"Sometimes she asked what her name was. Or how we’d gotten to the forest. But she never forgot who I was."
"My mother would not rest in her grave if she knew I’d soon be drinking what they drink, but I’ve given up so much to move all the way here for a better future."
“Crowned by the overgrown foliage, heralded by trumpeting rosefinches, I sit. Wait.”
"She was a repressed woman and didn’t cry or laugh or smile. Instead, she possessed a tendency to sigh."
"What the Palmers failed to understand is that Splendor isn’t like other neighborhoods — those neighborhoods Out There."
"Every path I took, there you were. Beside. Behind. Ahead. You were everywhere."
“‘Haste ye back,’ the children say to day-tripping families on their August holidays while the adults smile, nod and wave. ‘Join us in December for Crab Grab.’”
“Despite the water’s darkness, they caught glimpses of a strange, shimmering fish’s tail below her waist. ”
"She wouldn’t cook. She had no desire to work. She said there were too many things hunting her."
“Together the gravediggers got down and began to dig deeper. The dirt began to sing.”
"The jealousy permeating our college quickly morphed into resentment, a simmering stew of indignant glances and stiff smiles, laid thicker than the summer the air conditioning leaked."
“Access to attic via hatch and descending wooden ladder. We recommend ignoring this (please, ignore this). . . .”
“Father said that a wolf was bad enough, but a wolf witch needed to be set alight in a grave of flames.”
A playlist to accompany our fall 2022 mini-issue, crafted and curated by issue contributors and Longleaf Review staff. Get spooky!