This is taken from the front pages of Classic Horror Goes Punk.

There’s something under the bed.

Oh man, I can hear it rustling around down there.

Don’t look.

Is that a slithering sound? Maybe…a tentacle sliding out from underneath?

Don’t look. Don’t look. DON’T. LOOK.


Why do we do this to ourselves? Horror stories can scare us, wake us up, or cause us to reexamine our lives in different ways. The human brain is wired to receive scary images—we can create the unknown out of the known just to scare ourselves—so it makes sense that many of us appreciate a frightening story.

Wait, wait…I’m getting ahead of myself…allow me to introduce Writerpunk Press, a cooperative endeavor that publishes anthologies of ’punk stories inspired by classic tales in the public domain. In the first four volumes, we’ve punked Shakespeare (twice), Edgar Allan Poe, and a bunch of those classic stories you read in high school English class.

We donate the profits from our anthologies to PAWS Animal Rescue in Lynwood, WA, and are proud that we’ve been able to fully support two large dog kennels each year.

This year, we’ve turned our attention to horror.

This book contains eleven ’punk stories and one poem, all inspired by classic horror tales. We’ve got steampunk, cyberpunk, biopunk, and teslapunk. Some are retellings of the original story but with a twist; some sneak a peek at what might have happened after the original story ended. Others are inspired by the original but take a look at it a different way—the road not taken. Monsters, ghosts, new biological forms. Ghosts.

What would possess us to do this—see what I did there?

We’ve used our cyberpunk and biopunk and steampunk stories to sneak up on the horror. Take a new look at it.  What makes it scary? Appealing? Why do some of these themes resonate with us? By observing it through the lens of a ’punk story—or perhaps a camera obscura (you’ll see what I mean as you read on)—it’s our way of peeking under the bed without letting the creature see us in return.

No worries. I’m sure there’s nothing under there.


Carol Gyzander