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CONTACT:
Contact us at nightscapepressinfo@gmail.com with "Weird Whispers" in the subject line for any and all queries regarding Weird Whispers.


REVIEWS:
Weird Whispers is open to both electronic and physical submissions for book reviews. Please only send titles that fit within the weird fiction, cosmic horror, and related subgenres. We are not interested in reviewing general horror titles and are also unlikely to review bizarro fiction as well. Review materials sent to us will not be returned.

Please send all electronic review submissions in ePub and Mobi files as attachments or via Dropbox/Google Drive/etc. links. Please do not send queries. Send all files/links to:
weirdwhispersreviews@gmail.com

Please ship all physical review materials to:

Weird Whispers Reviews
c/o Nightscape Press
PO Box 1715
Mount Juliet, TN 37121-1715


SUBMISSIONS:
Weird Whispers is currently closed to fiction and nonfiction submissions. If you'd like to see us open for submissions, please drop by the Weird Whispers and More GoFundMe and make a donation or share the link with your friends.

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Introducing Weird Whispers!

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Weird Whispers Story #4: The Irrational Dress Society by Farah Rose Smith

The Irrational Dress Society by Farah Rose Smith “The other shape If shape it might be call’d that shape had none Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be call’d that shadow seemed; For such seemed either; black he stood as night; Fierce as ten furies; terrible as hell; And shook a deadly dart. What seem’d his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on.” - Paradise Lost , 2.666-73 PROLOGUE The long-disbanded Irrational Dress Society was an organization founded in 1912 in St. Petersburg, on the banks of the Neva. It described its purpose thus:
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Weird Whispers Story #6: A Regime of Marching Faceless by S.L. Edwards

A Regime of Marching Faceless by S.L. Edwards I’m far too afraid to wonder how they removed my face. This place is dark, full of hidden ovens. I know I have no face because I've seen the others, walking about with smooth, noseless mannequin heads. If I look carefully I can see the grey smoke poking through the corners of this dark place, the red light of hidden fires. When people vanish, we mutter to each other: “The fires opened up. And ate them whole.” When the fires emerge, some just stumble in. Before I can blink, the walls are closed and dark again. The screams from behind them sound as if coming from behind a gag, panicked and wild but somehow stifled. These tunnels beneath the city are always burning. In the world above, you can see their traces in the thick vapor pouring out from tall black towers, tombstone smokestacks that mark this network of secret factories.
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