The Theatre Phantasmagoria—From the Bog with Bated Breath, by Nikki R. Leigh

“‘𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘢,’ 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.
𝘐 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Down the Mountain, by Brett Tharp

“𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘫𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘛𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Truth or Consequences, by Elle Vigilante

“‘𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘮.’
𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘨 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘬. 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Cathouse Communion, by Kacey Rayburn

“𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria, July Window—Open for Submissions!

“𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 2021, 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘕𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Change its Stripes, by Megan Kiekel Anderson

“𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘐 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩’𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Bloodrunners, by Monte Lin

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦. 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥-𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯-𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Marrow for Mallow, by Hadassah Shiradski

“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩, 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Orienteering, by Cormack Baldwin

“𝘉𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵? 𝘈𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸-𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘳 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰’𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬. 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰’𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬.
𝘉𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘐 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

The Theatre Phantasmagoria—Snowblind, by Darren Todd

“𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘶𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘦—𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵—𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘵.”