Doewife now available to read on Corvid Queen

So it turns out, I could have written three blog entries this week. If you follow me on the big blue bird app, you will have seen a small flurry of news over the last few days. I’m going to savour it, though, and post about another exciting thing next week. Lovely. Now, onto our (ir)regularly scheduled update: I have some new writing out today!

This is a special one. I know I say that about all of them (and I believe it too), but Corvid Queen holds a special place in my heart. Ever since I started sending my work out into the world like tiny little ducklings with tinier, pleading eyes, I’ve been reading Corvid Queen. I love Corvid Queen. As soon as I discovered them, I knew I wanted to write something specifically for them.

“Doewife” is that story, and I really hope you love it as much as I do.

Read it now on Corvid Queen.

Roe has an arrow in her chest, right through her heart. If she reaches up, she can brush the feathered fletchings still protruding from her back. Her husband tells her she must never remove it; to pull the arrow is to shake the hand of death.

elou carroll • doewife • corvid queen

You Row and You Burn now available in The Deadlands

Funny story—when I received this acceptance, I panicked. I panicked so much that I threw my phone across the room in shock. It is my favourite reaction to any acceptance that I have ever had. The acceptance was unexpected, and so too was the reaction. Fitting, really. Why did I react so violently? Well, The Deadlands is a dream publication. From the moment they opened their skeletal hands, I wanted to give them a hug.

This is my hug.

“You Row and You Burn” is a little story that features a gondola chase. Yep, you read that right. A gondola chase. You should read it, and you can do so here.

The Ferrymen are hunting you now. You have broken the rules.

Rule one: Everything dies, no exceptions.

Rule two: Pay the Ferryman.

Rule three: When you cross the Ocean Between, keep your extremities in the boat at all times. Do not—repeat, do not—leave the gondola.

Rule four: No one goes back.


They Come to Return Home published in Hexagon

Greetings, wondercats. How are we all? I am currently in the process of shifting my entire book collection into a cupboard so that we can move our furniture ready for the fitting of new carpets. With the upper body strength of a newborn lamb, this is a trial. It is lovely, however, to comb through them all. I have good taste, if I do say so myself.

Do you know who else has good taste? (Do you see what I did there? Ahem.) That’s right—JW Stebner, the might behind the glory that is Hexagon. Am I biased because JW has chosen my work not once but twice? Potentially. But just look at the contents list of Issue 12. Wonderful. This is such an exciting issue and I am so pleased to be a part of it.

Issue 12 features my eco-horror, “They Come to Return Home”. This story, or rather a selection of images from this story, haunted me for months before any words made it onto the page. I’m giddy that it’s finally out in the wild.

Should you wish to read it—and I really hope you do—you can expect:

🌊Sea-dwelling giants (sort of…)

You can read Heaxagon for free here.

The sea turtle squalls in the sand and, when she tries to edge away, it whispers, “They come.”

Marcelline’s head knifes up until her gaze meets the horizon. Dread, like sweat, soaks her collar and balls in her throat. There, in the distance—spreading like ink on wet paper—is a gargantuan figure, hip deep in the ocean. It is joined by another, and another, each one taller than the next. The sea turtle rolls its great head into her lap and looks up at her with a glassy eye. “They come. They come to return home.”


They Commune With the Dead Using Biscuit Crumbs and Wine published in Baffling Magazine

I am terribly late in posting this. For that, I must be punished. Why am I late? Well, I have had the busiest January on record. I am overdue a little peace, quiet and writing time. It is sorely needed. Anyway, happy new year, glorious creatures! I come bearing tidings of a lovely recent publication that I am so very, very proud of; Baffling Magazine is one of those publications that I have been staring at in wonder for a good while before plucking up the nerve to submit anything. Luckily for me, they liked me back and now there is a little morsel for you to eat—ahem—read.

My little ghost story, “They Commune With the Dead Using Biscuit Crumbs and Wine”, is now available in Issue 10. The cover is a beauty.

If you’d like to read it, you can do so here. Each story is delicious and I highly recommend devouring the entire issue in one big gulp.

You’ve never seen a ghost, but you can taste his anger. He pushes dirt and oil between your teeth. He wants her all to himself, even though she wouldn’t know he was here if not for you.

And she doesn’t, not yet.


Pearlskin, or the Oysterman’s Wife now available in If There’s Anyone Left, Volume 3

Two posts in as many days—who am I and what have I done with Elou? Fear not, I am still the same word-fueled goblin child. Only now, I have another publication to share, which is always my favourite thing to share. If There’s Anyone Left, Volume 3, is now available in both ebook and print and I am so very excited! I’ve been looking forward to this one, not only because I adore my dark fairy tale flash fiction, but because I am sharing this table of contents with one of my favourite writers—and people—Taylor Rae, whose story, “The Light Will Leave You Warmer”, is one of the most beautiful pieces of flash fiction you will ever read.

My own story, “Pearlskin, or the Oysterman’s Wife”, is a dark fairy tale about an oysterman who dredges a bride from the bottom of the ocean and I love it a lot.

If you’d like to snag a copy, you can do so here.

Euan, who has not bathed in days, still smells like the sea and when he steps into the bathroom, she emerges at the scent, her wet head cresting the water so only her eyes are visible over the tub. 

The Oysterman’s wife looks at him as if she wants to kiss him or curse him, kill him or crawl inside him and curl up into the shell of his spine. 


I Am Held in the Hands of God Who Is Named Walter Potter; or, from the Case of ‘The Death and Burial of Cock Robin’ out now on FlashBack Fiction

One of the strangest—perhaps the strangest—stories I have ever written has been unleashed into the great wide world today. “I Am Held in the Hands of God Who Is Named Walter Potter; or, from the Case of ‘The Death and Burial of Cock Robin’” is a little flash fiction from the perspective of a taxidermy owl, and I love it very, very much. (I told you it was strange.)

I have a little interview coming out later this week about this piece so I won’t say too much about it here, but it’s something I’ve wanted to write for quite a long time.

If you would like to read it, or listen to me reading it, you can do so here.

As is customary, here is a little snippet:

In his tableau, I am named Gravedigger, I am named Owl; we are one in the same. In this glass case, we are a still-image, a burial ourselves, performing another. God has named us The Death and Burial of Cock Robin, see him there in his small coffin. See how we mourn. Yes, child. Yes. Press your button nose against the glass. See how plush our feathers. See how solemn we carry him.


Pre-order CloisterFox Zine Issue Two, featuring In Which Our Lovers Surely Drown

This is one of my favourite forthcoming publications for several reasons. Firstly, CloisterFox is a British publication. It always feels really special when my work is picked up in the UK—and my parents, wonderful and supportive as they are, like to purchase copies of my work, so it’s nice to save them a bit on shipping.

Secondly, CloisterFox is gorgeous. I was lucky enough to snag a copy of issue one, and it’s one of the single most stunning publications I’ve seen. I cannot wait to see what the interior of issue two looks like. If the cover is anything to go by, I am going to fall deeply in love.

Finally, this short story has one of my favourite titles. I love a good title, and this one has been haunting me for a while before its story emerged. “In Which Our Lovers Surely Drown” was slow to reveal itself, but once it did it became a story that I just couldn’t stop writing. I really hope you enjoy it.

You can expect:

🌊an abandoned yacht
🌊a journalism student
🌊mysterious wet footprints
🌊an uneaten banquet
🌊poor mobile phone signal

If you want a beautifully designed selection of spooky, watery tales, you can pre-order a copy here.

Priya casts a glance at the darkening sky. There are no clouds and, with the sun now hidden away beneath the horizon, there is no colour either. Just a flat sheet of grey. The emptiness is oppressive. Somewhere along the coast, the beam of a lighthouse rounds into being, but Priya, Masud and the broken boats are too far away for the lighthouse keeper to see them. 

We’re going to be out here all night.


Here We Go Round the Hardy Tree forthcoming in They Came From the Closet (pre-orders now live!)

It’s been a while. Hello, ghosts and ghouls. How have you been? I have been all kinds of hazy, which has been an experience, but I have also been avidly scribbling away (like I do). I’m so happy to be making this post. Today, I received a wonderful acceptance for one of my favourite stories—this one had a hard time finding a home, but I am so happy with the home it ended up haunting.

And so, without further ado, I have a story forthcoming in the Prismatica Magazine hallow-zine, They Came From the Closet.

My story, “Here We Go Round the Hardy Tree”, features

🍃the Hardy Tree, which is my favourite real-life tree and you should look it up
🪦St. Pancras Gardens, home of the aforementioned tree
👻a lot of ghosts, including the ghost of a walrus (the walrus is real too, or was, anyway)
👧and a girl who is definitely not afraid of the dark and absolutely does not believe in ghosts

If that sounds like your jam and you like spooky LGBTIQA+ stories, poems, essays and art, as well as spooky stories, poems, essays and art by LGBTIQA+ writers and artists… you can preorder it here.

As is customary, here is a little snippet to whet your whistle:

Pilarie Johnson is not afraid of the dark and that, she tells herself, is why she hasn’t turned on her flashlight. It is not because she doesn’t want to see the photons scatter when they meet the dead and go from a beam to a hazy glow, making the apparitions solid, just like headlights on fog, like she learnt in Science class—because ghosts do not exist and Pilarie Johnson does not believe in them anyway.


Additionally, the wonderful Their Ghoulish Reputation is available right now, and you can purchase it from the Dark Lake Publishing website! 

I can’t wait to get my hands on a copy!

Houses of Usher, out now!

Hello, my darkest darlings. It seemed about time that I had an Edgar Allan Poe-inspired story out in the world, what with who I am as a person and everything; and so, I am thrilled to announce that Love Letters to Poe Volume II: Houses of Usher is now available to purchase. This purple dreamboat is the second in a series of anthologies inspired by the works of Edgar Allan Poe, and contains thirty pieces of gothic delight.

My story, “Good and Kind and Gone, All Gone”, features:

🏚️a good, kind man
🏚️a tortured brother
🏚️a dead sister
🏚️alliterative sibling names

Houses of Usher is available in hardback, paperback, ebook and large print.

If you’d like something to wet your whistle, here is the opening line of “Good and Kind and Gone, All Gone” for your delectation and delight.

The night the house split in two, Lucine was already dead.

You Hope, Through Shivers and Sweat now live in Haven Speculative issue five!

Nothing like a publication day to make feeling like death a little bit more bearable. As I’m feeling like death, this will only be a little update. It is apt then, I suppose, that today’s new story is a ghost story. Sort of. “You Hope, Through Shivers and Sweat” is a second-person, eerie sideshow of a story and I hope you love it as much as I do. I also love Haven Speculative, and I am so glad this story found a home there. The entire issue is excellent and just look at that cover. Stunning.

You follow dumbly. You want to rip your fingers away from his, experience be damned. You would apologise to your mother later, or pretend you stayed, pretend you witnessed wonderful things. But you can’t, you can’t even try, such is his power—his voice may be a door, but his grasp is the lock, and it is rusted shut. When you think to pull away, your hand only tightens around his, unbidden.

He pulls you to the next curtain and you hope, through shivers and sweat, that this one will be different.