One of winter’s biggest trials was that I got a new laptop and had to find updated versions of all my favorite pieces of software. I had no idea the software landscape had changed so dramatically in ten years! Everything’s based on the subscription model these days, and even basic programs have bells and whistles my Luddite brain can’t fathom. When your first computer experience involved five-and-a-quarter-inch floppy disks, you sometimes find yourself greatly suspicious of programs eager to check your grammar and word choice.

I like to think of this issue as a bit of first aid for the cabin-feverish soul. We’re pulling out all the stops on ultraviolence and creepiness for . . . The Killer Issue. In related news, we are also test-driving the addition of content warnings for all of our stories! While a content warning can feel like a bit of a spoiler, I also know that even the most hardcore horror lover can still have topics they need to protect themselves from. If we’re going to help all kinds of readers find their horror groove, then we need to do a better job making sure our readers feel welcomed and safe!

Apparently after all the family-centered holidays in November and December, most people are sick of their families and ready to hang out with strangers. That’s not how we’re rolling here. After all that time stuck inside with our relatives, I know a lot of us need to decompress before we can be expected to function properly again. So I’ve collected a handful of works about family—not the families we choose, but the families we’re stuck with—to ease us back into ourselves.

It’s issue #123 and our last one of 2022. But now it’s time to take a cue from the weather and bunker down under our blankets. Winter calls for inward reflection and turning our attention to home and hearth, and that’s just what we’re doing in this issue. It’s our Home Issue, and we’re hoping it’s just the blend of hygge and creep that you need.

Welcome to November, a month I’ve always had mixed feelings about. It’s a time here in the Pacific Northwest when the trees finish transitioning from trees into sticks, when the insects have all tucked themselves away, and the air turns from the mellow gold of fall to the smoked blue of early winter. It is the time when the sepulchral takes hold of the world and our hearts, and reality skews weird. I use the word weird all the time, plus its allies uncanny and eerie. All three imply a state of affairs that are deeply uncomfortable or un-understandable by the human mind.

Welcome to our 121st issue and our tenth anniversary issue! One of the hardest things about writing horror is that everyone is frightened of very different things. For one person, the sight of a spider will send them running screaming, while someone else will launch into a long discussion of the environmental benefits of arachnids. Clowns terrify some, while others enjoy their fanciful makeup and oversized shoes. We all feel fear, but we each have our own triggers and responses to it.

This issue is devoted to the feeling of discovering a slug in one’s bed, or stepping barefooted on a small tarantula, or emptying the cereal box only to discover a pantry moth larva creeping over the last bran flake. It’s the “Unpleasant Discoveries” issue, and every story has something nasty in store for you. If you’re ready to be horrified, revolted, and generally miserable, our writers have you covered!

One of my favorite video games is Mad Max. While the action in the game is not based on the films, the universe is, and George Miller was consulted on some of the finer points of the worldbuilding. It’s a game about exploring and surviving in a post-apocalyptic desert dotted with the wreckage of shipyards and sunken ships. The dust plume trailing your muscle car was, in fact, once the silt at the bottom of the ocean. Like most entries in the Mad Max franchise, there’s some pointed social criticism going on.

Some days I look at the news and I think “Holy crap, why do I write and publish horror when the headlines are worse than anything we writers put on a page?” I could list today’s tragedies, but I’m sure you will think of newer, fresher ones. Depending on the shape or color of your body, depending on where you live, your vision of horror will look different from mine—but we will both think of nasty, horrible things that are happening all the time.

The last few summers here in Oregon have been pretty lousy. We’ve had wildfires, riots, threats against our governor’s life, and of course, a nightmarish heat dome that killed seventy people here in Portland. For those of us who once enjoyed summer for outdoor adventures, berry-picking, and Vitamin D production, summer has been transformed into a horror villain.