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For Writers Who Feel the Pull of the Moon
A creative sanctuary for weird fiction and genre-bending storytellers—especially those building creative lives in the margins
As soon as you step inside the big top, you're engulfed in fog.
It smells strongly of blueberries and something sweet, like cotton candy. You wave a hand in front of your face, trying to clear away the blue fog.

It thins out slightly as you step toward the stands. As your visibility comes back, you realize there's something sitting up in the very top row. "Hello?"
There's no answer. So up the stairs you go.
There are a LOT of stairs here. It's going to take a while to get all the way up them.
Maybe you should come back later, when you have more energy.

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