One of the recent bright spots in the world of speculative short fiction publishing is the rebirth of Fantasy Magazine. Yes, Fantasy is back, published under the Psychopomp umbrella with co-editors Arley Sorg and Shingai Njeri Kagunda at the helm. (You can read more about how this all came about at Psychopomp and support the zine by signing up for a subscription.)
“Silence Starved and Swallowed” by Sydney Paige Guerrero from Fantasy 97, the first issue of Fantasy in this incarnation, is a devastating, darkly gleaming story about grief and sadness. Guerrero describes how our inability to put our emotions into words, to communicate our pain and vulnerability to those around us, can devour us entirely: “black holes start with swallowed silence.” Guerrero’s prose is both lyrical and visceral, and the way the story captures the impact of silence on grief and trauma feels piercingly true and real.
Seoung Kim’s “The Interrogation of So-ssang,” from the same issue of Fantasy, is an enthralling tale of love and magic at a royal court riven by intrigue and nefarious plots, a place where death and punishment lurk at every turn. A young girl is brought to serve the court, but when the courtiers turn against her and her mistress, she must find a way to freedom.
Another exciting new addition to the world of speculative short fiction is Remains, a quarterly horror print magazine edited by Andy Cox and illustrated by Richard Wagner. The duo previously worked together on Black Static, among other publishing projects. The first issue of the magazine was released in January 2025.
“Her Little Ray of Sunshine” by Neil Williamson in Remains 1 is a tense and unsettling vampire story, where the horror feels more anchored in everyday depraved cruelty than in the supernatural. The narrator offers a cure to the vampires that seek him out, but it’s a cure that may not last very long. Williamson threads together horror with longing and sorrow in a way that gives this story real emotional depth.
One of my favourite stories in Remains 2 is “Doors of the Close” by Sarah Read, a devastating, twisted ghost story where the bonds of friendship are stretched and torn by a violent tragedy. Two friends are drawn to the same abandoned building, a place haunted by the reverberations of a terrible crime.
“Big Death” by Abi Hynes, also from Remains 2, is one of several great stories I’ve read recently that are infused with experiences from the days of COVID lockdown. In “Big Death,” the corpses are piling up at an eco-friendly mortuary. As the bodies are decaying together, something both transcendent and transformational happens to them.
COVID lockdowns also shape the fate of the characters in “Beak” by Ian Muneshwar in Nightmare. Nadia’s life has been turned into a living hell by what seems to be an infestation of elusive bedbugs. As the itching becomes ever more unbearable, she goes looking for a way to terminate the problem. From there, things take a decidedly unexpected turn. In this story, as in his unforgettable “Dick Pig,” Muneshwar displays his gift for intense, profoundly unsettling, slow-burn horror, where everyday life morphs into something both surreal and nightmarish. In “Beak,” familiar scourges like the isolation of lockdown, terrible landlords, and odd neighbours twist together with Nadia’s all-consuming obsession with the habits and physiognomy of bedbugs, and her desperate longing to find some kind of release and relief.
There’s a similar strangeness warping the weft of the seemingly regular world in “The World Under” by Steve Rasnic Tem in The Dark. Beatrice buys a house, but it’s a strange place surrounded by an even stranger lawn. Though the house seems to soothe her anxieties, she can’t escape her worries about the job she doesn’t really like and the co-workers who may or may not be mocking her behind her back. There’s a party scene here that is a brilliant piece of quiet horror as reality bends and shifts, revealing the monstrous depths lurking beneath the house’s deceptively suburban exterior.
Something uncanny is also at work beneath the surface in “Till Earth and Heaven Ring” by K. S. Walker in Strange Horizons, a jaw-droppingly good tale about the fate of the slave ship Henrietta and the eighteen people who commandeer the vessel and set out to seek their freedom. It’s also a story about two men, Otto and Theo, and about the inexplicable, impossible hole in Theo’s side. The story is told through descriptions of artifacts in a museum exhibition: brief recollections; scraps of journal pages; and descriptions of paintings, photos, and sculpture.
Another kind of uncanny magic is woven into the fierce and bloody “Paths, Littlings, and Holy Things” by Somto Ihezue in Diabolical Plots. Olaedo keeps giving birth to twins in a place where twins are thought to be a curse; the babies are taken away and killed to secure the safety of the community. She has already lost two sets of twins, and when she gives birth again, she has already resolved not to let anyone take her children away. Ihezue’s prose gives the tale a fierce, desperate edge as the story threads together horror and hope.
Horror and desperate choices also shape the fate of the characters in “Blood of the Idugan” by Lilia Zhang in Nightmare. In this gorgeous reimagining of Snow White, the lurking evil is even more twisted and depraved than a mere stepmother.
“Steel Holds the Heat’s Memory” by Rick Hollon in the latest issue of Kaleidotrope is another compelling fantasy tale, set in a world where magic and magic-infused technology is controlled by patents, and where the patent laws are enforced by menacing Patenters. Anyone wishing to be free of their influence and oppression must try to live free of any and all magic, but that choice alone puts people at risk. A nameless girl and her stage-magician father travel through this world with a powerful secret in their keeping: a way to make fire without patented magic. I love the story’s depth, its steely tenderness, and Hollon’s fascinating take on the practice of magic.
Books and storytelling are the magic at the heart of “Dekar Druid and the Infinite Library” by Cadwell Turnbull in Lightspeed. This is an exquisitely carved tale set in a tower that is also a library; neither the tower nor the forest that surrounds it seem to have any end. Dekar Druid, who spends his life among the books, finds himself drawn into the pages of a story in which one of the characters knows more about him than he knows himself.
A library is also at the center of “The Library of the Apocalypse” by Rati Mehrotra in Clarkesworld. It’s a grief-infused dystopian depiction of a Toronto ravaged by war and environmental destruction. While scavenging for supplies, a group of survivors-turned-found-family search for an elusive, ever-moving, very mysterious library. The library and its books seem to be doors to other worlds, and sometimes, people get lost in the stories they fall into. It’s a melancholy, magical science fiction story laced with both hope and sadness.
Magic and science fiction also blend in “Holograms and Gaslight” by Indrapramit Das in The Indian Express, where the world is haunted by uncanny hybrid monsters and beasts. The story is set in a near future much like our own, where the need for profit and technological advancement drives everything, no matter the cost in environmental destruction or human lives. Defying any easy, mundane explanations of the monsters’ sudden appearance, the narrator muses: “Were they shapeshifters desperate to enchant the dying world?”
Creativity and creation are at the heart of “Encore” by Wole Talabi in Omenana, a powerful science fiction meditation on art, memory, and consciousness. I love how Talabi blends descriptions of intricately imagined technology, a galaxy-spanning network of alien civilizations, and musings on the creation of art. There’s a moment of profound transformation and transcendence here, as a twinned artificial intelligence encounters something as old as itself, and must make a choice: to remain the same or become something else entirely.
Two other science fiction stories I read and loved recently are “The Starter Family” by Sage Tyrtle at Giganotosaurus and “Magical Girl Antifa War Machine” by Esther Alter, narrated for Escape Pod by Hugo Jackson, Jess Lewis, Serah Eley, and Joe Moran.
“The Starter Family” is a wrenching, dark fable about gender roles and expectations in a society where any deviation from the norm is punished harshly. All men get a starter family that is later summarily discarded in favor of a forever family. From childhood, Charles has been taught to follow the rules and do what is expected of him, no matter what his true feelings are, but after he visits the Starter Baby Store, things begin to unravel. The story has a similar claustrophobic vibe to Orwell’s 1984, where internalized oppression is just as terrifying as external, and where it’s almost impossible for people to even imagine resisting or rebelling.
“Magical Girl Antifa War Machine” is all about resistance and rebellion. A group of friends are transformed by a mysterious object into shape-shifting, super-powered Antifa War Machines, driven by an overpowering urge to fight fascism on Earth and elsewhere. They are powerful, extremely hot, queer, and trans. Together, they proceed to tear up the world in order to destroy their fascist enemies. While this story does not provide anyone with an instant happy ending, the way there is kind of glorious. It’s a tumultuous, sharp, brilliant story that pulls no punches.
My final story pick for this column is the novella Starstruck by Aimee Ogden from Psychopomp. It’s the story about Prish, a radish with a soul, who loves Alsing, a fox with a soul, and how they go on a journey together when the stars stop falling from the sky. Does that sound peculiar? Yes, it does. But it’s also a warm and wondrous story about a world where star-souls falling from the sky turn all sorts of creatures and plants (even rocks) into persons. On one level this is a cozy and life-affirming story, but it’s a coziness tinged with darkness. As Ogden shows, life doesn’t always turn out the way we planned or the way we wanted, and it can be painful to settle for the life you have rather than the life you expected.