Jordan Phillips

Jordan Phillips added blog Games
2026-05-27 14:46:31 -

The Fog at Blackwater Isle
The fog came in on the tide, as it always did, thick and yellow as old wool. I stood at the rail of the small steamer and watched Blackwater Isle emerge from the whiteness like a hand rising from water. The fort that stood upon it was a ruin even in daylight—black stone, broken battlements, the silhouette of a man who had designed it for war now repurposed for something far worse. Madness, they...

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Jordan Phillips added blog Games
2026-05-29 02:14:46 -

The Blank Page
Jack Morrison came back from the Pacific with a medal he did not want and a head full of things he could not unsee. Los Angeles in 1945 was a city of people running from something. The war was over, but the people who had been to the war had not finished running. They came to L.A. looking for sunshine and found a different kind of heat — the kind that sat on your chest and made you sweat...

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2026-06-02 08:12:02 -

The Harvesters from Proxima
**Oak Bend, Mississippi, 1898** The house was dying. Not all at once, as houses do in stories, but slowly, inch by inch, the way a person dies when the illness lingers and the family learns to live around the hollow places. The paint peeled from the porch columns like sunburned skin. The gardens had grown wild, roses tangled with ivy, magnolia trees casting long shadows over grass that nobody...

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2026-05-22 15:52:02 -

The Gilded Trust
New York, 1924. The city was a fever dream of gold and jazz, a place where the skyscrapers reached for a heaven that the people had long since forgotten. Samuel Vanderbilt sat at the apex of this dream, the master of the city's infrastructure, a man who owned the very veins through which the city's lifeblood flowed. But Samuel was a man of shadows. He lived in a penthouse of marble and glass,...

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2026-05-21 18:02:54 -

Blood and Magnolias
I. The house was sinking. Not dramatically—there were no cracks in the foundation, no doors that stuck, no floors that tilted. It was a slower, more insidious descent, the kind that happens when the earth itself forgets what it is supposed to hold. Bell Thorne noticed it first in the garden. The magnolia trees, which her grandmother had planted in 1921, were flowering out of season. It was...

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2026-05-21 20:05:13 -

The Observer
New York City, 2008 I got the call on a Tuesday, which is the kind of detail that would make a novelist proud but makes me want to laugh. There is nothing cinematic about the end of the world. It comes on a Tuesday, in a phone call, from a number you don't recognize. My name is Mark Delaney, and I am an associate professor of astrophysics at City College of New York. I am thirty-four years old,...

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2026-05-29 11:17:26 -

The Observer
New York City, 2008 I got the call on a Tuesday, which is the kind of detail that would make a novelist proud but makes me want to laugh. There is nothing cinematic about the end of the world. It comes on a Tuesday, in a phone call, from a number you don't recognize. My name is Mark Delaney, and I am an associate professor of astrophysics at City College of New York. I am thirty-four years old,...

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2026-05-25 14:06:56 -

The Keeper of Lost Souls
The fog that night was the colour of bruised flesh, thick enough to swallow a man whole. I pulled my coat tighter and walked through the narrow alleys of Whitechapel, the cobblestones slick with rain and something darker. Seven years inside Newgate had taught me to read a city the way other men read books. Every shadow had meaning. Every sound told a story. The letter that had brought me to...

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2026-05-30 19:04:58 -

Echoes in the Jazz Age
The summer of 1925 began on the Long Island Sound with a sound that Helen Winthrop would never forget: jazz music playing from an open window, champagne glasses clinking, laughter echoing across the water like a promise nobody intended to keep. Helen had come from Ohio — a small town where the most exciting thing that happened was the annual county fair, where people still believed that...

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2026-05-27 23:28:00 -

The Starlight Fleet
The jazz band had just finished a set when Nicholas Sterling first spoke the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was sitting at a corner table in the Cotton Club, a glass of gin between his hands, listening to Louis Armstrong's trumpet weave through the smoke and the laughter and the clinking of glasses. The gin was cheap, but the music was priceless, and for a moment,...

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2026-06-01 13:00:31 -

The Observer at Five Points
I. The basement smelled like damp concrete and the cheap coffee Mrs. O'Brien made, which was not coffee at all but something brown and hot that she called coffee because it was easier than explaining. I was thirty years old, and I had been living in this basement for eight months. The apartment above the basement was where Mrs. O'Brien lived—with her cat, her radio, and her opinion that I was a...

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Jordan Phillips added blog Literature
2026-05-23 14:00:04 -

The Rust Belt Conspiracy
The town of Oakhaven was a place where the wind tasted of iron and disappointment. Once the crown jewel of the American Midwest, it was now a skeletal remains of a city, a landscape of collapsed warehouses and rusted gantries that looked like the ribcages of dead giants. Caleb Moore lived in a trailer on the edge of the slag heaps, spending his days repairing antique tractors and his nights...

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