Written in response to the prompt of “sloth” for a seven deadly sins collection, this short was ultimately not accepted. So I’ve polished it up a little and put it here instead. Another Christmas treat, if you will. Milton was loitering outside his local pub, smoking a pungent roll-up, when he saw it fall from
As a Christmas and Friday 13th gift to my readers, I wrote this very short, seasonal tale. A Victorian-themed, vaguely dreadpunk, Penny Dreadful kind of offering set in a cold, dark wintery night in the northern hemisphere… “M’lady, if it pleases you, your carriage awaits.” The manor doors were flung wide open to expose the
The Walls Have Eyes The nightmares started when my mother died. I tried to tell my doctor I saw faces in the walls. They cried out to me from rooms within my childhood home. He told me not to worry, that it was normal. “Pareidolia,” he said. “It’s a very common, human experience.” He doesn’t
Original short fiction by Tabatha Wood, copyright 2019 My dearest Percy, you’re present in my memories all the time of late. I know why, especially with the anniversary and all, but still, it’s hard. I thought I’d put my thoughts to rest when you were. I try so hard to stop myself. I know there
My collection of poems about motherhood, family, old friends, spiritual journeys and the sea entitled, ‘RISE’, is available to download for free on Smashwords. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/988694 I’ve had all my poems sitting together in a folder for a while now. I’d published them in drips and drabs on my blog, but I’d been planning to do
A sci-fi poem reflecting on the end of the world. future_imperfect_by_tabatha_wood.mp3 Where were you when the red rains came? When the first flames rippled through the forests with their hot, bright fingers of pain. Did you turn to watch or try to flee? So many were struck by terror and shock. For some, blind denial,
I had been plagued for weeks by a recurrent dream involving a tree, but of what species I could not tell. Its branches were long and its leaves were wide, and its trunk was smothered in patches of green moss and layers of loose bark. As I got closer to it, it reached out to
This weekend ended up being the One Where I Didn’t Do Things. I didn’t go to a social meet-up I had been planning to go to due to feeling unwell. I didn’t send off a story before a submission deadline because I realised it needed a lot more work to properly shine. I didn’t work
Have you ever felt super excited about doing a Thing, only to suddenly find yourself crippled by unexpected anxiety, uncertainty and a strong urge to run away and hide? I don’t just mean a physical Thing, but also a creative or artistic one. Self-rejection is the nasty little brother of the Imposter Syndrome Gremlin, and
I woke up this morning to find I had been tagged in an awesome yet terrifying tweet — a friend of mine had included me and my anthology, “Dark Winds Over Wellington,” in a list of must-read female dark fiction writers. I’ve read all of the other books she listed and they are absolutely tremendous.