Human? Technically.
More accurately: a sleep-deprived meat popsicle who writes unsettling fiction and still somehow has time to make the stew.
I’m P.H. Boer, purveyor of stories best told by candlelight, preferably with something growling just outside the door. I write tales full of haunted staircases, forgotten gods, sentient mold, and emotionally unavailable demons. My work leans heavy on visceral sensory detail, if you can smell the rot, feel the blood cooling, or taste the copper in your mouth, that’s on purpose. If you like your horror with a side of sarcasm and a lingering sense of “oh no,” you’ll feel right at home here.
On weekend nights, I wrangle science as a metrologist in a DNA lab. But when I am free, I offer questionable hospitality at the Boer’s Head Pub, an imaginary tavern found deep within the reaches of my mind, where the ale is warm, the ink is cursed, and the stew should probably be avoided.
This site is where I dump the contents of my brain before it starts whispering again. Expect short fiction, project updates, and the occasional rant about why cursed objects never come with proper instructions.
You’re welcome to stay. Just… don’t touch the ledger near the fireplace. And whatever you do, don’t feed the triplets.
When I’m not wrangling water samples or coaxing cursed plotlines out of my skull, I’m working on several questionable literary endeavors:
- The Belmire Asylum: The Book of Jack – My debut novel.
- Whispers in the Well – A short story about cats, unsettling children, grief, and the kinds of whispers that don’t stop when you cover your ears.
- The Memoirs of Caleb Ashford (working title) – A slow-burn descent into the mind of a charming monster. Think less “true crime podcast” and more “the devil has a diary.”
- The Collector – Don’t let his fuzzy cheeks deceive you or you might just find what you’re looking for.
- No Return Service – A tale about a small community that get to spend time with loved ones long gone. Will they survive or will their ticket be up?
If you like fiction that drips, oozes, or gently unhinges your sense of reality, I’ll try to keep the fire stoked and the horrors coming.
And before you ask. Yes, I do sleep. No, I don’t dream… something else handles that for me now.
It should also be noted that I’m not much for social media, less shouting into the void, more whispering through floorboards.
Right now, you can find one of my stories on YouTube, thanks to the dark magic of Vox in the Void: “The Corridor of Faith” – Narrated by Vox in the Void. The rest? It’s either brewing in the shadows or nailed behind a metaphorical pub door until it’s ready.
This site will serve as my main base of operations. As I publish more, whether it’s in dark magazines, narrated online, or scrawled in chalk on basement walls, you’ll find it posted here.
P.H. Boer
Human? Technically.
More accurately: a sleep-deprived meat popsicle who writes unsettling fiction and still somehow has time to make the stew.
I’m P.H. Boer, purveyor of stories best told by candlelight, preferably with something growling just outside the door. I write tales full of haunted staircases, forgotten gods, sentient mold, and emotionally unavailable demons. My work leans heavy on visceral sensory detail, if you can smell the rot, feel the blood cooling, or taste the copper in your mouth, that’s on purpose. If you like your horror with a side of sarcasm and a lingering sense of “oh no,” you’ll feel right at home here.
On weekend nights, I wrangle science as a metrologist in a DNA lab. But when I am free, I offer questionable hospitality at the Boer’s Head Pub, an imaginary tavern found deep within the reaches of my mind, where the ale is warm, the ink is cursed, and the stew should probably be avoided.
This site is where I dump the contents of my brain before it starts whispering again. Expect short fiction, project updates, and the occasional rant about why cursed objects never come with proper instructions.
You’re welcome to stay. Just… don’t touch the ledger near the fireplace. And whatever you do, don’t feed the triplets.
When I’m not wrangling water samples or coaxing cursed plotlines out of my skull, I’m working on several questionable literary endeavors:
- Whispers in the Well – A short story about cats, unsettling children, grief, and the kinds of whispers that don’t stop when you cover your ears.
- The Memoirs of Caleb Ashford (working title) – A slow-burn descent into the mind of a charming monster. Think less “true crime podcast” and more “the devil has a diary.”
- The Collector – Don’t let his fuzzy cheeks deceive you or you might just find what you’re looking for.
- No Return Service – A tale about a small community that get to spend time with loved ones long gone. Will they survive or will their ticket be up?
And before you ask. Yes, I do sleep. No, I don’t dream… something else handles that for me now.
It should also be noted that I’m not much for social media, less shouting into the void, more whispering through floorboards.
Right now, you can find two of my stories on YouTube, thanks to the dark magic of A Vox in the Void:
The rest? It’s either brewing in the shadows or nailed behind a metaphorical pub door until it’s ready.
This site will serve as my main base of operations. As I publish more, whether it’s in dark magazines, narrated online, or scrawled in chalk on basement walls, you’ll find it posted here.