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A rocket exhaust sends a wave of summer over Mars in this homage to Ray Bradbury from our archives. "The Winter Astronaut" by Mark Patrick Lynch. (archives) abyssapexzine.com/archives/abyss…

The forest was unhappy, and only flames could solve it. (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2020/09/natura…

For all of you fantasy fans: The Visages would grant wishes, for a horrific price. Would she pay it? (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2020/06/the-br…

The end of the world is a spectators’ sport in “To Watch the World Burn” by Jason Marc Harris (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2018/03/world-…

A now-hostile planet, a hallucinatory angel, and no way out? “Land of Fire and Ashes” by Collin P. Davies (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2011/12/land-o…

It starts out like a "deal with the devil" story; it's anything but that. "Emmett, Joey and the Beelz” by Ralph Servush (archives) abyssapexzine.com/archives/abyss…

Were the flames sentient? "The Valley of the Speaking Flames by B. Pladek (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2020/01/the-va…

Sonny-boy got too hot to handle without potholders. It was all in a day’s work for grandma. (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2021/04/entrie…

An interesting take on the phoenix. (archives) abyssapexzine.com/2021/06/every-…

I walked away, not because I wanted to die, but because I couldn’t stay still any longer. Because I believed I could save them. And because if I couldn’t—if Ofor and the boy were dead—I needed to see with my own eyes. abyssapexzine.com/2022/06/the-on…

Ellen dug around in the canvas bag on the passenger seat next to her and fished out a creamy parchment envelope, the address printed in a faux cursive font, heavy on the curlicues. The Shadow Artist took one look at the return address. “Shit,” he said. abyssapexzine.com/2013/01/the-sh…

Odder yet, the conductor beckoning her over had nothing but an otter’s skull between his hat and collar. “Come, come, Alcine!” said he (for it was distinctly a he, and a he with a preference for tobacco and whiskey at that)...abyssapexzine.com/2018/01/skullb…

They had lain on the stone without moving, succumbing to the illusion, dancing like marionettes even as they realized that there were no strings. *There were no strings.*abyssapexzine.com/2013/12/the-th…

Chang had a sick feeling. His daughter’s life depended on a group of rogue JPL retirees and a twenty-year-old antique abandoned in Martian orbit.abyssapexzine.com/2015/12/leapin…

A dreamy take on "Rapunzel" (archives)abyssapexzine.com/2018/01/rapunz…

Drawing out ghosts was often a matter of finding the right key. A person perhaps. That was a problem if the person was themselves dead. Or it might be a place, a particular room or building. Or an object. abyssapexzine.com/2011/12/her-lo…

“Could you get me a cup of tea, before you go?” He jumped a foot. Kite’s eyes were open. She had raised a limp hand to the bruises on her throat from the noose. But she almost laughed at the look on his face. “It seems I cannot die,” she whispered. abyssapexzine.com/2023/09/the-de…

"The Midnight Commuter," published January 1st, 2024 in Abyss & Apex Magazine, is a finalist for the Eugie Foster Memorial Award.

In this moment, as I lie in a metal container hurtling towards my home planet, being there for her is all that matters. abyssapexzine.com/2020/03/a-grea…

“Go on,” she said, moving from behind the counter. She opened the door to the street. “Off with you. And good luck.” She flicked the little dragon into the air. It made a guttural honk like a tiny, outraged badger. abyssapexzine.com/2018/01/mrs-pe…