"A bi-monthly digital magazine and website for stories of transformation. We published our first issue in May 2022."
Vibe: Weird / outsider / wtf even is it
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Pays! $0.01/word. $5 minimum. A flat rate of $10 for reprints




Max words: 5000At Medusa Tales, we seek speculative stories (sci-fi, fantasy, and horror) of human transformation and immobilization.


'Bone Chill of a Too-Wide Smile' by Katherine Quevedo

Barclay frowned at the twinkle in Ophelia’s eyes as she tucked a large, freshly laundered quilt around his shoulders. “The other staff and I have arranged a treat for you today, sir,” she said. “To cheer you up.” “Careful hands, Ophelia! You’ll break me.” She sighed. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but if your insides were really glass…” “Are glass,” he corrected. She looked bound to sigh again but continued, “…then my hands should do you no harm. Or do you not trust me with the fine china anymore?”
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'Rest, So We Can Be Friends' by Eric Fomley

I never meshed with the crew. That’s why they asked me to be the one to stay awake for the last leg of our journey. After years of roaming the corridors and maintaining their cryogenic pods, I’d fabricated my own dialogues with their sleeping forms. I grew to know them in my own way. We arrived at L6531 a few weeks ago, but I haven’t awakened them. I guess I know I’ll go back to being the odd man out. But if I leave them like this, I can keep them the way I know them, and feel less alone.
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'Song of the White Trout' by Anna Madden

Captain Roone Cong flipped through the contract. A bundle of papers—old school—easier to destroy than electronic files. Roone stopped at a recent picture of a girl-almost-woman with lank black hair. She took after her mother. Still frail and lily-white, like a snowdrop after a late May frost. The case notes were brief, sterile: Eileen Cong, sixteen-year-old with mutated cystic fibrosis. Terminal lung function. Treated by Beyant Gill Sligo, MD, transgenic infusion, stage three. Brennan—the Stillwater lawyer—cleared his throat. “Sligo worked alone. Seemed best to keep his work from prying eyes, but the gene-slicer started making inquiries to another sponsor. He’s since disappeared. We can only assume the lab is compromised.”
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'Devil Ray at the Doorway' by Robert Bagnall

My mother once asked me what I wished for. I told her I wished she’d never said those things, that she and dad had never split up over it, that we hadn’t run away to Chile’s desolate southern tip, of all places, to escape. “I wrote what I believed in,” she said, trying to appeal to the idealism of youth. “I hated the conclusions I’d come to, but you can’t always choose what you believe in. Mankind must stop fooling itself…” “Then I wish you’d never taken me with you,” I stabbed.
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