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1 half-rotted black boot.
Initial inferred usage: fashion.
Final inferred usage: survival.
(Note: the phrase
The crumbling signs of material wealth
from an ineffectual species
bent on effortless luxury.
But we ended beautiful.
We ended beautiful

added into record
post-collection by unknown entity)

║●●

1 gas mask,
attached to glass dome painted black,
tiny fissures
around points of contact.
Conclusion: fatal.
Within, plant material – desiccated:
final attempt at oxygen exchange?
(Note: the phrase
It was not enough green
to remind a decaying species
the color of their planet’s birthright.
Of
their birthright.
So we kept experimenting.
Kept playing
with what we might find
in the beyond.
And    
it     answered
added into record
post-collection by unknown entity)

║●●●

2 spent flares,
containers cracked plastic.
Age: one thousand years old.
(Note: the phrase
The light took so much
when it birthed itself alive.
It had never been the empty dark
so silent
we needed fear.
What hid in the bright
filled us so deep
and long—
never darkness again.
Can you forgive our brilliance?
Eyes becoming fluorescent marbles,
too aflame with
now to     ever     look     back.
Bodies hung lamps—
nightlights going unused
in the swinging forests

added into record
post-collection by unknown entity)

║●●●●

1 tattered field guide
on edible plants,
each entry crossed out.
Conclusion: X-marks covering up
multiple entries
from variously aged inks
spanning decades.
(Note: the phrase
Those deficient
in cholecalciferol
lasted longest.
Their final season endless enjoyment,
for us.
But the world died,
underfoot.
Flora, fauna overdosed
on radiant excess from us
Walking Bright.
Survivors sat in darkness,
alone,
afraid
to even hold the memory of light.
You have so much beautiful light in you,
don’t you?
You glow, in your little metal ship,
in the vast expanse of space.
The dark doesn’t notice you.
Doesn’t care for you.
Won’t hold you.
It is a wonderful thing,
to be together.
It is a wonderful thing,
to give in.
It can be a wonderful thing.
We can be
a wonderful thing

added into record
post-collection by unknown entity)

COMMAND ORDER: approved for immediate burn upon discovery of ghosts



G.E. Woods (they/she) first ran into the arms of horror as a 5-year-old working in haunted houses. Queer, nonbinary, and invisibly disabled, they are a poet, memoirist, and writes SFF/H. She is a 2023 Rhysling finalist and has work published in STRANGE HORIZONS, YOUR BODY IS NOT YOUR BODY and MOONFLOWERS & NIGHTSHADE. She enjoys talking to the trees near their home. Find her at gewoods.com.
Current Issue
3 Aug 2026

I had a daughter and then I didn’t. I woke in the cradle of midnight, shivering from a supernatural cold. I thought at first that she was crying, that she had woken me, like so many midnights before. But there was silence all around me. I sat up on one arm and peered into her crib. She was gone. In her place was wrapped a sallow, horned little boy. His eyes blinked open. I look at him. He looked at me. Changeling, I thought. Then he started to scream. “Why weren’t the windows
The deads are punctual. They arrive exactly when there is nothing left to distract us.
survival is a fungus
In this episode of Critical Friends, the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, Amritesh Mukherjee and Abigail Nussbaum join Dan Hartland to talk about literary awards.
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By: Aimee Ogden
Podcast read by: Jenna Hanchey
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Issue 8 Jun 2026
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