For those not familiar with Murky Depths it is magazine hybrid of graphic novel and short fiction with a dark speculative slant. It features comic strips and beautifully illustrated dark stories intermingled with the occasional spice of a bit of poetry.

First up in this issue is the first episode of “Death and the Maiden” by Richard Calder. A brief slice of a graphic serial, the story presents an alter-verse reminiscent of Nancy A. Collins’ Sonja Blue books. A death-headed vigilante saves a backstreet prostitute who is so immersed in the life she begins to look like a blow up doll. The strip isn’t long enough to truly understand the premise or the world, but it is enough to set up a dark romance between the emotionally scarred and the physically scarred inhabitants of the street.

“Looking In, Looking Out” by Gareth D. Jones is the first story offering, thought it’s not in a traditional story form. Told in brief daily log style this story is about an alien reaching out to attempt first contact with the human race. The ending is somewhat expected once the reader gets the flavor of the tale, but is no less effective.

“Come to My Arms My Beamish Boy” by Douglas Warwick is the tale of a man slowly losing himself to Alzheimer’s disease that does as good of a job as “Cobwebs” by Kealan Patrick Burke (Postscripts 11). Cotton’s take on loss is more surreal, attributing Alzheimer’s to the damage done by creatures living partially outside our reality who eat away at us, feeding from our memories. Warwick does an impressive job at moving the reader through prose and plot.

Combining technology and the natural Jonathan C. Gillespie’s “Paston, Kentucky” spins a tale from a hive of robots that roam the U.S. countryside, similar to a dramatization of africanized bees, devouring metal to build hives and more of themselves. Only the small town of Paston, Ky seems to be immune so that’s where the co-creator goes, determined to get into a hive and shut down the bots, no matter how many people he has to sacrifice to do so.

“The Other Woman” by Chris Lynch continues the science fiction flavor in stand alone strip form. This one’s darkness is the sadness of loss, not the horror of violence, a feeling that builds steadily to the final reveal. As much about human nature as scientific impossibilities, this is a subtle best of show in the graphic department.

“67442” by Paul Abbamondi is short enough that the plot isn’t much more than suggested as the main character walks the reader through his world. It could be an interesting beginning to a much longer piece.

“Supply Ship” by Kate Kelly starts by setting up a very human society, abandoned on a harsh planet surface and desperate to fill needs, like sex and acceptance, as well as their bellies. But their desperate attempt at survival, hidden under the petty surface similarities between character and reader, is not entirely what it seems.

“State Your Name” by Jon Courtenay Grimwood is the most complex of this issue’s tales. The drive to get off planet is pushing much of the story’s society, with strict rules on weight limits and social status dictating who can and can’t escape. But Piertro has contingency plan and robbing a bank is the first step to setting himself free.

“Empathy” by Luke Cooper is the last strip on this issue, a chiaroscuro testament to the down side of psychic powers.

A bit of poetry, every bit as graphic as the previous tales, “Snowblind” by Marcy Lynn Tentchoff is a tale of a romantic downfall told in words as pictorial as the drawings that accompany it.

“Cyberevenge Inc.” by Eugie Foster has a comic book feel, telling the story of a writer, career and reputation ruined by a vicious, almost meaningless stalker. She stumbles upon a help site through an online support group that offers her not only the information and ability to shut her attacker down but an opportunity for cyber-revenge. Foster weaves in a stomach-twisting amount of tension before offering an out to her character that feels far less dangerous than the present situation.

“Today is Not” by Michael Sellars is the first stray from this issue’s science fiction theme. Instead it steps into New Weird, telling the tale of Abigail, a woman haunted by witnessing the strange deaths of her husband and daughter. Now she’ll go to any means to find the surreal creatures who might be able to bring her loved ones back, disregarding the fact that they, too, might be mortal. The story is comparable to the tales in Brett Alexander Savory’s No Further Messages, with the prose a short step below Savory’s.

“I Bleed Light” by Edward R. Norden is an electric blend of long poetry and mad graphics, a perfect example of what this magazine is meant to be. It meshes with the surreal style of the story behind it, twisting words and pictures together around the reader.

“The Quality of Mercy” by Ron Shiflet is another commentary on psychics. This one is a surprisingly dark tale of a young man who just knows on sight the deaths and darkness of other people’s souls. He feels a soul draining pull to save the people he meets that threatens to tear his mind away. But his nature demands that some sort of mercy be shown to the suffering, even if it doesn’t dictate what mercy is.

“Naught But Ash” by Anne Stringer is of a similar vein as issue two’s Yellow Warbler by Jason Sizemore. Set in a small town after the world has been ravaged by “lights from above” the tale is tinged with mystery, after the fact, as the hanging of the killer of a peaceful family only brings more questions rather than answers.

Finally comes Lavie Tidhar’s “The Pattern Makers of Zanzibar”. In a way this tale brings the issue back to the beginning, echoing the structure of “Looking In, Looking Out” in a series of one sided letters. Historical and science fiction simultaneously, this story tells of an 1800s newspaper reporter who stumbles upon a mass of Ickeian-style reptilian creatures who secretly control the patterns of our reality.

Issue #1 of Murky Depths presents a nice start, proving Murky Depths can easily make itself a staple of both speculative fiction and art genres.