Simon Dunn

They sail across the dunes, crashing through waves of sand, their tattered sails somehow catching a wind that isn’t there. Their hulls are rotting, or rusted, and if you squint a little, you can see right through them. That’s not from the decay, that’s their ectoplasmic field. The desert of ghost ships appeared a few…

Was it a severed ear? Or was it all that was left of him? A few days ago, asking himself that sort of question would have been, well, out of the question. A lot had happened since then, and Harry jabbed at the bloody, disembodied lobe with the toe of his shoe. It could be…

Kelly sat in her room, on the foot of the bed, her legs dangling over the edge but not nearly reaching the soft carpet below. She had a graze on her knee, which was turning all sorts of fascinating colours now. Mum said it should have a plaster on it, but Kelly wanted to watch…

It was something I misunderstood as a kid. I think it’s called an ear-corn, you know, where you put in words you understand to replace the ones you’ve misheard, or misunderstood. So, since I was about four, I’ve called them Worry Bees. No-one has ever corrected me. I’m not sure if this is out of…

I found a brain on the street. It was living, you could feel it gently pulsing in your hand as you held it. It was a bit bigger than a cat’s brain, and a bit smaller than a human one. No idea how it got there, or who’s head it fell from. I bought it…