Vulgar fables, soft spaces, and narrow dreams. Abandoned scarecrow posts, neighborhoods of contorted silhouettes, and twilight carnivals.
After celebrating his twenty years working as an accountant in a Boston investment firm, S.E. Casey began writing. As an attempt to reconcile the desperation and stave off a growing resentment of everything, he stopped ignoring the stories lodged in the in-between spaces of numbers, reconcilements, and variances. On a distraught whim, he wrote, edited, revised, and rewrote these tense liminal tales. During the dead-time in meetings, the empty report load times, and the wastage of a long stop-and-go commute, an increasingly weird collection has been built from the anxiety of ledgers, balances, and numbers.
A writer of the weird, grotesque, and darkly wonderful, S.E. Casey’s philosophical horror focuses on a collection of oddities, forgotten places, and fallen characters. The horror isn’t the blood on the knife, but in the waste of the void. It is in vacant corners and empty rooms. It is in the endless pathologies of the phenomenally ungrateful. These neglected alleyways find their way to the same existential dead-end of Hell is other people. Twisted and strange tales explore aesthetics, absurdism, transcendentalism, and misanthropy from an off-center perspective.
He has self-published several weird short stories: HARLEQUIN MIDNIGHT, SWINE CITY, NICHOLAS’ LIGHT, and THE CENTURY COVEN, as well as STYGIAN DOORWAYS, a collection. He has also had stories and poems appear in such publications as Devolution Z Horror Magazine, The HWA Poetry Showcase Volume II, The Deadman’s Tome, Flash Fiction Magazine, The Siren’s Call, Black Ice Magazine, and Spelk Fiction among others. His flash fiction story DOWNWARD GOD won the Deadman’s Tome Month of Horror Story Contest. Also, his story BLACK STAINED GLASS finished in second place in the Molotov Cocktail Zine’s 2016 Flash Fear contest. See the full listing of published works here. He is currently working on a collection of connected Christmas stories which should prove to be drearily festive.
His reading tastes tend toward weird horror and existential fiction, stories that muddy the ground of reality: Albert Camus, Hubert Selby Jr, Clive Barker, and, of course, Thomas Ligotti. He supports independent writers, music, artists—anyone with a genuine voice existing outside the box. Find him on twitter @thesecasey or languishing in one of the Boston skyscrapers drowning in numbers.