Submissions for the 62nd issue of The Sirens Call, featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry are closed.
Sirens Call Publications would like to thank all of the authors and artists who submitted their work for consideration. We’ll be in touch as soon as we can with our decisions.
If you are looking for Ad space, please contact Nina at Nina@SirensCallPublications.com for details.
Rebecca pulled the heavy bolt across the front door. Picking up a lantern, she made her way to the kitchen. On the table, she pushed the pile of cutlery to one side and picked up the pistol. It was heavy in her hand. She could barely lift it. Was it the weight or fear that made her hand shake as she practiced aiming it? Maybe it was a mixture of both. She picked up a bullet and put it in her pocket. It was a conscious decision of hers not to load the gun at that moment, as if not doing so would delay the inevitable.
She breathed in long and deep to steady her nerves and made her way upstairs. Retrieving the round of ammunition from her dress she rolled it between her fingers. It glistened in the light of the lantern, and she paused, marveling at its beauty…
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Who doesn’t love a little fun under the summer sun? But what if we aren’t the only thing that wants to romp in the warmer weather?
This 62nd issue of The Sirens Call has a sub-theme of Local Legends. Not just any kind of legend, we’re talking cryptid lore! We’d prefer that you create your own hometown beastie and leave the well-known ones alone, but if you feel your story is strong enough to compete with originality, feel free to adopt your well-known local cryptid and take them out for a joyride. As always, the pieces must be horror or dark fiction – no Harry and the Hendersons stories, please. We’ve seen the movie and enjoyed it, but it’s not our cup of publishing goo.
Beyond this issue’s sub-theme, we’re always looking for…
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SUBMISSIONS OPEN May 5, 2021 – June 30, 2023
This is a call for Alien Horror. Make your story brutal, vicious, or scary as all hell!
Make sure there is at least one human and one alien involved. Beyond our don’ts listed below, go for it!
· No graphic rape scenarios will be accepted.
· No stories containing bestiality or pedophilia will be accepted.
· No happy endings. Cliffhangers are acceptable.
· This is a Horror call, not Science Fiction.
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· Word count: 2,000 – 3,000 words
· Payment: $15 per story
· Best story gains a $50 bonus!
· Deadline: June 30, 2023
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· NO REPRINTS ACCEPTED
· NO WIPS ACCEPTED
· NO FAN FICTION ACCEPTED
· NO MULTIPLE SUBMISSIONS
· NO SIMULANEOUS SUBMISSIONS
All submissions MUST be sent to Submissions@SirensCallPublications.com
For more information and formatting instructions,
please visit our Open Submissions page on our website.
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Spring 2023
The 61st issue of The Sirens Call weighs in at 236 pages made up of 173 pieces of fiction in the form of short stories, flash fiction, and dark poetry from 100 different authors! Mike Lera’s Corridor of Horror presents ‘Short, But Scary‘, an introspective on anthology film making. Our Featured Artist, Ksenya Lumitar Drozd, speaks about ‘The Power of the Wild Mother Wolf‘, as well as offers 14 of her watercolor illustrations. This quarter’s Featured project is ‘What A Scream‘ podcast, hosted by Ygraine Hackett-Cantabrana, not only does she detail ‘Turning Nightmares Into A Dream‘, she’s also picked out her top 5 episodes and tells us why each is so significant. Our Featured Author, Gwendolyn Kiste, discusses ‘Everyday Horror: The Existential Terror of Daily Living‘, and offers us a peek at her novel, ‘
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People in the Sun by Edward Hopper as Explained by the Ghost of One of His Models
Here I am posed in the crowd. Do you see? We’re supposed to be tourists gathered to relax and stare at distant mountains. It’s as if the artist were replaying a silent film of a family vacation. Normally, visitors here get this explanation: ‘The canvas may reflect Hopper’s discomfort in the West, where he found himself unable to paint with his usual enthusiasm when confronted by the harsh light and monumental wonder of the landscape.
I’m that fellow reading in the back row. My wife Lucia is the woman in the floppy hat. Of course, that’s not a real mountain range on the right. It was actually just a pile of lights and equipment, so it wasn’t difficult to look bored or unimpressed – just what Hopper was after, as a fact. I think he…
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The sweet milk drew them to the widow, Mrs. Keller daily. Their lips silently spoke of thirst; a parching despair was evident each morning upon their arrival. Mrs. Keller smiled with each new sun as she watched them come in droves. She waited at the door of her barn, tin containers filled with the greenish-white cream. One by one, she’d fill each jug the locals brought. They’d leave with both their spirits, and wallets, much lighter.
They always asked to see the cows that produced her famed product. An off-kilter smile was the only response she ever gave. They talked in hushed rumors of what might be in that old, red outbuilding, what wonderous dairy cattle gave their delicious milk in secret. They imagined a majestic specimen, the fur a color never before seen by human eyes. Others argued she dyed the milk and put something in it for flavor…
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Who doesn’t love a little fun under the summer sun? But what if we aren’t the only thing that wants to romp in the warmer weather?
This 62nd issue of The Sirens Call has a sub-theme of Local Legends. Not just any kind of legend, we’re talking cryptid lore! We’d prefer that you create your own hometown beastie and leave the well-known ones alone, but if you feel your story is strong enough to compete with originality, feel free to adopt your well-known local cryptid and take them out for a joyride. As always, the pieces must be horror or dark fiction – no Harry and the Hendersons stories, please. We’ve seen the movie and enjoyed it, but it’s not our cup of publishing goo.
Beyond this issue’s sub-theme, we’re always looking for well-constructed tales and poetry that deliver solid horror and dark fiction.
We’ll be…
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Wrong Side of the Tracks
byNina D’Arcangela
Wrong side of the tracks, my ass. As far as I’m concerned, any side of the tracks I’m on is the right side, and I’ll see to it that I make it so. What happened to Frank? It’s the funniest thing…one minute he was throwing me out on my butt, then haranguing me for packing my bags, then telling me I was a useless piece of trash that was lucky to have him – he was driving me nuts. I don’t know what made me do it, but I took that kaboodle and slammed him up-side the head so hard, he spun in a circle before dropping to his knees, you know, like one of them cartoon characters they show before the pictures. Something about seeing him on his knees infuriated me, but it also made…
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A quiet neighbourhood like any other, with rows of unchanging houses tucked away from the main bustle of the city. The sound of squeaking bicycle wheels and laughing children echoed along streets that held the slight scent of oatmeal cookies and apple pie. The neighbours threw weekend barbeque parties and traded recipes, carpooled and arranged playdates for their children. A picture-perfect slice of suburban heaven.
At the end of a cul-de-sac, nestled back from the road, sat a small, nondescript house. Painted its uniform white with blue trim, boasting a quaint porch and a rocking chair, and a welcome mat by the front door. An older man lived there, retired from dentistry on the back side of fifty. Now he spent his time sipping tea in his porch chair, waving and grinning at the street’s residents.
His neighbours jokingly referred to him as Dr. Smiles.
The quietest of neighbours, polite…
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Lee Andrew Forman 