Shattered glass clung to the window frame from sill to ceiling, heavy, pale curtains flapping to either side in a fresh breeze. Large sections of broken pane lay scattered among shards ground to dust, strewn across the floor. The window smiled a ragged, toothy smile, as if to say, “Watch this.”

Another massive ball of ice crashed through the window, thunking into the wooden floor and rolling to join the first that had shattered the window to begin with. They looked like huge hail. The two dirty ice chunks huddled among the glass shards with smug satisfaction.

From my place on the bed, finger holding my place in my book, I stared open-mouthed at the destructive intruders. My host would not be happy about this.

As one, the ice chunks rolled on their own to reveal a pair of dark spots, one dead center of each. Together, they appeared like eyes. Pointed at me.

I set my book down.

From the stairs outside my door came the sound of running feet. In a moment, my host crashed through the bedroom door, holding a hairdryer, of all things. The icy eyes shifted in his direction.

My host threw the hairdryer cord to me. “Find an outlet!”

Shoving the bed aside, I plugged the hairdryer into the outlet behind it. As the hairdryer came to life with a faint roar, my host flicked the switch to high heat, pointing the business end at the ice balls. As he advanced, the frozen eyeballs rolled away. The scent of rain rose as ice melted to water, mixing with dust on the floor. Gaining enough rolling speed, they bounce over the windowsill and away into the cloudy afternoon.

Flicking off the hairdryer, my host surveyed the damage to the window and groaned. “Not again.”

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Summer’s Latest

Beneath the Bluebonnets: Tales of Terror by Texas Women

Read my eco-horror short “Well Being” in this fabulous new anthology, in which a mother follows strange impulses from tainted water to find her daughter.

From Mary Shelley to Tananarive Due and Mariana Enríquez, women have long shaped horror—often without equal recognition. Living closest to the genre’s edge, women know these fears firsthand: lost autonomy, violence, childbirth, survival.

Set in Texas, a land of haunted histories and increasingly restrictive laws, Beneath the Bluebonnets emerges from the raw intersection of terror and endurance. Written by twelve Texas women writers: R. J. Joseph, Lauren Oertel, L.H. Phillips, Kathleen Kent, Madison Estes, Jess Hagemann, Emma E. Murray, Jae Mazer, Iphigenia Strangeworth, Jacklyn Baker, S.G. Baker and edited by Carmen Gray, this collection is urgent, unflinching, and deeply haunting—stories that refuse to look away.