Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

The sun was warm, even at 10AM. I collected the oars of the rowing boat from the machinery shed where we kept two pairs hung carefully on the wall. This was my first time using the boat this year, the first time I had felt able to bring it out. I walked the 200 yards to the lake and waded in. The boat, fastened by its painter to a post on the shore, was deliberately left some way out to stop the cows causing damage by scratching themselves against it.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

After our initial article went to press, Sightings received a flood of reader feedback. While most of the correspondence was quickly dismissed as fraudulent or cases of mistaken identity, a handful contained snapshots and Polaroids that lent unexpected credence to their claims. One correspondent even submitted a grainy 35mm home movie in which "Jean" — and, astonishingly, her oft‑noted pianist —can be seen performing at a regional televised talent quest...

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

The following morning my mother first picked up the Twins and all our schoolbags from Niamh’s house, then on to Ciara’s. Ciara squeezed in the back while her mother sat in the front passenger seat. As we were about to pull off, Aoife remarked that Ciara didn’t have a seat belt on; there were only three belts in the back of the car. Saoirse unclipped herself from the middle seat belt, yielding it to Ciara, unclipped my belt, snuggled in beside me, and clipped us both into the one belt.

“Sorted!” she announced and my mother pulled off again.

Rainbow Cactus Company, Virginia Beach, VA, USA
Jessie belts out some of their new songs as Daisy kept the beat going and have it flow right into the next song in their lineup. Two figures sit in the back of the club listening to the band play and watching as each member danced and play solo parts during the songs. The manager of the club, stood nearby with a few drag queens working that night.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

“Going riding again with Aaron, Lindsey?”

Transgender coming of age story. Darcy has often been mistaken for a girl. In his first year at university, he joins a local highland dance team. He is (incorrectly?) assigned to the girls squad. After some months of training, Darcy joins three girls in performing a sword dance at the Inverness Highland Show. A life-changing experience.

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

Cover art by Erin Halfelven
©2026, SammyC

As the car turned off the lane leading to Niamh’s house, and onto the road towards ours, I saw the security light outside our house come on. My heart sank: This could only mean one thing; my father had just driven or walked into the farmyard. For some reason, this was a much more troubling prospect than been seen by my mother wearing one of the Twins cheerleading skirts. She had, presumably been given an explanation by Niamh so would have expected to find me dressed like this when she called to collect me.

“Does he know?”

A LITTLE EXTRA 2 - THE RECKONING by Suzie Dalkin

The continuation of a story from the less glamorous end of the film industry.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears, a phantom wave of sound that followed us from the Tower Ballroom. The heavy silver trophy, now cradled in my lap, gleamed under the streetlights, reflecting the joyous chaos of our celebration. Mum drove, her face radiant, humming off-key to a pop song on the radio. Marco sat beside me, his arm casually draped over my shoulder, a warmth seeping through the vibrant fabric of my costume. Every now and then, his fingers would brush my neck, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cool Blackpool air.

The motorway hummed beneath us, a rhythmic thrum against the tyres. Fields blurred into green streaks, then towns, then more fields. Melanie, propped in the passenger seat, her brace a stark white against her dark jeans, pointed out landmarks with a fervour usually reserved for ancient ruins.

“That’s where we stopped for ice cream, remember? Last time we came.” She twisted in her seat, her eyes bright with memories of happy times.

Mum, focused on the road, a slight smile playing on her lips.

The bruised sky had bled into a deep, inky black, but the sliver of light Melanie had offered me still glowed, a warm ember in the cavern of my chest. Nationals. My heart thrummed a new rhythm against my ribs, a chaotic samba of fear and exhilaration.

Morning brought with it a crisp chill, but the air in my room felt charged, electric. I peeled off the nightgown, a strange reluctance clinging to my fingers. For a moment, I stood before the mirror, just Michael, pale and unremarkable. Then, a new impulse took hold.

The morning of the Yorkshire Regional Dance Championships dawned grey and drizzly, mirroring the churning in my stomach. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar comfort of my duvet doing little to soothe the frantic flutter in my chest.

The morning sun, still low and hazy, streamed through the studio windows, painting golden stripes across the polished floor. My muscles, a symphony of aches from yesterday’s session, still protested with every movement, but a new lightness infused my steps. I felt it, a subtle shift in my centre of gravity, a growing familiarity with the silicone weight, the snug embrace of the shaper. Melanie's hand-me-down leggings, initially a foreign skin, now felt like a second one, moving with me, not against me.