Andrey Writes

Before I moved to England for university, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to reinvent myself. A new life. A new me.

So I took the step that should have been obvious to anyone who had spent their formative years in the 90s: I grew a goatee.

Coolness didn’t wash over me in a localized tidal wave, but I kept it for a few years and it was seen as my thing.


“Power juice!” I yell, getting the attention of everyone in the cafeteria.

I tip the last precious drops in my mouth, then scrunch up the can into a ball. I feel the power juice work its way down my stomach and into my veins.

Power juice!

“Power Juice!” just went up in Factor Four Magazine, Issue 5. It's a cautionary tale about what happens when you get hopped up on power juice.

You can grab the issue and read the story over here.

The editor at Mystery Tribune reached out to me to see if they can reprint “Stabby Knives” on their website, which I thought was awfully nice of them.

You can now read Stabby over here:

I’ve been travelling around Belgium, and their cycling culture is a thing of absurd beauty.

There’s cycle lanes everywhere, sometimes as busy as their car counterparts. On a one-way road for cars there’s often two cycle lanes on each side. Bicycle parking spots are always busy and resemble a tubular metallic haystack. Good luck finding your own bike in there.


Ryan found public toilets fascinating in a way. Most people kept a façade of perfection, their bodily functions a well-guarded secret. None of it mattered when they came to a shared toilet, though. They were forced to concede that yes, they all held a rancid factory within themselves and yes, it mostly produced sewage.

Grotesque Magazine just published “The Unnatural Call” in their latest issue. It's a puerile comedy horror story.

You can buy a copy here. This is an affiliate link so some of the profits will go to me. Be warned, I will most likely spend it on beer.

This story was originally published in the standalone section at Zeroflash.

“Knives is an interesting surname,” Laura said with a smile. She was resting her chin on her palm, staring dreamily into Stanley’s eyes.

He grinned back at her.

“It gets worse,” he said.


This story was originally published on Reddit and made into an animation by Tales of Tim on YouTube.

I was the first person to see the thing.

I only became aware of it when the light in my room started to dim. I looked up from my laptop and there it was, a thin humanoid form hunched upside-down next to the lamp.

I yelled. I tried to scamper away but my chair caught in the carpet and I simply toppled over, pulling the laptop down by its cable.

It didn't seem to notice. It fixated on my lamp, gingerly cupping it with charcoal-black fingers as if it was a rare insect. Then, it closed its hands and the light was out.


By that time, my brother had learned a few tricks himself. Instead of walking into the pub through the door, he unfolded from the gap between two floorboards. I had already bought the first round, so I just pushed his glass towards him.

This story got published a couple of months ago in May You, the Walter Swan Prize Anthology.

It's pretty limited circulation. I'm planning to try and reprint it somewhere so more people can read it. Watch this space.