The dragon-horse awakens in moonlight. Drops of cold dew drip onto his forehead, where they meander down the curve of his steel nose. via Pocket

Look at what we woke. We feed them lies and watch them burn for it. via Pocket

They never gave her a name; when she needs one she names and renames herself after the birds she sees from the watchtower, the birds she sees in the forest, whichever most recently caught her eye or arrow. via Pocket

The silent proctors walked beside Ukeme into the examination village, checked him for iron and palm leaves and concealed cloth-patterns, and brought him to a hut. He stood at the threshold for a moment, looking down at the floor just inside. via Poc…

The mission: to survey the galaxy and beyond. An endless stream of probes and starships heading out into the universe, surveying, cataloguing, assaying. Forever. And on board those ships, the intrepid explorers who give it all meaning. We are a way …

When an AI that monitors casino gambling in Reno taunts a magician by revealing all his tricks, the magician is determined to exact his revenge. Best trick I ever saw? A lanky streak-of-piss Dutchman did it right in front of my eyes. A ring, a watch…

Can dreams come true? They can if you win the lottery, which promises to provide what your heart desires. For a humble shopkeeper in Yiwu, it’s a living, selling lottery tickets. Until a winning ticket opens up mysteries he’d never imagined. via Poc…

Stormchases’ little skiff skipped and glided across the tropopause, skimming the denser atmosphere of the warm cloud-sea beneath, running before a fierce wind. via Pocket

In a dark future America where consumerism and gun culture are unchecked, a young family teams up to celebrate the first shopping day of the Christmas season in the most patriotic way possible. via Pocket

This month, Small Beer Press releases The People in the Castle: Selected Strange Stories from the legendary Joan Aiken. We’re delighted to bring you this double dose of strange magic: the title story from the collection, and Kelly Link’s introductio…

In a writing career spanning six decades, Joan Aiken wrote stories of wolves, naughty pet ravens, pirates, necklaces made of raindrops, and much more. This Christmas, we publish a collection of her favourite stories, including The Gift Giving, which…

Her name was Daisy and she was a smasher, the crispest colleen in Killyclancy. via Pocket

Here is the whisper in the night, the creak upstairs, that half-remembered ghost story that won’t let you sleep, the sound that raises gooseflesh, the wish you’d checked the lock on the door before it got really, really dark. via Pocket

Enjoy this reprint from Joan Aiken’s short story collection The Monkey’s Wedding: and Other Stories from Small Beer Press. Francis Nastrowski was a young Polish officer. He had once been rich, but was so no longer. Some of the habits of his bygone …

The following story appears in Figures Unseen by Steve Rasnic Tem, out this week from Valancourt Books. Steve Rasnic Tem’s writings have garnered numerous awards including the World Fantasy Award, British Fantasy Award, and Bram Stoker Award. via Po…

It’s the last day of autumn, and Jiteh’s twin brother is dead. He sits on the edge of his cot, thorns popping like seedlings from between his knuckles and poking through his sweaty scalp in a blood-slicked crown. “I’m scared,” he whispers. via Pocket

Have you ever found yourself on a midtown sidewalk on some warm July day when a plummeting body splattered on the pavement, directly in front of you? Close enough to feel the explosive shockwave of hot liquid air, pelting your trousers with meat pel…

Two women who have been friends since they were children—one a recovering alcoholic brought up by parents who believe they’re alien abductees, the other an orphan with an eating disorder—contend with a secret that might doom their friendship. So her…

A futuristic murder mystery about detective partners—a human and an enhanced chimpanzee—who are investigating why a woman murdered an apparently random stranger on the subway. “Doesn’t look like a killer, does she,” Huxley remarks. Cu shrugs a hairy…

The Gods were circling when the sun rose, nine long patches of black that did not brighten with the sea as the sky lit up. I watched Them, Their knife-blade fins like polished onyx slicing the surface, formation shifting but the huge old matriarch a…

Properties of Obligate Pearls By L. S. Johnson You have to know what to look for. Younger, definitely — stones from the elderly are heavy and black, decades of layers dulling the luster. No one wants the weight of a grandmother’s worries around thei…

Gonzo arrived in an assault of brass music and spilling banners rippling the pelt of cannon smoke where her feet would’ve been, taking up the hotel entrance in all its marble and chrome—its expensive anachronisms and the people paid to stand next to…

Wake up, killer. For a year, two, you’ve been the static hum of space, floating, spread out over a solar system, asleep, invisible. Girl born on Helio 70, you. via Pocket

Long ago I dreamt things to myself because, when I talked to people, I had nothing else to do, most of the time. Robots were easy. I could loan them cycles and bandwidth to temporarily accelerate them, or just download them and read them completely …

I was sixteen when the viz came. The spiral went crazy for a while, shooting, soldiers at the corners. But then, like everyone knows, it went back to normal. By twenty I was looking for ghosts in the vaults. via Pocket

There had been no meat for too long. Mother’s pups, now weaned off her milk, whined and yipped when she returned to the den, her jaws and belly empty. The squirrels and rabbits had gone, and nothing remained but parched desert and scorching heat. vi…

The stories all start the same way. A man goes fishing at night, and because the weather is calm and the tide is moving fast he guides his boat to the glittering vee between the two riptides that meet at the foot of the lighthouse. via Pocket

They made a game of it, taking their girls downstairs to the basement where there were no windows. The father had games for the girls down there. On Friday nights, he would drink beer after work, playing records for them. via Pocket

Saturday. July 11, 2015. 20:47: I arrive home from a friend’s family party with an army of dessert. via Pocket

I’m staring at the clock. Just staring at it, waiting for it to tick off a minute at which point I will have exactly one hour left of this hell. My brother the crazy artist says I’m not living my life. He says that I’ve sold my soul. via Pocket