Edited by Wendy N. Wagner, NIGHTMARE is a critically-acclaimed digital magazine of horror and dark f
This episode features "A Guide for Your Journey to the Green Hills" by R. K. Duncan (©2024 by R. K.
This episode features "Sumbisori" by Jess Cho (© 2024 by Jess Cho) and "She Sheds Her Skin" by Raven
Something tells you this two-pump station isn’t a contactless kind of place. Google Maps gave up the
This month's Nightmare Short Shots episode features "Possession" by Martins Deep (© 2024 by Martins
This whole business, it all started right about when I burned my church down. | © 2024 by Gemma File
My mother sits at the kitchen table in the moonlight, gazing at her folded hands. “Has your father r
This month's Nightmare Short Shots episode features "I Am One of Bluebeard's Dead Wives" by Bella D.
On an unmarked road somewhere in the Appalachians, a midnight blue Cadillac rolled to a stop, gravel
We hear you laughing as you speed by on the interstate. In spite of what you might think of us, we a
This month's Nightmare Short Shots episode features "Painted Surfaces" by Guan Un (© 2024 by Guan Un
Nine years, fifty-two days, seven hours until hyadeic convergence. Kayla watched the hot, empty cake
Haw Par Villa in the rain was a splash of garish color. The dark red footpath, glistening wet. The o
This month's Nightmare Short Shots episode features "Automaton Boy" by Sara S. Messenger (© 2024 by
The soldiers start rounding up us factory girls just before sunrise. | © 2024 by Thomas Ha. Narrated
This poem sprang from its title, a product of old-school random-generator email spam. | © 2024 by So
Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there . . . | © 2024 by Ally Wilkes. Narrated by Ju
At the tiny abbey in the province of Tasselt—the only abbey in the region with both an abbot and his
If you haven’t seen it yet, you will. | © 2024 by Manish Melwani. Read by Stefan Rudnicki. Learn mor
This poem began as a letter from a grandmother to her grandchild. It warns of uncontrollable wickedn
I first saw them one evening in May. I couldn’t tell what they were: small, like kids, like me, but