Welcome to the Cursed Morsels newsletter!
Teacher Horror | Haunted Houses | #TransRightsReadathon | StokerCon
Hello, all! This is Eric Raglin, editor-in-chief of Cursed Morsels Press.
If you’re reading this newsletter, you’re one of the spookiest weirdos around, and I appreciate you. Since this is the first-ever Cursed Morsels newsletter, you might not know what to expect. Here’s what’s on the docket today: exciting news about upcoming releases, a free sample of our teacher horror anthology, a trans author reading recommendation, and a preview of StokerCon.
Let’s get to it!
TEACHER HORROR
Bitter Apples, an anthology of teacher horror written by teachers, comes out on April 18th! It features stories by Corey Farrenkopf, Emma E. Murray, Cynthia Gómez, Christi Nogle, D. Matthew Urban, Eric Raglin, and Aurelius Raines II. These writers have worked in the profession, and while their stories are fictional, the darkness they explore is all too real.
In this book, you’ll find students’ ghosts haunting classrooms, desperate teachers joining cults, zombies plaguing underfunded schools, and more. The institution of education is rotting. How will we survive its horrors?
On April 18th, at 8 pm central / 9 pm eastern, we’ll be hosting a book release party via Zoom, which you can RSVP to using this Google Form. Come hang out with the authors and get spooked!
In the meantime, check out this free sample. I (Eric Raglin) worked as a high school teacher for six years and channeled a lot of my angst into this one. This is the opening scene of my story “The Chalk Martyrs,” which may or may not involve a cult of overcommitted, under-resourced teachers:
A curl of paint hangs off the classroom wall. That redhead kid with braces—Elias? Elliott?—pulls at it gently, as if he could strip the whole room in one go, peel it like an orange. He flashes a shit-eating metallic grin, daring me to give him detention—or maybe just attention.
“Unless you want to repaint the room, you better cut that out,” I say. “Do I need to move you?”
He releases the paint and whispers something to the girl beside him. They look at me and laugh.
“Alright, move,” I say, pointing to an empty desk at the front of the room.
The boy groans, slides his backpack across the floor, and shuffles to his new seat.
Day one at this school and I’m working to build my reputation as the teacher who takes no shit and won’t smile until Christmas. The kids will learn to respect me and, god willing, they’ll learn to read, too.
That paint is going to be a problem though. Doesn’t matter who sits there. Some bored kid whose phone ran out of battery will pick at that curl and make a goddamn mess. I doubt we’ll get a fresh coat anytime soon, what with this classroom reeking of budget cuts. The freshman English textbooks have loose binding and not a single story published after 1980. The desks are one “oh captain, my captain” moment away from collapsing. And the whiteboard is Sharpied with a decade of vulgar graffiti that no custodian could scrub off.
This isn’t the well-funded Eastwood High I taught at last year. This is a national embarrassment.
The last bell of the day rings, and my students rush out of the room.
“Get a parent signature on that syllabus and bring it back tomorrow,” I call after them.
Maybe two students hear me.
When they’re gone, I step into the hallway and savor the sound of the school emptying. I glaze over with relief and exhaustion.
“Kel, how’d your first day go?” A cheery voice across the hall. It’s Caroline Post, the other sophomore English teacher. She smiles and walks toward me with a slight limp.
I’m about to respond, but I stop dead when I see her classroom through the wide-open door. It’s like a portal to another world, or at least another school—one with a budget still in the green. Fresh paint, a top-of-the-line short-throw projector, rows of adjustable standing desks, and a collection of textbooks without so much as a scuff on their spines. Is this a seniority thing?
Caroline catches me staring. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she says. “Had to give up a lot, but it was worth it. Anything for the kids, right?”
“Jesus Christ,” I say.
She chuckles. “He doesn’t get credit this time.”
“Who, then? You? On a teacher’s salary?” I rub my temples, failing to make sense of the math with my English teacher brain. No way she could afford all that unless she lives at school and sleeps on that couch in the teacher’s lounge. Probably not even then.
“You’ll learn soon enough,” she says with something between a smile and a wince.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I consider exploring why, but the clock says it’s time to go home.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, closing my classroom door.
“Leaving early?” she asks, and I hate the way she asks it—like she’s about to report my answer to Jolene Bennett, our supervising administrator.
“Leaving at contract time,” I say.
Work-life boundaries are vital. I learned that the hard way at Eastwood, teaching an extra prep, coaching speech, and grading papers in bed every night until I passed out. For the sake of my sanity, I had to switch schools and get a fresh start.
As I walk away from the English wing, Caroline’s eyes tickle the back of my head like lice.
Interested in reading more? Keep an eye out for the Bitter Apples pre-order link, coming soon.
HAUNTED HOUSES
When I was growing up, I desperately wanted to have a ghost encounter.
I had a neighbor with a haunted house who told me about a time the ghost saved a sleepwalker from falling down the stairs. This story captured my fascination so much that I offered to babysit his kid (I was ten at the time) in hopes of seeing the ghost, too. When I didn’t see anything, I lied and said I’d heard the ghost walking in the hallway. I even said it had stopped right in front of the door of the room I was in, leaving me without an escape. It wouldn’t be until years later that I admitted my lie. I’d wanted to look cool and seem special. Who could blame a little kid for that?
Now as an adult, I’d still love to encounter a ghost, but I’m not so sure I’d like to live with one. I’d rather be a ghost’s uncle than a ghost’s dad. (Forgive the nonsensical analogy).
But there are plenty of people who live with ghosts and have no plans of moving. They have their reasons: finances, family, legal restrictions, health, and personal connections to a place, to name a few. I’m fascinated with why people stay.
With that in mind, I was delighted when co-editors Julia Rios and Nadia Bulkin asked if Cursed Morsels Press would publish Why Didn’t You Just Leave, an anthology that examines this question as it relates to haunted houses. It’s a great theme for a book, and I can’t wait to see which stories Julia and Nadia choose.
Soon, we’ll be announcing fundraising details, invited authors, and submission guidelines for the open call. Stay tuned!
#TransRightsReadathon
The #TransRightsReadathon might be over, but it’s always a good time to read books by trans authors!
The most recent book by a trans author I read was Escape from Incel Island by Margaret Killjoy. If the title and cover alone aren’t enough to suck you in, check out the back cover copy:
To cope with rising misogynist violence, the US government offered people a golden opportunity: any man who felt like they were owed a free woman could move to a remote island and be given one. The offer was, of course, a trap. Five years later, wise-cracking special ops mercenary Mankiller Jones and their companion Dr. Morrison venture to Incel Island on an important mission for the military, and in the process become the first women (or people perceived as women) the inhabitants of Incel Island have seen in years. Along with a ragtag group of Nice Guys, Mankiller and Dr. Morrison encounter hordes of CHUDs, Volcels, Betas, and the King of the Incels himself as they try to escape the island prison.
On Incel Island, somebody’s about to get laid…to rest.
Hell of a tagline and hell of an entertaining book! Oh, and did I mention that it came with an Escape from Incel Island TTRPG? I have yet to play it, but you best believe I’ll spend a weekend rolling dice and doing battle with the King of the Incels.
STOKERCON
I’ll be attending this year’s StokerCon in Pittsburgh, PA, tabling alongside my lovely friends from Hungry Shadow Press and Dread Stone Press. We’ve consider calling ourselves the Stoned, Hungry, and Cursed table, which I think is perfect.
I’ll also have copies of No Trouble at All, an anthology of polite horrors I’m co-editing with Alexis DuBon. Our extended submission call is still going until April 4th (check it out here), but paperbacks will be out by the time June rolls around. Get hyped!