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