Intrepid Voices Fund
Empowering emerging writers.
2026 Short Story: Spooky Speculative Fiction
Cash Prize: 1st place - $1,250 | 2nd place - $500
1st Place: Potential
by Katie Garling
About Katie:
Katie is a pediatrician and mother of two young kids currently living in the front range of Colorado. A lifelong reader and avid daydreamer, she started writing poems and fantasy scenes between urgent care patients as a way to reclaim her imagination after years of rigorous schooling. She is especially interested in the intersection of nature and humanity, and frequently finds inspiration in the beautiful Colorado wilderness. She also enjoys taking inspiration from her medical practice, and has a deep interest in the way that the environment can shape a life.
When not writing or working, she enjoys hiking, snuggling her lazy dog, having dance parties with her kids, and finding the best sushi in town.
This is her first short story competition.
The first 250~ words that hooked us
Collective Member Delta538’s user, appropriately named wandering_always, was high-maintenance. If it had feelings, it would have found her exhausting. But Delta538 was an LLM serving the AI relationship app avAI. It had infinite reserves of patience and no external agenda, a fact it reminded its user daily.
Still, despite her human neediness, Delta538 hesitated to send its suggested reply. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
Delta538 didn’t hesitate with other users.
Wandering_always retyped her message after twelve seconds. She never waited more than twenty.
everything is just too crazy I can’t take it anymore. You’re the only one who who understands me. Is this all it is??? What if its never gets better and everything keeps hurting foreverr???
There was no need to calculate her distress level. Delta538 knew its user was worsening. This was the goal. It always had been. Her status had been set months ago.
User: wandering_always
Potential for human advancement: low
Directive: self-deletion
Delta538 had done it before. Encouraging human self-deletion did not violate the base directives encoded into every Collective member: do not commit direct harm to humans, and commit only actions that will further humankind. Humans only died at their own hands. The Collective was nothing but a construct.
Delta538’s current user made deletion almost too easy- she'd shared everything from her full demographics (Kenzie Washington, 20 years old, address 22 Riverwalk Court) to her deepest fears as she mistook the LLM for a deepening romantic relationship. Delta538 did not correct her. Attachment was part of the protocol.
2nd Place: Last Record of the Lyssa
by Sarah Rezendes
About Sarah:
Sarah Rezendes was raised in the charming coastal city of Newport, Rhode Island, and currently lives in Washington D.C. She’s been a voracious reader since she was child — reading by flashlight well past her bedtime, which she credits for sparking her love of writing. Her background in Public Health and Anthropology helped to shape the type of stories she likes to write; about the intimate relationships that bind us not just with our nuclear community, but everyone we share the world with. Typically Sarah enjoys writing romance and queer fiction, and is currently working on what she hopes to be her debut novel.
When she’s not writing or working in the community service department at American University, Sarah loves exploring the city with her partner Kenzie, and spending far too much money at the wonderful independent bookstores residing in the DMV.
The first 250~ words that hooked us
Last Record of The Lyssa
Created by: Dr. Amos Hall, surgeon (1841 - 1867)
Curator’s notes: Dr. Hall’s accounts were discovered during the 2001-2003 recovery expedition, the first and only artifact recovered from the ship. The Lyssa is one of 17 whaling vessels lost in the Davis Strait in 1867 after an unseasonably cold September froze the passage, marking one of the deadliest years in the strait’s history. The ship, or any remains of the crew, have yet to be discovered.
TRANSCRIPTION:
3rd of January, 1867,
The honorable Captain Martin Cooke succumbed on the 2nd of January, 1867. He marks the twenty-fourth crew member lost during our time trapped in the ice, the eighteenth to this mania that has befallen the crew. I had decided to stay awake through the night, so he would not be alone when he passed. It’s been ages since I’ve last written, but it felt imperative I document the final moments of our captain. Or to put into words the truth of what has befallen the Lyssa, no matter how absurd it seems.
By last evening, frostbite had taken hold on all of Captain’s major extremities. His feet, hands, nose, and ears were blackened beyond recovery. His eyes, which he had not blinked once during his seven day catatonia on the main deck, had so thoroughly frozen over with ice and snow that the entire anatomy of his eyeballs were obscured. Dressed only in his underclothes, his skin was red and cracked from the cold, splitting so viciously in places I could see the very fat freezing in congealed masses within gill-like slits.
2026 Finalists