The Collective

The Collective

A Synopsis

In the cracked heart of Michigan, where the lakes are deep, the winters are cruel, and the past never quite dies, Jason Kondrath has been quietly assembling one of the most fearless short-fiction bodies of work in contemporary indie literature: The Collective.

These are not safe stories.

Here you’ll find:

• A two-headed snake that teaches a lesson no surgeon ever could
• A haunted rocking chair that rocks only when you’re not looking, and turns to watch you leave
• A white rapper named White Devil who might be Hitler’s grandson—or might just be the greatest troll rap ever birthed
• An alien woman with layered openings and a civilization that outlawed oral sex centuries ago
• A single mom named Destiny who only wanted the red shoes to match the dress a dead man bought her
• A waitress who weaponizes cherry-scented panties and hypnosis to break two grown men into obedient pets
• A Kit-Cat clock whose eyes stop moving the moment you finally figure out its secret
• And Wally Azer, a proud, paranoid store owner hunted by a voice on a hard-wired phone that was disconnected years ago

This is not horror.

This is not erotica.

This is not satire.

It is all three, braided together with the raw nerve of someone who has seen the dark and refuses to look away.

The Collective is what happens when Bukowski, Black Mirror, and a lifetime of Midwest scars sit down at the same bar and decide to tell the truth—no chaser.

Some stories will make you laugh until you cry.

Some will make you cry until you laugh.

All of them will stay with you long after the last page, rocking gently in the corner of the room when you thought you were finally alone.

Welcome to The Collective.



Once you’re in, the chair never stops moving.

$1.00