The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Well Done, by Nicole Herbert

“‘𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺, 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.’ 𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺; 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺.
‘𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘑𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥.’
𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘱.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Mister October, by T. Fox Dunham

“𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘖𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘧 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Eternally Yours, by Malina Douglas

“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭’𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.
𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Amanda, by Garrett Boatman

“𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴; 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯-𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭’𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘈 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳. 𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢’𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.
𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Of Monsters and Deep Magic, by Scott J. Moses

“𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘐 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—The McMurdlow House, by Eric Del Carlo

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘯𝘰𝘸: 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵, 𝘶𝘯-𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵, 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘴’ 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦-𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘍𝘦𝘻𝘻𝘪𝘸𝘪𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘉𝘶𝘻𝘧𝘶𝘻, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Cú Faoil, by Alexander Hay

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯? 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Turn Off the Sky, by Nat Reiher

“𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵-𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘜𝘱—𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯?—𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘴, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Lakeland, by Marisca Pichette

“𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘕𝘰, 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘴.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—The Bird, Frozen in Time, by Drew Huff

“𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. ‘𝘖𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 ‘𝘦𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.’
𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘹-𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.”