pauses. They look around in confusion. With nothing there that they can see, they head inside, leaving Death and the woman alone on the balcony.

Death peers out across the city and thinks of all the people that will die that night. Those that will linger, and ones that might survive because even the worst of the endings sees something rising from the ashes.

She pulls a small vial from inside her robe. Inside is powder that looks like the finest cocaine.

“Over the food,” Death says, “and into the drinks.”

The woman wipes her eyes, enthusiastically nodding. Her words of thanks barely squeak out as she takes the vial, throws her arms around Death, and heads inside. There’s a purpose to her gait, one that hadn’t been there before. Death wonders what that purpose would have accomplished in the world should it have always been there.

###

A friend of mine recently asked how I could do long weekend trips - typically leaving home on a Thursday and returning on a Sunday - to places across the country without feeling rushed or wanting more time. The answer is relatively simple:

If the airport/flight duration is less time than the hours I’d spend at the office during a typical work day the choice is a no-brainer. If I’m going to be sitting somewhere for eight hours, might as well be on a plane.

Well, for January’s little romp - I briefly traded New England for Florida where I found myself on the water while it was in the eighties, and talking to a water moccasin like we had been long time best friends despite his desire to kill me. I’ll tell you one thing: being one of the only flights landing in New England that day was a trip. But I love the snow so hey, joy was found on both sides of the flight path.

For the Love of all that is Horror on Earth

I’ll do a little round-up of things outside the horror genre from time-to-time, but January found itself full of frightful fun and all our attention spans are short as fuck. Seriously, are you even still here?

The horror highlight of the month has to be the video game Silent Hill f - trading it’s namesake town of horrors for the fictional Japanese town of Ebisugaoka, the survival horror spinoff was an epic run through for a fan of the originals (and ONE of the movies). While the combat can get repetitive at times and the story is as convoluted as Silent Hill stories come, the game has some solid jump scares and an atmosphere that is creepy AF.

Movies were a toss-up. I finally watched The Substance, and while the body horror delivered on its promise, and the cinematography and sound design were incredible, the pacing felt off in parts, leading to a 2h22m movie that probably could have been 1h45m. Still, if you’re a fan of Moore, Qualley, or blood and guts, it’s worth a watch. I wish I could say the same about Black Phone 2. The funny thing is, I watched the first one after seeing the trailer for the second and wanting nothing more than a frozen horror setting. I was wrong. So, so wrong. There were some standout moments, especially from Madeleine McGraw in her portrayal of Gwen, but sadly the sum of the parts would have been better left in Hell where the Grabber belongs.

Lit-wise was much of the same. For horror I got through I Feed the Beast and the Beast is Me by Jamison Shea, and The Night Ship by Alex Woodroe. The beast gets the edge over the two as it follows the sadistic world of ballet both on stage and in the catacombs below the gleaming city of Paris.

Forward to February

What’s on the docket for next month? The final ballot for this year’s Stoker Awards in Horror Literature is due out on or about 2/28. The preliminary ballot is out now and contains a wide-range of titles. While I don’t have a story or piece on the list, I was one of the team members compiling the recommendations over the past several months. Shout out to for taking me under their wing and showing me the ropes. Looking forward to seeing the final choices and for the ceremony come June!

Until then, stay warm everyone!

***** An aside ***** in the very short time since writing the first post of this newsletter and this one, masked government agents have shot and killed another person for exercising rights protected under our constitution. This is not a political debate. This is a clear question on whether you support murder or not. And if you do support it in any place other than fiction, let me reiterate my original message - FUCK OFF - YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.

For the rest of us: call your senators, call your representatives, peacefully protest, fundraise, and, most importantly, when the time comes: vote.