Editorial: Issue 8

If you’ve paid attention to the cover of this issue, you might have noticed something different. From now on, ‘Innsmouth Magazine’ will be the name of our triannual fiction issues, while ‘Innsmouth Free Press’ is the name of the micro-publishing company that publishes Innsmouth Magazine. It’s a small change, but one that will help avoid confusion, as we launch more anthologies and books in the next few years.

Talking about launches, this is the first issue of …

IFPEditorial: Issue 8

Fiction: Graffito Flow

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By W. H. Pugmire

Silver moonshine filtered through the mist of dusk. Lifting her eyes to heaven, a blind woman sang to darkness. Autumn wind brushed against her lank hair and moaned softly at chapped red ears. She listened to the sound and whispered an accompaniment as the breeze embraced her like a friend who kisses throat with chilly fondness. Night and …

IFPFiction: Graffito Flow

Fiction: And Out Came Words of Fire

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By Paul Jessup

At first, I thought they were burns – like some form of branding. Bruises along her skin, raised under the flesh. She was barely married – I could see her hair was tied in the traditional newlywed knots, which swung in a pendulum arc around her head as she stumbled along the stone steps to the Temple of Saxis.…

IFPFiction: And Out Came Words of Fire

Fiction: We Are All Ghosts

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By Peter Darbyshire

This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang but with the silence of the grave.

I don’t bother testing the walls of the tomb you’ve buried me in. I know there’s no way out. After all, you built it to contain not only me, but what’s inside me. I cannot escape. We cannot escape.

But I …

IFPFiction: We Are All Ghosts

Fiction: We Can Watch the White Doves Go

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By T.J. McIntyre

The view from the top of the cliff revealed miles of unobstructed Alabama countryside. The river below stretched on and on, a glowing yellow snake lit by the waning sun. It slithered between rolling hills and square plots of farmland. Smitty imagined that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see where the river met the …

IFPFiction: We Can Watch the White Doves Go

Fiction: The Second Sphinx

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By Rebecca Stefoff

A month before I was to leave for Egypt with Napoleon’s army, the Comte d’Erlette asked me to call on him. “My son, you do not have to go,” my mother said to me three times, but I was more than willing. It was past time for a reckoning with the Comte. I would demand an accounting and swear …

IFPFiction: The Second Sphinx

Fiction: Curvature of the Witch House

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By Wendy N. Wagner

The crows! The caw, gaw, gaaaw all day and into the twilight. As if they know they can stop my work. Lousy devils, snapping their beaks every time I step outside to chase them away. Shuffling on their feet of three claws.

So many multiples of three in this space. Three in each triangle. Three angles, one shape. …

IFPFiction: Curvature of the Witch House

Editorial: Issue 7

With summer come the beach and the sun. But we didn’t want you to feel too safe and warm, so Issue 7 is out with some chilling stories and a cover illustration by Scott Purdy. Instead of taking a vacation in some sunny location, won’t you journey into our decadent Innsmouth?

Renowned Mythos writer W.H. Pugmire begins our trip and takes us into the “Cool Mist”, where a haunting song will bring terror. Next comes “A Tour of the Catacombs”, …

IFPEditorial: Issue 7

Fiction: Cool Mist

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By W. H. Pugmire

Note: “Cool Mist” first appeared in DEATHREALM #2, 1987. This version has been revised by the author.

Night seeped into the early evening sky and made it black. I remember wandering that realm of ink in search of perfect solitude, hunting for one uninhabited place where I could sit undisturbed and weep for the soul of my young lover, dead by his own hand. Finding my way to the waterfront, which was near …

IFPFiction: Cool Mist

Fiction: Every Little Sparrow

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By Melissa Sorensen

Phebe Alexander shook out the coarse black folds of her day gown and pulled them over her nightclothes. She also put on her unseasonably-thick woolen stockings and added protective garments donated by one of the Lucyspoole Female Orphan Asylum’s benefactors: thick and ill-shaped black cloth gloves that went up to her elbows, as well as a broad-brimmed hat made of plaited straw, dyed black, with a surprisingly fine-woven black veil that was meant to …

IFPFiction: Every Little Sparrow

Fiction: Black Sand

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By Regina Glei

Despite his many layers of clothing, Orin almost froze to death and cursed the Elders who had sent him on the journey through the plain to the Cone Islands in the Lake of Stone.

It had taken three days to cross the plain and the first mountain range. The only living thing that he and Lyda had seen during their journey had been a nameless, thorny shrub that hid between rocks from the constant …

IFPFiction: Black Sand

Fiction: On the Generation of Insects

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By Byron Alexander Campbell

Democritus bears witness that men first appeared in the form of small worms, which little by little assumed human shape…After a long period of fertility, during which many monstrous and marvelous generations were brought forth, the Earth Mother became at last exhausted and sterile….
– Francesco Redi, Experiments on the Generation of Insects
Trans. Mab Bigelow

From a series of unpublished letters, addressed to his friend and colleague Carlo Roberto Dati, discovered in

IFPFiction: On the Generation of Insects