HYPNOS VOLUME 9 CONTENTS FOR FALL 2020 ISSUE 2

COVER DESIGN ______ANNA STROUD Illustrating a scene from Thomas Fredric Jones’ story “Cicadae”

CICADAE ______THOMAS FREDRIC JONES 3 Neither the eerie carousel in this story nor the woman who owns it are what they appear to be

NARTHEX OF THE DAMNED ______LAWRENCE BUENTELLO 11 A widower seeks his beloved wife in a nightmarish realm, which threatens to consume him

TRIUMPHANT CHAOS ______PATRICK RUTIGLIANO 19 Verse

EVERY CREEPING THING ______HARRIS COVERLEY 20 A strange, inexplicable flood almost drowns an old man——or something that looks like a man

THE SHADOW-THING ______CHRIS CORNETTO 23 An alchemist seeks to harness a power he doesn’t understand: the power to resurrect the dead

TA’XET ______CHRISTIAN MACKLAM 30 As a storm batters the coast of British Columbia, a lone lighthouse keeper awaits his doom

ILLUMINATIONS ______J. P. SEEWALD 31 An odd book offers a father a key to his own repressed childhood——and the horrors therein

PLYASKA ______TRAVIS D. ROBERSON 38 A traveling artist paints the most enchanting pictures, though they come with a terrible price

WHEN ALL TURNED TO DUST ______NESTOR DELFINO 41 A scientist races to reverse a chemical reaction that has turned the world’s waters to sand

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. Some material contained herein may be in the public domain in certain territories. Hypnos is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

Hypnos is published in the United States by Hypnos Magazine, 920 N. Leverett Ave., #607, Fayetteville, AR 72701. Submission guide- lines, back issues, contact information, and more can be found online at www.hypnosmagazine.com. Questions and comments should be addressed to the editor, DYLAN HENDERSON.

Copyright © 2020 by Hypnos Magazine i

CONTENTS THE PIECE MAKERS ______JULEIGH HOWARD-HOBSON 51 Verse

THE SHRINE OF THE LIZARD-GOD ______DAVID R. LLOYD 52 In the middle of the desert, beneath an ocean of sand, something stirs restlessly in the dark

HOT DOCTRINE ______CHARLES WILKINSON 53 An unhappy couple checks into the Hope Springs Guest House, a decision they come to regret

WITCH’S GARDEN ______RONI RAE STINGER 61 Verse

THE SPANIEL TREE ______JOHN WATERFALL 62 A servant sees the brutal crime his young master commits as well as the retribution that follows

TROUBLED WATERS ______MICHAEL MAYES 63 An ex-convict returns to Lake Bennington to face the ghost that murdered his brother

THE SPIRE ______D. J. TYRER 77 Eager for adventure, two college students seek out an entity “alike unto an angel”

THE SPECIAL COLLECTION ______MICHAEL DITTMAN 83 A judge with a guilty conscience will do anything to be reunited with his dead son

ANGELS ______JAY CASELBERG 90 While home for the holidays, a young woman must take part in a nightmarish tradition

TEMPLES OF FIRE ______D. C. MALLERY 93 An American on vacation in Iran can only watch helplessly as her fellow tourists die——one by one

HOSPITAL BIRTH ______CHRISTINE J. WHITLOCK 106 The maternity ward on the fifth floor of a decaying hospital houses an unnatural infestation

BEHIND THE WALL ______TYLOR JAMES 107 From behind the wall, a steady drip calls to a young boy and his sister, urging them to investigate

PRECIOUS CARGO ______KEVIN P. KEATING 114 Two boys, while searching for money and adventure, find only mystery aboard the Lady Cordelia

A DROP OF BLOOD ______D. L. HENDERSON 117 The curator of an awful little museum collects geodes that, when cracked open, drip blood

REPRINT: AUGUST HEAT ______W. F. HARVEY 123 An artist is suddenly inspired to draw a picture of a condemned murderer, whom he then meets

CONTRIBUTORS ______126

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Cicadae By THOMAS FREDRIC JONES

T WAS JUST PAST NOON ON SATURDAY, this, he’d looked around guiltily to see if anyone was and for more than an hour Michael had been observing him. I watching impatiently as the old man shuffled to- He’s probably worried about that hellish Mrs. ward him from the farthest row of carousel ponies. Not Aldrich returning, Michael said to himself bitterly. He once had the man looked in his direction on the needn’t worry——she won’t be leaving the compart- platform, and Michael couldn’t help feeling that the ment for a while yet. old coot was ignoring him on purpose. Particularly Somehow, in a limited way, Michael could now maddening was the fact that the eighty- or ninety-year- intuit Mrs. Aldrich’s thoughts. Somehow he knew that old geezer kept halting to examine every animal that she was in the nearby engine compartment (perhaps happened to strike his fancy. Several times he’d even less than fifty feet away), still attending to whatever it reached out to touch their bellies——Michael couldn’t was that she had stolen from him yesterday——some- imagine why——and, whenever the old man had done thing essential to his very existence, something pro- foundly vital that she had excised from his body or his

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HYPNOS mind. He recalled with horror climbing onto the blue single blue light bulb suspended by a wire from the pony at Mrs. Aldrich’s behest. He remembered rafters, and by the glow of that eerie light he could just clinging desperately to the pony’s brass pole as the make out rows of wooden shelves against the wall. The heavy teak platform began to revolve faster and faster. shelving ascended almost to the carousel’s steeply He recalled the calliope music growing louder and slanted roof; and, although the upper shelves were louder, and the numerous clear electric bulbs en- bare, the middle and lower shelves were lined with circling the carousel blinking on and off ever more scores of five-gallon mason jars, each filled with a rapidly and insistently. His final recollection before bluish liquid. In some of these jars Michael perceived losing consciousness was a sensation of sinking or the shadow or vague outline of something immersed in immersing into something warm. And now the terrible the liquid——but, given the distance and the low void he felt inside him caused Michael to fear that he illumination, he had no idea what these objects might would never be able to survive on his own again——that be. There were also perhaps a dozen containers he was no longer complete, no longer an independent scattered about on the dirt floor, all of them lying on entity. He even dared to speculate (though he knew it their sides with their lids missing. Michael could only was irrational, blasphemous even) that Mrs. Aldrich presume that they had been taken from the shelves and had absconded with his very soul. discarded after their contents had been removed—— He had tried to call out to the old man when he’d but for what reason? first appeared on the platform an hour earlier, but Abruptly, the focus of his dream changed and Michael discovered that he had lost the ability to speak. Michael found himself peering over the shoulder of He would have readily walked over to the man, but he Mrs. Aldrich, who was kneeling on the ground in front couldn’t make his legs move——in fact, he couldn’t feel of him, unscrewing the lid from an empty five-gallon them. He couldn’t feel any part of his body at all, container that had thick, amber-tinted glass and was actually, not even his face, not even his own very old looking. Stepping sideways for a better view, expression. Michael observed something else on the ground next Michael had no idea what Mrs. Aldrich had done to the old woman. In the dim light the object appeared to him after he had unwittingly served to bring her to be a small doll or stuffed animal. back. He was certain, however, that his participation in When Mrs. Aldrich finished unscrewing the lid, her resurrection had been pre-determined seventeen she leaned forward to pick up something on the years ago——he knew this from his own memory as well ground in front of her that Michael hadn’t yet noticed. as from what he sensed from Mrs. Aldrich’s mind. He Grasping the unknown object with both hands, the could only suppose that, once he had fulfilled his woman lifted it to her face, rotated it slightly, and mission to resurrect her less than twenty-four hours savagely bit into it several times until there was a before, the evil woman (or witch or demon or whatever cracking sound. Then she quickly held the object over she was) had injected him with some sort of paralyzing the container. Michael could clearly hear heavy drops narcotic and bound him to one of the carousel horses. of some sort of liquid falling into it. Satisfied that she All that was left to him now was his ability to see and had deposited enough of the liquid into the container, to listen. And oh, how he wished he couldn’t listen! Mrs. Aldrich cast the damaged object aside, then Those liquid, scraping noises he’d heard on the plat- lapped up the residue of liquid on her fingers with her form during the night had frightened him terribly. tongue. Averting his eyes with disgust, Michael glanced But even more unnerving than those dreadful at the discarded object on the ground and realized at sounds last night was the dream he had shortly before once that it was in fact a living entity——quite possibly a sunrise this morning. In his dream (if it was a dream— crab or an abnormally large insect. After counting its —for it seemed more like a vision or a presentment), six legs, which were still flailing feebly in the air (for the Michael was located in a remote area of the carousel’s creature had landed on its back), Michael concluded it engine compartment that he hadn’t seen on Friday was an insect, evidently an oriental or Far Eastern afternoon when he’d entered through the compart- variety of beetle, given its jet-black color and toad-like ment’s only door on the opposite side. There was a proportions.

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THOMAS FREDRIC JONES What the woman did next was incomprehensible ticed, or else hadn’t taken seriously, the warnings and to Michael. She took hold of the doll-like thing (which, “No Trespassing” signs posted around the perimeter to his horror, was now squirming) and dropped it into of the forest, as well as at the trailhead leading up to the container. There was an immediate chemical re- the carousel. The abandoned structure had been action, and the container began to fill up with a bluish considered an attractive nuisance (if not a hazard) for vapor. Moving swiftly, Mrs. Aldrich clapped the lid longer than anyone could remember——at any rate, onto the container and screwed it back on tight. After before that almost legendary Boy Scout troop dis- bending over to grip the bottom of the container with appeared back in the early 1920s, eight boys and their both hands, she stood up and moved toward the tiers master vanishing just like that. It was rumored that they of shelving. Meanwhile, possibly in response to her had been camping somewhere nearby, maybe even on approaching footsteps, a faint, dry, rustling sound this very platform. could be heard coming from behind the rows of con- On the other hand, Michael thought that the old tainers: a frenetic, disoriented scuttling that reminded fellow might be a caretaker employed by the county, Michael of the nest of cockroaches he’d uncovered or possibly by the trust that Mrs. Aldrich had set up a behind a friend’s refrigerator a few years back. How- year or two after she had purchased the carousel at ever, by the time Mrs. Aldrich had deposited the glass auction back in 1920. The army surplus coat and container on one of the lower wooden shelves, the yellow rain had seemed to say as much. The man also frenzied scurrying sounds behind the shelving had looked strangely familiar to Michael. He and Jimmy completely subsided. might very well have gotten into some sort of alter- cation with him when they were boys in the mid-fifties. ICHAEL’S VISION OR DREAM ENDED They were always getting into mischief back then: M this morning at sunrise, four hours before the vandalizing, setting grass fires, stealing chickens. old man would make his appearance. Because Michael recollected how upset their parents had been Michael was unable to shut his eyes, the brilliant rays when he and Jimmy, both age eleven, were finally of light that shot across the platform were nearly caught red-handed trying to hotwire a local orchardist’s blinding him. He feared he might lose his eyesight for- tractor. Then one evening, a few months after the trac- ever. Thankfully, a passing cloud intervened to block tor incident, the two boys ran into more trouble than the sun long enough for it to ascend above the they could possibly handle, trouble that would alter carousel’s roofline. their lives forever. Unaccountably, as the sun finally disappeared from view, Michael thought of Jimmy. Had his old boyhood UDDENLY, MICHAEL WAS AWARE THAT companion also witnessed (or dreamed about) Mrs. S the old man had stopped to give special attention Aldrich’s bizarre behavior in the compartment, once to a golden pony located about eighteen feet away. It he had fallen under her control seventeen years seemed a remarkable coincidence that this golden before? Had he also heard those insect sounds behind pony was the very same animal Jimmy had been riding the shelving? Had he also seen——shortly after Mrs. when Michael last saw him on that fateful night seven- Aldrich had left the compartment——the gruesome teen years before. Although he’d never been able to black beetles crawling up the wall and embedding (or recall what had happened shortly after they’d climbed re-embedding) themselves in the dark mahogany onto their respective ponies (and he supposed he rafters and beams overhead? And what of the doll-like should be grateful for that), Michael would never forget thing that had been tossed into the container to inter- how peculiar the carousel’s pipe organ had sounded mingle with the insect’s blood? Had Jimmy wondered just before he’d apparently lost consciousness. The (as Michael himself now wondered) if that wretched next thing he knew, the sun was coming up and he was wriggling object had anything to do with him? running as fast as he could down the forest trail toward town, already feeling guilty about having left his best ICHAEL ASSUMED THAT THE OLD MAN friend in the lurch just to save his own cowardly hide. M who was slowly approaching him hadn’t no- 5

HYPNOS Regrettably, the police afterward acted as though ORD MUST HAVE GOTTEN AROUND they didn’t believe Michael’s story about Jimmy and W that the police suspected Michael was in some him following their former third-grade teacher, Mrs. way complicit in Jimmy and Mrs. Aldrich’s dis- Aldrich, into the forest after Jimmy had spotted her appearance. Michael’s parents soon caved under the two nights in a row walking up the trail to her carousel adverse social pressure, and within a couple of months with an old-fashioned gas lantern in her hand. Jimmy’s Michael’s family had moved to another county about house was near the trailhead at the edge of town (as three hundred miles away to resume, if possible, a was Mrs. Aldrich’s), and he’d recognized her right off normal existence. That was back in 1956. And now, because of the cape she always wore. Michael had ex- nearly two decades later, as irrational as it might seem plained to the detective in charge that it had been easy to him, Michael had felt an overwhelming need to for them to tail Mrs. Aldrich in the pitch-black forest, return to Birkston (the scene of the crime, so to speak) with the light from her lantern guiding them. They to try to determine what had really happened——that hadn’t lost sight of her until she’d stepped onto the was the excuse he kept giving himself, anyway, hardly platform and, simultaneously, scores of the carousel’s imagining that he might be fulfilling another agenda decorative lights had blinked on. Because the two boys altogether. had been walking in near absolute darkness for so long, More than anything else, Michael’s urge to return they were dazzled by the unexpected illumination and to Birkston had been prompted by an onslaught of re- couldn’t see a thing for about ten seconds. By the time curring nightmares that began two weeks ago. Each of they recovered their vision, Mrs. Aldrich was gone. those nightmares (save for a final heartrending dream Not yet willing to give up the chase, Michael and about Jimmy) commenced with his standing before the Jimmy stepped onto the platform and cautiously carousel as it began to revolve and, at the same time, walked around it. They considered entering the engine its antique calliope began emitting highly discordant compartment——they even opened its door——but music. As the carousel’s platform gradually picked up decided against it because the room seemed too creepy speed and the music became more and more insistent, and dark. Finally abandoning their attempt to locate he found himself mesmerized by the blur of tiny Mrs. Aldrich, the two boys decided to try riding some ornamental lights overhead as they whirled through the of the carousel animals instead——just for the fun of it air like streaming white ribbons. At last, when the (and also, no doubt, to distract them from their fears). platform’s revolutions had reached a nearly impossible The last thing Michael remembered was sitting on his rate of speed and the organ music was at its most blue pony while Jimmy mounted the golden one and strident, the carousel abruptly ground to a halt, and the took out his switchblade to carve his name on the music ceased. Then, to his horror, Michael observed pony’s neck. Both boys were caught off guard when the that many of the carousel’s wooden ponies (perhaps a music erupted from the carousel’s organ, and they score or more that he could see) had been rendered barely had time to gape up at the tall brass pipes that transparent. Even from the distance, he was able to projected above the engine compartment. make out within the hollow cavities of these ponies Michael later told the detective repeatedly that he vestiges of human anatomies: naked torsos without had no memory of what had happened right after the limbs, elongated necks, and misshapen craniums that organ music began; nor did he have any recollection of were crammed up inside the head of each animal. At what had occurred during the eight hours before he the top of the truncated skulls he could even see what awoke to find himself running back down the forest looked vaguely like eyes with pupils, grape-sized trail in the morning. Understandably, the detective protuberances that were thrust up on stems behind the wasn’t too pleased with Michael’s explanation. Mrs. ponies’ own glass eyes. Aldrich and Jimmy had gone missing, and Michael was All of Michael’s nightmares ended with his fleeing the only witness. The eleven-year-old delinquent had in terror from the carousel, just as he had fled from the to be hiding something. carousel in real life years before, leaving Jimmy behind to fend for himself. While he had never been able to remember what had occurred after the carousel had

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THOMAS FREDRIC JONES started turning, his latest dreams afforded visions not when did the dream begin? Certainly not before he only of the rapid spinning of the carousel but of its visited the Birkston town library Friday morning to gruesome aftermath. Nevertheless, he doubted whe- study the newspaper accounts of Jimmy and Mrs. ther even the most ghastly images of human forms Aldrich’s disappearance; and certainly not before he embedded in the hollow cavities of carousel animals returned to his hotel room later that afternoon to take would have been enough to make him run away back a nap. On the other hand, Michael had no memory of in 1956. He could only vaguely speculate that either waking up from his nap or leaving the hotel something else must have occurred on that fateful night when, later on, he found himself trudging up through that he was continuing to repress, even in his dreams. the forest toward the carousel. He might have If Michael’s recent spate of nightmares (as far as imagined he was dreaming then, except that the cir- they went) had not been sufficient to make him want cumstances were nearly the same as when he’d fled the to return to Birkston, his final, excruciating dream carousel seventeen years before: he hadn’t been about Jimmy convinced him that he should. Unlike in dreaming at that time, and common sense told him he his previous dreams, Michael was standing on the wasn’t dreaming now. He could only suppose that he’d carousel platform itself. Jimmy, who appeared as a boy left the hotel and walked partway up the trail in some of eleven, sat a few feet away from him on a golden sort of trance. pony, gripping the pony’s brass pole as if his life Whatever the cause, hypnotic or otherwise, depended on it. The carousel had not yet started re- Michael was already more than halfway up the trail to volving, and Jimmy was begging Michael not to the carousel before he came to his senses (or regained abandon him again (inferring that Michael owed him consciousness). He immediately halted and gazed because Michael had deserted him in the past): around in bewilderment. It felt as though he were “You won’t leave me behind again this time, will walking into the past with the same boulders, trees, you?” Jimmy asked over and over again. wooden railings, and fallen logs before him that he’d Michael knew that he would never be able to forget seen while fleeing the carousel years before. Nothing the way Jimmy looked as he pleaded with that wistful, had changed or deteriorated. Even the rope bridge gap-toothed smile of his. It seemed both ironic and sad with the green wooden planks that spanned a small to Michael that the gap in his friend’s front teeth was creek——the same rolling and swaying bridge that he about the only feature of Jimmy’s that he could recall and Jimmy had crossed——was in perfect repair. with any clarity after all this time——except, perhaps, for Through an opening in the poplars ahead of him, the blue Brooklyn Dodgers cap he always wore. Michael caught sight of the pinnacled roof of the carousel. S THAT BLOOD ON HIS HAND? MICHAEL He wanted desperately to turn back. Instinctively, I wondered as the old man continued to linger by the he knew he was in great danger. But something had golden pony. Did he cut himself when he ran his hand taken control of him and was pulling him. It was as if underneath that pony’s belly? All he could guess was continuing on to the carousel was a foregone con- that there was a ragged seam of resin-hardened fabric, clusion, as if it had already been ordained. Michael was or perhaps a sharp ridge of wood, where the two halves no longer master of his own destiny——if ever he had of the pony were glued together. He must have cut been since that ill-fated night when he and Jimmy had himself pretty badly: there’s even blood on the plat- foolishly chosen to follow Mrs. Aldrich into the forest. form beneath the pony. Then Michael thought he saw a drop of blood fall from the pony’s belly itself. But ICHAEL RECALLED THAT UPON ENT- that was impossible, Michael reassured himself. It had M ering the clearing yesterday, his first impression to have been an illusion. of the carousel was that it had a somber, funereal Illusion… If only he could convince himself that aspect about it. Because of the heavy canopy of oak everything he’d experienced since yesterday afternoon leaves above, the sun hardly touched any part of it. In was an illusion——or, at worst, an agonizingly the absence of light, the carved animals on the plat- prolonged dream. But then, if this was all a dream, form gave the appearance of specters in the shadows—

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HYPNOS —frozen in the act of pulling an immense canopied canvas belt similar to those issued by the military. At hearse. As Michael debated whether or not to one end of the belt was a tarnished brass buckle with approach closer, the sky darkened and it began to rain. the words “Be Prepared” embossed on it, just beneath He quickly ran to the platform and leaped onto it for the symbol of an eagle. There have to be others around shelter beneath the carousel’s high sloping roof. While here——a whole troop’s worth probably, Michael said steadying himself, he noticed that the door to the en- to himself sardonically, half laughing under his breath. gine compartment was partway open, and that some- Striving to maintain his emotional equilibrium, where behind the door an incandescent light dimly Michael kept excavating around the object until, with glowed. It was like looking into the entrance of a crypt. his bare hands, he was able to brush away enough soil Michael tried to back away, but couldn’t. Instead, to reveal that it was not a not a leaf he was unearthing he walked against his will toward the inner edge of the but the brim of a cap, a dark-blue baseball cap encased platform. Within thirty seconds he was standing just in a strange rubbery film. Removing soil by the handful inside the engine compartment’s doorway, temporarily now, Michael worked rapidly until he finally discerned blinded because he had unwisely turned to gaze up at the face of a young boy who looked as if he was the gleaming light bulb that was mounted above the sleeping. Even through the dull waxy sheen of the pro- door behind him. Regaining his eyesight at last, he was tective coating, Michael knew immediately that it was able to distinguish the carousel’s engine and calliope at Jimmy. He had been perfectly preserved in death. the center of the approximately thirty-foot-wide hex- Jimmy’s eyes, thankfully, were closed, but his mouth agonal chamber. Surrounding the carousel mechanism was slightly open, and Michael could see his teeth and and calliope was a wide margin of oily, compacted, (as if to allay any doubts) the telltale gap between the mostly barren earth that Michael assumed continued upper two incisors. all the way around the room. It took perhaps a minute Michael worked feverishly until he had exposed the for Michael to perceive that something was poking out entire body, from head to foot. He debated whether or of the ground almost directly in front of him. The not to free Jimmy’s corpse from the protective casing object looked a lot like a crocus just emerging from in which it was apparently embalmed. He couldn’t winter hibernation. The soil certainly seemed to have understand why he felt such a strong impulse to set lifted and parted to either side of it as the unusual- Jimmy free. After all, wouldn’t his body rot? Wouldn’t looking plant had pushed upward. After pulling the it be better to preserve Jimmy as he was? Then his door open a little wider to let in more light, he walked hand felt a quivering movement within the casing. over to take a closer look. The dark blue leaf of the Briefly standing, Michael reached into his pocket plant looked unnatural——artificial even——and for the tiny penknife he kept attached to his car’s key appeared to be coated with some kind of latex-like ring. Then he knelt down again to make small incision substance. Michael cautiously reached down to touch just above the crown of Jimmy’s baseball cap. There it with the tip of his forefinger. was an immediate release of fetid air from inside the The leaf inside the coating felt surprisingly stiff, like casing, followed closely by what sounded like a cardboard. And in stark contrast to the temperature of strenuous inbreathing——not only from inside the the compartment, which was cold and dank, the leaf casing but from every direction in the compartment, as was warm, and the ground around it was also warm and if the walls themselves were respiring too. Being careful somewhat humid. There was a short-handled spade not to cut Jimmy’s face (which he perceived to be leaning against the engine that Michael had not seen twitching), Michael ran the blade of the knife all the before because of the darkness. Quickly fetching the way down the length of the casing. Gingerly removing spade, he began digging about a foot away from the leaf the rubbery, balloon-like material from around so as not to harm it. (Why he was so concerned about Jimmy’s feet, Michael felt even more intense warmth hurting the plant was not quite clear to him.) After he emanating from Jimmy’s body. Astonishingly, there had dug down about ten inches, the shovel became was no visible decay. entangled in a loop of webbed fabric, which he then As Michael worked his way on his hands and knees gently pulled out of the ground. It was a deteriorated toward Jimmy’s head (folding the casing back as he

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THOMAS FREDRIC JONES went), he thought he felt Jimmy’s torso shudder a little. the doorway with her back to the light. Swaying slightly, Abruptly standing again, Michael stepped forward to she was still wearing her old familiar black cape, but look down at Jimmy’s face and saw that his old friend her hair (once died dark brown) had turned pure white was staring back at him. Before Michael could say any- and had thinned considerably. Both her hair and her thing, Jimmy sat up. For a brief moment he appeared cape were covered with dirt and debris from her recent to recognize Michael and even smiled at him. The effort to free herself. Because Mrs. Aldrich’s face was smile soon faded, however, and Jimmy began inhaling mostly hidden in the shadows, Michael was unable to and exhaling convulsively as if he was trying to inflate see how significantly it had altered (or, more accu- something impossibly large like a life raft or air rately, evolved in its underlying bone structure) since mattress. he and Jimmy had last seen her seventeen years before. Shaken and unsure what he should do, Michael Even with her cape, Michael might not have backed away and waited for the frantic, heavy breathing recognized Mrs. Aldrich——except for her voice. He to subside. Then he watched as this tragic remnant of now realized that he had been hearing her voice all Jimmy, who he sensed did not desire his assistance, along, somewhere in the back of his mind, well before struggled to stand up. As his old friend slowly rose to he had left for Birkston. Keeping her attention di- his feet, Michael perceived that Jimmy was growing rected at Michael, she said sternly, “Jimmy, please go appreciably older and taller with every breath he took. get one of my jars for your friend.” Indeed, by the time Jimmy was fully upright, he’d As she spoke, the rain began to fall much harder nearly reached middle age, surpassing Michael’s age by outside and Jimmy hesitated, seemingly distracted by at least five or six years. Sadly, at this point Jimmy no the downpour. For a few seconds, Michael hoped that longer appeared to recognize Michael; in fact, Jimmy his old boyhood friend might be having second hardly took any notice of Michael at all as he shuffled thoughts. But then, all at once, Jimmy leaped up and to the side of the engine, then quickly disappeared obediently scurried out of sight behind the engine. The behind it. din from the rain hitting the roof nearly drowned out After a moment passed, Michael began to hear the what Mrs. Aldrich had to say next: sounds of activity from some unknown location on the “Wouldn’t you like to ride your pretty blue pony other side of the compartment. It was as if the surface again, Michael?” of the dirt floor on the far side of the engine were being Without thinking, Michael walked past Mrs. savagely raked or clawed by the iron prongs of a trowel. Aldrich and stepped onto the platform. He had just This loud abrading noise was soon displaced by what resolved to make a run for it when the calliope music sounded like a sudden upheaval of the ground and a began. subsequent cascade of soil mixed with bits of rock or gravel, some of which pinged sharply against the side T WAS NEARLY SUNDOWN NOW. AT LEAST of the engine. After an interval of silence, Michael I five hours had gone by, and the old man had still could hear the whining, grunting, and labored not acknowledged Michael’s presence. He had breathing of what was unmistakably an older woman squandered a considerable amount of time attending struggling to extricate herself from what Michael to the golden pony, and several other ponies after that, guessed was either the earth or possibly even a casing before finally turning his attention in Michael’s di- like that from which he had released Jimmy a few rection. minutes before. Oh, thank god. I think he’s seen me! Michael told himself excitedly. RS. ALDRICH MUST HAVE CREPT Indeed, the old man was now moving rapidly M around behind Michael while he was staring toward Michael. But he only managed to travel about with dismay at Jimmy, who had just returned from ten feet before he stopped again. Apparently, he behind the engine and was now slumped down against needed to reassure himself one last time that he wasn’t it, apparently exhausted from his ordeal. When she being observed by anyone. While glancing around spoke, Michael reeled around to find her standing near warily, he walked to the edge of the platform and stared

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HYPNOS out into the forest, listening for any sound. Satisfied at shoulders or his own. Then, unaccountably, the old last that no one was watching him, the old man man began rocking Michael and the pony back and hastened to Michael’s side. forth with such violence that the pony’s wood began to Michael had expected that once he had been seen, split apart at the center. The old man was obviously the old man would immediately untie him. However, making a futile attempt to wrench the carousel pony rather than freeing Michael right away, the fool was from its brass pole. Why doesn’t he just untie me? wasting precious time peering into Michael’s eye. For Michael asked desperately as the sensation of being a fleeting second, Michael thought he could see his ripped asunder was already becoming more than he own reflection in the old man’s eyes (which were now could bear. He may have lost his voice, but he dis- abnormally large), but then he realized it wasn’t his covered that he could still scream inside. reflection he was seeing: it was an image of the blue pony that he had assumed was behind him. Logic told UNDAY MORNING FOUND THE OLD MAN him that he must be tied to the animal——so why wasn’t S sitting by himself on a log in the forest. On the he able to see himself, too? ground in front of him were the bloody remains of A large tree crashed to the ground somewhere in what looked like a deer or some other larger animal. the forest nearby. The concussion could be felt even Next to the dismembered carcass were two halves of a on the platform, and the old man whipped his head blue carousel pony that had been split apart evenly around in the direction of the noise with a rapidity that from head to tail. Just as the sun’s rays filtered through Michael found startling. There was an intimation of the forest, simultaneously grazing the carcass, the fear, perhaps panic, in the old man’s face that was even severed pony, and the old man’s shoes, an outraged more threatening to Michael than the scraping and woman began shrieking and cursing in the distance. scouring sounds he had heard on the platform the The old man slowly raised his head to look in the di- night before. rection of the outburst, but showed no sign of anxiety Again turning his attention to Michael, the old man or concern. He was far too old to worry about anything reached out with both of his hands and gripped what now. He just wagged his head a little and smiled that Michael had to assume were either the pony’s big, wide, gap-toothed smile of his.

10

The Narthex of the Damned By LAWRENCE BUENTELLO

RIOR TO HIS WIFE’S DEATH, BEN hours in the building’s dark, oppressive basement Latham usually spent his free hours in the where the library kept mountainous shelves of bound P university library researching the subjects rele- periodicals, journals, and magazines scarcely utilized vant to his latest academic paper, or drafting notes for by the faculty, let alone the student body. a book on educational institutions in early America in He brought his books to this place——not books on the sunlit corner of the study carrels at which he sat. history, but books on supernatural subjects, an area of These solitary intellectual pursuits were happy ones for study he’d seldom entertained before Naomi’s passing. Latham, and though his wife was seldom able to fully He didn’t wish to be seen reading sensational ma- share his interest in the ‘chained libraries’ and ‘secret terial——but she had told him, on more than one collections’ of elitist gentry, he enjoyed sharing his occasion, that she believed in things not found in discoveries with her. academically approved volumes, spiritual realities that But after her death, an event that broke Latham’s crossed between the realms of the real and the in- spirit more than his colleagues understood, or his corporeal. She believed that every human being family, or his friends, he began spending much longer possessed a soul capable of trespassing the boundaries 11

HYPNOS of the living and the dead, and though he only listened Still, nothing Latham employed in his home politely to appease her, because he loved her, he never seemed to penetrate this inscrutable veil. shared her belief in the existence of unreal things. Candles, witching boards, meditations, all proved At first, he only mourned her death as any man useless. would mourn, and grieved through his tears at the His incantations, memorized from ‘authentic’ thought of never seeing her again, holding her, pressing books of alchemy, failed to bring her voice into the his cheek to hers, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling room, her visage, her presence. If his wife’s beliefs her body next to his in their bed, comforted by their were true, then the information he’d gathered from a union, the loneliness of his life extinguished by her dozen books on supernatural communication was laughter, her words, her loving presence. counterfeit. Or perhaps he only wanted to believe in a But his grief never faded, nor did the pain of his methodology that would reunite him with his Naomi loss leave his heart. to the exclusion of reason and logic. One evening in the house they once shared, after Despite his failure, Latham kept to his studies of he’d convinced himself that he wouldn’t be desecrating the supernatural for many months, to the detriment of her memory by disturbing the items on the nightstand his professional standing at the university, until one by her side of the bed, he found a book on the super- weary night he happened to overhear two of the libra- natural and read through the pages until morning. rians conversing at the Reference desk of a recent Though he initially considered its contents super- discovery in the remnants of a burned-out building in stitious nonsense, he felt, perhaps illogically, that an historic district of Boston. The two librarians were Naomi’s mind, her personality, had been influenced surprised by the intensity of his interest, but he had by the subject of the volume and wished to relive her heard them say that several rare books were found through its words. Thereafter he found his wife’s other intact in the ruins, including an early American holo- books on various shelves in the house and read every graphic manuscript that was nothing less than a page of every volume. grimoire on spirit communications. Strangely, whereas Despite his embarrassment at having to entertain the other books were singed and variously scarred, the such spurious beliefs about human existence, he kept manuscript survived the intense heat and flames of the reading, and after weeks of exposure to suggestions fire unscathed. about spiritual realms and the connection between It was another day’s research to discover that the body and soul, the notion struck him that, if true, his manuscript was now being housed in the Special wife hadn’t simply faded from the earth, but lived on— Collections department of Boston University, though —and if she lived on—— its academic value was yet to be determined. After His logical mind fought valiantly to suppress the calling the library to receive a better description of the irrational suggestions in his wife’s books; after all, he manuscript, he spent several days obsessed by the had labored diligently to present an academic’s per- notion of actually seeing its pages, inexplicably fasci- sona to the world, and how would the world respond nated by the existence of the book. It was another few to his sudden abandonment of a scientific perception weeks, however, before Latham could use his standing of reality? as an historian to convince the archivist in Boston to But day after day he wondered of the possibilities, let him examine the manuscript for purely academic if only what he’d read was actually true——that the dead reasons. were simply spiritual essences removed to another realm of universal reality, and that these spirits were ATHAM REFUSED TO BELIEVE THAT HIS sensate and could communicate with the living. L obsession with the manuscript spoke of a troubled Perhaps it was inevitable that he would begin ex- mind, but instead justified his quiet mania as legitimate perimenting with the techniques he found in her scholarship, albeit scholarship that might assist him in collection, at first sparingly, and with great skepticism, contacting his lost Naomi. and then with ever-increasing desperation, spurred by He rode the train to Boston and rented a room in her memory. an old, dilapidated section of the city, setting up his

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LAWRENCE BUENTELLO table of books, candles, and writing implements to The manuscript, produced on vellum, was dated to replicate his study area at home. No one in this neigh- the mid-eighteenth century, and should have been borhood would bother inquiring into his conduct, or either written in formalized English or, if it was a any practices occurring in the small apartment. scholarly work, classical Latin. The practice of pro- But since he knew the archivist at Boston ducing academic works in Latin was archaic even in University would never let the manuscript out of the that time, so he was surprised to see the passages room in which it was kept, let alone allow him to comprised of a curiously slang-ridden form of Colonial remove it to a damp, unclean apartment, he decided English as well as a mystifyingly codified Latin. The he must utilize surreptitious means to procure its English passages he could easily understand, despite contents for his studies. recurring words that seemed entirely misplaced, but In a room in the library full of carefully preserved the Latin words were simply nouns and verbs strung volumes, antique shelves holding equally antique together with no regard to proper grammar. books, and surrounded by an atmosphere assiduously The old archivist’s return startled him, and he maintained by deeply humming dehumidifiers, the realized he’d been staring at the passages in a hypnotic archivist brought the manuscript to where Latham sat state, puzzling over the ciphers in Latin with intense at a long wooden table, a notepad at one hand and a concentration. He had no notion of how much time pencil in the other. The threat of even a small drop of had passed, but the archivist let him know that his ink from a pen meant that Latham must apply only the scheduled appointment was unfortunately at an end, few approved methods for transcription in his exam- though he was certainly welcome to make another ination; the dole-faced gentleman who offered him the appointment. book fortified this philosophy with a tedious, but Latham thanked the elder man, collected his necessary sermon. notepad and exited the room, now anxious to render All of these precautions Latham good-naturedly the images on the camera in a hard copy that he could accepted as de rigor for any researcher, but internally study at his leisure. The English passages had offered he could barely contain his anxiety. enticing suggestions of ‘contact with the departed’ and As he scratched patiently at the notepad with the ‘access to the house of the damned’. He was certain pencil, he also patiently waited for the archivist to lose there was more to the writing, much more, that might his resolve and leave Latham alone with the manu- yield to careful analysis. script. Eventually, the elder man buttoned his coat in the cool air of the room and excused himself, OR DAYS, LATHAM LABORED OVER HIS ostensibly for the taking of lunch or some other duty F translations of the printed photographs in the that librarians must endure. decrepit environment of his rented room, creating a As soon as his nerve allowed, Latham pulled the facsimile complete with references to extinct texts and small camera from his coat pocket and began carefully baffling quotes from historical figures for whom he photographing each page of the book. could find no mention in any biographical volume. For this enterprise he’d practiced long hours in the The codified Latin presented the most difficulties; by small, dank apartment so that by the time the old great luck more than scholarship, Latham recognized archivist returned to the room he would have been a mathematical pattern associated with ancient Greek able to expertly record each page without error. When mystics and pored over dusty reference books for he’d completed his photographic work, he returned to clarity. Only after arranging a meeting with an elderly manually transcribing passages from the manuscript, professor at the university whose specialty was ancient making occasional notes that were nothing more than Greek literature was he able to understand the con- the window dressing of his unethical confiscation of the figuration of Latin and draft a reasonable translation in contents of the book. modern English. He did notice, however, as he waited for the Eventually he compiled a listing of ostensible archivist to return, that aspects of the language seemed incantations from the text, recitations promising to incongruous. “open the door to that other life” enigmatically

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HYPNOS suggested by the manuscript. Though he could easily owners of these voices, but he was blind to anything recite the incantations themselves, he hesitated——his but the building before him. A fearful impulse told him translations were by no means exhaustive, and their to move forward through the doors, and, because he uses only assumed. His scholarship of the material had no longer wished to remain in range of the tortured been done in haste, a bitter concession for an voices, he obeyed. academic. The doors swung open with the least effort, But the memory of his beloved Naomi refused to exposing a dark vestibule beyond. Without outward allow him to subject the text to the years of study it confirmation, Latham knew he was entering the vesti- demanded. Motivated by glances at the photograph of bule of a church, or, at least, a building representing a his late wife he always carried in his breast pocket, he church in his vision. But every sense of his body prepared the room one night for whatever may come informed him that nothing holy lay within. Another of his endeavors. Haggard and hungry, unshaven and doorway faced him, perhaps the doors leading into the unclean, he lit several candles around the room in lieu narthex, but they remained closed. Shaking, his jaw of the electric lighting and sat at the small table on trembling at the unseen atrocities his intuition told him which lay his notes. were stalking him from behind, he moved into the As the hour of midnight chimed faintly from the vestibule as the great oaken doors slammed closed at old church down the street, he began——in a quavering his passing. voice he repeated his translations, first softly and He turned with a cry, testing the doors but finding trepidatiously, and then, as his initial efforts proved his retreat neatly prevented. Then he heard the deep, fruitless, in a stentorian cadence ringing with subdued heavy percussion coming from beyond the new set of anger. Over and over again rang the incantations from doors, as if some huge mallet were striking an immense his straining throat, but nothing whatsoever manifested drum. The vibration intensified; the concussion rose in the room except for the burning down of the candles up through his legs. And still the impulse goaded him and the frustrated curses spat from his lips. forward, through this second set of doors, into the Latham repeated the incantations for more than an spaces that lay on the other side of the threshold. hour, varying his tone, rearranging the syntax of his Guided by the luminescent fog, he met the door sentences, substituting one word for another in an with an outstretched hand and touched the iron latch. attempt to repair his problematic translations. With every nerve in his body insisting he must not, he But nothing happened. He sat alone in the room, depressed the latch and pulled the door open just as a chilled by the cool Boston evening, his enthusiasm monstrous gale issued from within and forced him entirely diminished. He called his wife’s name once, backward on the bruising shoulder of a putrid air. twice, then lay his head on his notes in exhaustion. Squinting in the painful gust, he could see nothing He wasn’t certain when he fell asleep——but the through his tears: then a titanic bellow, as if uttered by dream he experienced afterward left within him an the devil himself, rose through the vestibule and indelible memory. melded with Latham’s terrified screams—— He’d been transported from the material world to When he woke the next morning the sun was a wholly imagined environment which he’d never seen prying blazing fingers through the heavy curtains over in life. He found himself standing before the huge the window. He lifted his head and immediately felt oaken doors of a tall archway, a living green mist the pain of cramped muscles. All the candles had flowing over the cracked white stone of the pillars burned away, leaving frozen puddles of yellow wax. He supporting an awning of red tile. All around him the rubbed his face, remembering the dread he’d mist seeped through the air, obscuring his sur- experienced in his dream, and then stared down at the roundings so that the only object he could see was the papers on the table. building’s facade. Sounds echoed through the green Slowly, and with the benefit of a rested mind, he fog, voices from a distance, plaintive cries of anguish began to associate his ‘dream’ with his failed and moaning, like the voices offered by the inmates of incantations and wondered if the two were related. His an asylum. In the dream, Latham turned to find the nightmare seemed more than real——the experience

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LAWRENCE BUENTELLO had permeated his thoughts and left him profoundly that lay at the interchange of life and death. This factor shaken. His clothes were rank with sweat; and when he gave surreality to dreams, a mixing of living im- washed his face in the bathroom, he discovered dried pressions with those culled from spirits and the realms blood from where he’d bitten his lower lip. in which spirits resided. Latham’s suspicions were further confirmed after Once home again, Latham quickly laid his notes on speaking to the building manager, who told him that his dining room table and prepared him-self to repeat several of his neighbors had complained of horrible the incantation. screams coming from his room. Suspecting that he’d But before he committed to the exercise, he lost his been crying out in his sleep, Latham apologized, nerve. He recalled the previous night’s visions and though his apology failed to placate the manager. He found himself trembling uncontrollably. The intensity insisted Latham leave that day——the previous night’s of the ‘nightmare’ left his entire body shaken, and a thunderstorm had caused him enough grief, leaving nausea lingered in his stomach, burning his throat with several of the trees damaged and the woodwork of the bile. He wondered if it was wise to try again——after all, building in disrepair. his translation was only partial, he didn’t understand What storm? Latham inquired. I heard nothing. every detail of the manuscript, let alone the impli- The manager left him with the impression that he cations of employing its power—— thought Latham an abuser of alcohol or illicit drugs Where had he actually appeared in his dream? and repeated his eviction. Frustrated by his uncertainty, he sat in the shadows Latham wasn’t offended, for now he was certain of his empty house with his favorite photograph of something significant had happened to him in the dead Naomi in his hands, the print depicting her standing in of night, an occurrence which had opened a doorway the backyard by the rose garden she’d cultivated, her between this world and the next. He needed more time black hair tied behind her head, her gray eyes bright- to study the manuscript and the secrets it contained, so ened ethereally by an afternoon sun, and her smile he packed his suitcase, carefully securing his notes and shining more brightly in the world than a thousand photographs, and left for the train station. An instinct— stars——he found himself brushing away tears with the —or perhaps something else——told him that he must back of his hand as he remembered her voice in the continue his unlocking of this puzzle in his own home. garden, and her laughter in light of his ineptitude with the camera. HE LONG TRAIN RIDE PROVIDED LATHAM In that moment of reflection, he realized that the T sufficient time to pore over his notes again as the greatest part of his life was gone, his happiness extin- dreary eastern landscape drifted by the windows of the guished, and he only wanted to hear her voice again; car. It was in this time that he believed he’d deciphered or, if it were at all possible, to know that her soul had another aspect of the incantation that previously survived her death and waited for him in a place where escaped his attention: venit in unionem in somno he might once again be joined with her. If he could vivorum et mortuorum. In sleep comes the union of only verify that she awaited him beyond this world, he the living and the dead. His original reading of the could endure whatever time he must on Earth before passage meant nothing to him, or, to the point, seemed joining her once again. only a bit of poetic embroidery, but given his nocturnal Latham laid the picture aside, gathered some experience he realized this must be the key to actually candles, and sat at the dining room table. contacting the hereafter. He lit each candle carefully, according to the ritual Naomi’s volumes often stated that the vale between of the text, and began reciting the passages, over and the living and the dead was sacrosanct——though over, in a strong voice that echoed in the room. As manifestations often breached the barriers of physical before, nothing happened while he sat alert and ready. reality, they could only do so fleetingly and without the He repeated the chant several times, wondering if it constancy necessary for scientific validation. But in mattered where he lay his head. Then he placed his sleep, a living mind might be wrested from the vessel temple on his folded arms and closed his eyes. How of life and delivered to a nether realm of existence, one

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HYPNOS long he sat this way before sleep finally came he didn’t every eruption of pustulous skin that foretold an know. appalling death—— But when he became aware that he was once again And there she stood beside him in the narthex of dreaming, he also realized he’d arrived in the very the damned—— place he’d stood at the end of his previous dream, in When she moved toward him, her mouth agape the antechamber of a great building facing secondary and laughing insanely, he fell backward and screamed—— doors. Suddenly, as if the dream inexplicably resumed, When Latham woke he found himself lying supine the booming wail shocked his ears and buckled his on the floor, a burning pain in his lungs, as if he were knees. The fetid wind blasted his eyes and brought him suffering pleurisy, and dried blood masking his chin, to tears——the great door moved past his shoulder as having emanated from his nostrils. The old hag’s touch he released the latch. The scream that had died at his had abused his body like a jolt of electricity, leaving previous wakening now resurrected in his throat, but him weak and partially disoriented. He rose to his feet, died again as he shielded his eyes with his free arm. trembling with the memory of that most hideous The booming wail diminished, and the grotesque wind apparition, her assault upon him in her dream-like subsided long enough for him to drop his arm and state as potent as any physical attack. He remembered focus on the room that lay beyond these second doors. the fear he felt at her molestation, the sheer obscene While the wind whispered intimations of evil voices grotesqueness of her presence, and shuddered to think in the dark, Latham quieted his fear and moved he might again have to confront her. forward within the threshold. Now he could see, lit by He sat at the table and held his wife’s photograph a ghastly greenish glow emanating from every object delicately, moaning over her beautiful face and wishing like a living mold, that the room beyond displayed the some certainty of purpose would assure him that he compact dimensions of another antechamber, and to was pursuing the right course. This realm of spiritual his eye this room, almost certainly the narthex of the visions, this waystation between the physical and building, seemed composed of solid wood and stone supernatural worlds, had thoroughly rebuked his in- overlain with the shimmering gloss of concurrently trusion into its sanctuary, and perhaps, through the old existing spiritual light. At the opposite side of the witch, warned him not to continue his incantations. He narthex hung a heavy curtain, perhaps pure black felt this in his memory of the narthex; but he also felt, muslin polluted by the greenish glow, most certainly through a wild intuition, that the way to Naomi lay concealing the portal leading to the spaces beyond; the further into the ethereal building. He knew she must curtain wavered gently, as if recovering from a recent be waiting to meet him beyond the nave, unable to disturbance. transgress the Earth, but capable of meeting him in that Once standing in this chamber, breathing heavily otherworldly cathedral. and confused, he felt no longer alone——when he abruptly turned according to his instincts, he found the ATHAM RESTED, AND FOR A WEEK woman standing in the corner, and lost his breath—— L sought to regain his strength before again con- her ugliness alone was enough to stop his heart from sidering entering his haunted sleep. beating, though it wasn’t just her visage that frightened Every day spent attending to his duties at the him. He’d read of the witch that stole men’s lives in university removed him mentally from the spiritual sleep, the hideous old crone that was a pervasive theme world, the mundane reality of existence chiding him in many, many world cultures, but now the fear he felt for his beliefs in mysticism. Had he only been in her presence verified for him that she was real. dreaming? Was he actually suffering a mental break- Cloaked in a shroud of reeking sackcloth, her twisted down which supplied his nocturnal dreams with lurid face and solid black eyes peering from beneath a hood fantasies? covering her brittle white hair, she was the embodi- The sound of human voices, automobile traffic, ment of every primal fear he knew, every venomous and noisome students hammered away at the edifice of spider, every voracious rat, every virulent disease, his beliefs until he was no longer certain of his ex- periences.

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LAWRENCE BUENTELLO But once again in the darkness of his prepared Latham wanted to run; he wouldn’t. He wanted to room, the long weekend awaiting his itinerary, his close his eyes forever to the sights that would forever notes and candles laid before him like idols of a plague him in his dream; but he didn’t. He wouldn’t heathen priest, he knew he must try again. be forced from this waystation of the damned before And again he lit the candles and began reciting the he knew if he might once again embrace his Naomi. text, having considered his response should the vam- He began walking down the aisle, flanked on both piric hag accost him once more. sides by rocking, singing monstrosities, his eyes falling At the completion of his recitation, he lay his head to the statuary set in recessed alcoves on either side of on his arms where he’d spread them on the table and the nave. Dark blood poured from the eyes of the closed his eyes. Sleep came almost instantaneously—— figures, which were inhuman, posed for by devils from So, too, his arrival in the narthex where he’d last beyond the vale. When he grew near, the altar confronted the hag. But the woman had vanished—— suddenly luminesced, a bloody slab of stone held up he stood alone in the glowing green air. He searched on stout columns hewn from ancient rock; Latham through the shadows to make certain she wasn’t realized, too late to avert his gaze, that the gangrenous crouching in darkness waiting to fall on him unaware. fragments of flesh upon the altar were undulating His eyes turned to every corner, but he was truly alone, through the animation of huge white maggots moving the only imposition on his senses the wailing wind through the burrows they’d constructed. Sickened, he beyond the outer door, a foul gale that seemed to stopped, fearful he might lose consciousness; he speak in guttural curses. Relieved that he wouldn’t couldn’t force himself to move any closer to the altar— have to relive the old witch’s unvoiced imprecations, “Naomi!” he screamed suddenly. “Naomi! Where Latham moved forward toward the heavy curtain are you! I have to see you again! Please!” shielding him from the nave. As he approached, his He clapped his palms to his ears in a futile attempt hand held out before him, he heard the first strains of to stifle the parishioners’ riotous chanting—— a discordant music piercing the curtain in broken Then he witnessed the candlelight flare to life shards of sound. What lay beyond the narthex? For a above the altar, high above the sacrilegious offering to moment he paused, an overwhelming fear striking a an insane deity, illuminating a railed recess in the high primitive nerve in his spine instructing him to flee this arch of the building. All thoughts of the monstrosities place before he uncovered more obscenities—— surrounding him ceased when he realized that a But his love for Naomi was stronger than any fear, human form stood in waxing shadows behind a balu- and he overcame his paralysis to pull the curtain aside strade within the recess. He stood in wonder as the and step into the forefront of the nave. figure slowly moved into the light, and for a brief The reach of Latham’s scream was effectively moment he saw her, her, standing beautifully above drowned out by the anguished chanting of all those every obscenity for which the worst human nightmares sitting in the rows of endless pews, people, who were had no analogue. He marked her long, black hair, and not people, but desiccated versions of human forms, her lovely gray eyes. some sitting naked in their pustular flesh, some more “Naomi!” he shouted, moving forward, all his fear skeleton than body, some demonic shapes with defeated by her appearance. He raised his arms to her, multiple heads and arms adorned by gaping mouths imploring her. “Naomi, it’s Ben! Naomi, come down drooling black fluids. Some sat in rags, some in chains, to me!” but all held the same hymnal before their tortured She seemed to watch him sadly, her eyes flashing in eyes, a book afire with the unknown language of the the candlelight. dead. Their singing mocked every holy expression He looked for a stairway to the balcony, but he’d witnessed in his life, their venerations celebrating couldn’t see anything except an unbroken field of a philosophy of creation unwritten in the holy books. cracked plaster behind the altar. There must be a way He stood at the back of the nave and cried, but they up to her, there must be—— didn’t hear his crying, or, if they did, they never cared Then Latham felt a bony hand fall on his shoulder to turn their heads. from behind. With impossible strength, the hand

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HYPNOS turned him easily and he found himself staring into the through his shoulders, he laid his head across his arms, weepy black eyes of the repulsive hag. His breath muttering, Naomi, as he closed his eyes—— frozen in his throat, he felt his heart beat maniacally at The candles on the altar fluttered with unnatural her touch, and then he heard, echoing from the hidden bloody light; he recoiled from the moving flesh upon places in his mind, a terrifying voice commanding the table of the altar before him, again assailed by the him——take your seat now, take your seat with the rest cacophony of strangled voices chanting in the nave. The voices echoed from the walls, the putrescent ATHAM WOKE SHRIEKING. bodies from which they issued swaying rhythmically in L For days he stumbled around his house sick to his orgiastic pleasure from their devotions. stomach, first vomiting then washing his face in the Latham steeled his nerve and turned away from the bathroom sink——the face that met him in the pews, his gaze falling on the balcony above the altar. bathroom mirror was the face of a lunatic, its jowls She wasn’t there, but he knew she would come if he fleshy and its eyes the prisoners of ugly black circles. called out to her. “Naomi! I’ve come back for you! White tendrils snaked through his dark brown hair, Naomi, it’s Ben! I’ve come for you!” returned with him from his dreams. He called in sick The air suddenly grew heavy with an offensive that week, and was sick, perhaps in need of medical stench of burning offal, and he coughed uncon- assistance, but he refused to leave the house. He lay in trollably, at which the singing rose in pitch around him, bed contemplating all he’d seen, all the horrors that no but he withstood this onslaught and kept calling his living man was ever meant to observe in their worship wife’s name. At last she appeared, stepping to the of the damned. He knew he might even die should he balustrade, the candlelight glowing off her dark, beau- penetrate that obscene sanctuary again. tiful face. She said nothing in return, but regarded him But Latham also remembered the vision of his wife sadly, as sadly as before——she was spirit, she was of a standing alone on the balcony above the altar, her plane of existence he was incapable of understanding, black hair dropped across her shoulders, her eyes but she had come at his behest. She still loved him, he watching him, waiting for him——it was possible to meet knew this with all his heart, she still loved him even in the dead in a gateway between the living world and the death. world that lay beyond, a place only accessible through He moved forward quickly, determined to find the the dreaming mind. But the horror of it! He con- stairway to the balcony, but when he approached the sidered the sheer profanity of the manuscript in wall behind the altar the old witch slipped from the Boston from which he’d made his copies——such a shadows as if manifesting from air. Take your seat with thing was a curse to humanity, not a boon, and should the rest——her long, bony fingers extended toward his have burned in the fire that took the rest of the building face, perhaps meaning to tear at his eyes or rip the flesh housing it. He should have turned his back on the from his cheeks. But Latham shouted furiously at the entire enterprise and prayed for his own soul, but—— old hag and stumbled away from her before she could I can defeat them, he thought as he stared lovingly touch him. This witch, this mother of all evil stood at Naomi’s photograph, I can withstand their cor- between him and his Naomi, and he wouldn’t let her ruption. I can be with you again. send him out of the nave again. He reached out and Slowly, his health returned, and so, too, his resolve stole one of the candlesticks from the altar, bran- to once again seek out his wife. He wasn’t afraid—— dishing it before the hag. She moved toward him again, he’d confronted the worst of their horrors and felt cackling wickedly, fearless, as he waved the dancing inured to their effects. He wouldn’t be delayed from a flames before her face. Her eyes glimmered in the reunion with his wife by nightmares. candlelight, and for a moment he thought she would Again, he sat at the table with his notes and candles, simply slap the candlestick from his hand and fall on ready to begin his incantations. He hesitated, preparing him. But then he heard her voice in his mind again—— himself mentally for his return to the nave. Then he take your seat now, take your seat with the rest——as fixed the image of his wife’s face in his mind and began the old witch laughed at his ineffectual gesture, moved reciting over the candles. Though he felt a trembling away from him and glided backward down the aisle,

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LAWRENCE BUENTELLO her rags swaying as her body moved away from him with her again, to hear her voice, to embrace her in his and toward the curtained threshold leading to the arms. “Naomi,” he said, moving toward her. “Naomi, narthex. it’s Ben. Look at me!” When she was standing at the forefront of the nave, Over her shoulder, as he approached the Latham threw down the candlestick and began balustrade, he observed the hideous congregation as searching the wall behind the altar. Again, he found they rocked mournfully in their pews, and down the only plaster; but then he realized a thin veneer of it had aisle, standing by the curtain hung before the narthex, been painted over a hidden portal and he pulled at the he glimpsed the old witch leering from her rags, her moldy gypsum with his fingers, sending chips and body shaking with laughter. Even from a distance, he shards to the floor at his feet. When he had prised heard her squealing cackle rising up into the smoke of enough of the fragile plaster away he found the re- the eternally burning candles. But he didn’t care——he cessed ring of an ancient door handle which he grasped moved to his wife and placed his hand on her and pulled on with all his remaining strength. shoulder. She felt cold, so cold, but he gently pulled The door fell outward, the rest of the plaster which her arm to turn her away from the nave. had concealed it falling to the shadows——beyond this For an instant, a brief instant during which he felt doorway a darkened staircase stood. Ignoring the all his efforts had finally been rewarded, he gazed on possibility of more lurking horrors, he lurched through his wife’s beautiful, undiminished face—— the doorway and stumbled up the stairs, which wound But then that face changed forever into the ghastly in a tight helix to the level of the balcony above. visage of the grotesque hag. Come to me, my love. Latham found his wife standing by the balustrade Come be with me forever—— as he stepped onto the balcony platform, her back to When they kissed, he knew that he would have to him as she quietly stared out over the singing con- return to the pews to take his seat among the other gregation. He felt no evil air upon him then, no sense poor souls who mourned their own impatient needs— of foreboding, no cynical mockeries of holy things. He —he knew that he would never leave. only felt his love for her command him, his need to be

Triumphant Chaos By PATRICK RUTIGLIANO

Black pyramids loom distant, Over steaming seas of ash. Mankind fades inside the flash, No place on Earth resistant.

Death’s architect leers, gloating, Upon chaos he designed. Madness titters, unrefined, Joy in the grave dust floating.

Gray flecks kiss his open palm, Life snatched by unseen fingers. Suffering, his only balm, Peace found in nuclear winters. Entropy gives way to calm, No reason left to linger.

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Every Creeping Thing… By HARRIS COVERLEY

OME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT UNSAID, half completed new thriller book down, slid off my but they eat away at you when bound within. A slippers, and jammed my Wellington boots on. I won- S written record must be kept of what occurred, dered if I could get away with wearing my dressing just, if anything, to try to ease the thoughts of the evil gown, but rightfully thought that too much of a risk and out of me and into another medium, which can then took it off in favour of my suede jacket. be wrapped into an envelope and hidden away be- As I clicked the Yale lock open ready for my exit, tween some old volumes, to be discovered by some my cat Thomas, usually not afraid of a bit of precip- distant relative when I finally keel over. itation, sat by the dishwasher, looking at me with two I would like to say I have not been otherwise green saucers in confusion and fear. affected by this one incident, but that would be a lie. “I’ll be back in a minute, you bugger,” I told him, So much that I held true to for so much of life has been zipping my jacket. thrown into question, regarding the boundaries be- He turned away and sauntered into the front room, tween worlds, between forms of existence, between life and I thought of how lucky one would be to be a cat, and death (and what could possibly subsist in the space devoid of any responsibilities other than eating and traversing them). Repeat visions come not in night- sleeping. Your only rubbish is whatever droppings you mares, but in falls of rain, in the splash of puddles, in leave behind you, wherever that may be, whether on the turning on of taps. Showering horrifies me, and I the back step or the bedroom floor. cannot be in the room when the bath is filling up; it Regardless of my preparations, it was not enough. makes me nauseous and my breathing turns shallow. As I left through my backdoor, each droplet of rain on Even then the bath must remain low, the water not my face was like a tiny blade. I decided to rush, to get higher than the hip when sitting down in it. it over with as fast as possible. But what gets me worst of all is that there is no I jogged out of my back garden, and took hold of possible means of me finding an explanation for what my black bin from against the wall behind my house. occurred, and that any hypothesis I can formulate Around my boots the water was swelling, and I could merely threatens to further degrade my sanity, some- feel little tributaries running down my trouser legs and thing which I am slowly repairing. into my socks. I almost stopped writing just then, but I have to get “Bugger,” I groaned to no one in particular, but this out of my system. perhaps Poseidon. It was a month ago, as Autumn was ending… I pulled the bin, already bloating, away from the wall, and onto the drive. I call it a “drive”——it leads up T WAS ELEVEN AT NIGHT, AND THE RAIN to several bungalows away from the road, but I park I was coming down like troops laying siege to an my car on it with enough space for anyone else to pass, enemy outpost, but I realised that I had to put the bin which I have done for a decade without complaint. out for the morning, or else spend another fortnight I turned it about on its wheels and began to care- cramming rubbish in until it over-spilled. fully let it drop down the slope, both hands holding I had every right to be annoyed: I had successfully tight on the bar to which the swing lid is fixed. avoided having to leave the house for any reason all It was then that I understood how bad things were: day, and to do so now, to lug such a thing down the the drive had turned into more than a stream. It was drive to the side of the road in such bloody weather… almost a river, and I could feel the force of flowing but in the end I had only myself to blame. So I put my water pushing at my heels. Worse though was that the

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HARRIS COVERLEY sheer amount of rainfall had loosened soil from up the I swam against the current, feeling how bitterly cold hill, making the tarmac slippery under foot with a everything was. My limbs were numb, my fingers and greasy mud. toes like cuttings of raw half-frozen tripe. In spite of that, I carried on getting the bin to the “Help me my son!” he carried on. side of the road, but when I got there, there was no side I reached him, getting my arm around his of the road. The usual friendly puddles had swelled shoulders. into angry meres, and I could not even make out the “Come on!” I shouted. edge of the pavement. The volley had gotten harder He was an old man, well north of seventy. From still, so now my viability was little more than a few feet, what I could see, his face at that moment too much in the world but a violent blue glow in the dense mist. shadow, he was dressed in a darkly coloured cardigan Having foolishly let go of the bin while getting my and shirt, and had wisps of white hair across a smooth bearings, it began to twist in the torrent from the drive, scalp. and before I could grab hold of it again, it turned away “Help me, my son!” he repeated. His hand grabbed from me and was on its side, floating in the sea-puddle, my side below my ribs, and not for the rain a chill went vomiting rubbish into its tide. through me: his exceptionally thin fingers were like “Bollocks!” I yelled, and tried to push through the knives of ice. torrent to have a chance at picking it up. Before I could As I heaved him across the brutal waters, I told him get there I heard a noise, something which sounded not to worry, but he still went on with his cries for help. human. I had left the light on in my front room, so as we I stopped and called out, “Hello? Did someone say got closer to my house my charge could be seen more something?” clearly. I stopped swimming and the current dragged I was met only with the continuous roar of rain and us back. the splashing of the spontaneous deluge. The old man’s skin was as blue as the rain. He was I got to the top end of the bin and gripped the bar— toothless, bar a giant incisor which stuck out like a grey —but the mud was coming thicker and thicker, and as plank from his top gum. Deep trenches marked the I put my strength to lifting it up my feet slipped from sides of his mouth, and his nose was shrivelled into a under me and I was in the water. limp, hanging nodule. His head was nearly a skull. But Turning over, I slid deeper in until I was under. what were worse of all were his eyes… those eyes were— Getting my head above the water level, I cried out and “Help me!” the ghoul squealed in my face, was met with a cry in response: “Help me! Help me, clutching me. my son!” I let go of him and pushed him away. I fought hard I turned over and found myself floating——floating to escape, swimming like I was competing with a shark. in the middle of the street! It was impossible, but that Even as that thing continued to demand “help”, I felt was how it was. him clawing at my back and my legs, trying to get a hold The waves came over me, pushing me down, and I on my body. struggled to keep my head up. I had not swum for so I kicked against him and the water. I was no longer many years, and then not fully clothed. Nothing made just swimming for my life, but for my very soul. sense, it was all so hellish——the street had utterly He seized my ankle, but at last I reached the edge drowned, become a hurricane in an ocean. of the pavement by my house. As I pulled myself up I was able to stand uneasily against the heavy flow onto it, I pulled him up out of the water with me. As I coming from up the street, and, looking into the road, did, I felt the loose kerb stone on the far edge, the one I saw a figure in the murk, partially submerged, a I had written to the council about half a dozen times. couple of metres or so away. The thing stood there against the flow, now with a “Help me!” it called. sudden power. “Hold on!” I replied. “I’m coming!” “Help me, my son!” it snarled. On my knees, I clasped my hands about the kerb stone, the segment some two feet long and six inches

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HYPNOS thick. With all my remaining strength I lifted it up, high Had I dreamed my experience? Had some sort of above my head, and without a second’s thought ‘episode’? My clothes were damp and muddy on the smashed it into that monster’s evil grimace, caving it in. wire maiden, the jacket ruined, but that was no proof. I let the stone drop into the water and the corpse I checked my side and my ankle where the vicious sped away on the waves, out of sight, but never to be claws had got me, but I had no abrasions or bruises, out of mind. just pale skin. I did not risk standing again in the mud and silt, and Downstairs, I opened the curtains in the front crawled like a wounded animal up the drive and into room. my garden, through my back door, the bin be damned, “I’m going mad,” I said to myself. “Maybe the fever the world be damned. came first and I hallucinated the whole thing while I collapsed on the kitchen floor, lying there like a putting the bin out.” shell-shocked soldier. The cat came to me, sniffed my I looked out the front window down the street and neck, and walked away in disgust. I do not blame him. saw on the other side of the drive entrance my black Before long I gathered enough wits about me to get bin in the road, on its side and empty. The loose kerb up, bolt the door, draw all the curtains, and strip off stone was still there, a few inches away from the pave- my drenched clothes. ment. Despite being ill and shaky, I put on my dressing WOKE UP AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING gown and went outside to recover the bin, letting I feeling feverish, but I was not too ill to get out of Thomas out in the process. While doing so however, bed and look out of the bedroom window into the I happened to glimpse, stuck to the exposed end street. corner of a kerb stone on the opposite side to the loose The rain had stopped and the waters had cleared. one, a small piece of fabric. After I righted the bin, I Everything looked normal. There were no great pits bent down to retrieve it. It was strangely familiar to me: where any seas and rivers could form——just the old a piece of knitted wool, like something torn from a potholes and dips that had been there for years. And cardigan, reddish-brown and very wet… yet I would swear that the street had become the Great I got my bin and put it back against the garden wall, Lakes of North America at storm the night before. but not before tossing the wool in. “And God remembered Noah,” I mumbled, “and “Next week I’ll remember,” I announced. “Next every living thing… and the waters asswaged…” week, I must remember…” And, oh Christ, do I remember…

22

The Shadow-Thing By CHRIS CORNETTO

HE KNOCKING STARTLED AMBROSE, Ambrose sighed and put on his professional man- and his hand slipped on the bellows. The ner. “Come in, Colm.” As it read on the sign outside, T coals flared, boiling the fluid in the alembic. he was Ambrose Thiddle, Chirurgeon and Purveyor of “Mephys take you,” Ambrose cursed. He rose Tonics. He had to expect visitors, even at late hours. from his stool and threw the bellows in disgust. “Three Even in this gods-awful storm. “Tell me who’s sick. weeks,” he shouted through the door, fumbling with Little Ginny?” the latches. “Three weeks until the stars are right As Colm stepped into the light of the house, the again!” grouse squawked and thrashed violently. “It ain’t that,” The door swung open to reveal a sodden hunter, he grunted, scrabbling to keep his grip on the bird. his eyes wide and nervous. In his hands he held an irate “She’s well today, thanks.” grouse——still flapping and pecking, though pierced by Ambrose rolled his eyes. If the fool intended the an arrow. “My ‘pologies, Master Ambrose. I didn’t bird as payment, he could have killed and dressed it know who else could help.” Rain spilled from his hat first. “Well?” and down his cloak.

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HYPNOS The hunter propped his bow by the door and hung the bird his undivided attention. “Come, sit and tell me up his hat, water pooling on the floor around him. “It’s what happened.” He sprinkled tea into two mugs, the bird, y’see. It ought to be dead.” adding a pinch of valerian to one. It calmed the nerves. “I’ll second that,” Ambrose said, a little too curtly. Colm nodded and took a seat at the table. “It was Soft fur twined between his legs, and a questing paw— the durndest thing, Master Ambrose. By the time the —a white mitten on a sleeve of black——stretched to- rain came on, I hadn’t caught nothin’ yet, so I thought ward the bird. He reached down and brushed the cat I was out of luck for the day. But just as I start makin’ away. “That’s not for you, Ollie,” he chided gently. my way home, I spot that fat little grouse hiding in the Oliver, his cat and confidant, was undeterred. He bushes, lookin’ mighty like tonight’s supper. He sees pranced on hind legs, swatting at the flailing bird until me back and takes off flappin’, but I’m not ashamed Ambrose picked him up. Even then he watched it with to say I put that arrow through him at thirty paces.” interest. “Mhm.” Ambrose stifled a yawn. “A good shot, I’m Colm held the bird up for inspection. “I swear I’ve sure. Odd chance that you’d miss the vitals, but I’ve tried to kill it, Master Ambrose. Shot it with an arrow, seen it happen.” even broke its neck. Durned thing won’t die.” “But it was dead, ‘least at first. Arrow carried it a Ambrose hadn’t noticed before, but the bird’s neck good way into the brush, and when I pick it up, there’s was indeed twisted oddly. “Well, come into my lab- this dog. Big dog, and mean, all snarlin’ at me. I figger oratory and tell me what happened. I’ll warm up some he wants the bird, too.” tea.” Steam whistled from the kettle. Ambrose filled the “Right kind of you, Master Ambrose.” The hunter cups and set them on the table, careful to place the surveyed the room with slack-jawed curiosity, careful drugged one by the hunter. “Astute conclusion. to touch nothing. Obviously you prevailed?” Though the ‘laboratory’ was only the cluttered “I’m not one to put an arrow in a dog, Master kitchen of a cottage in the sticks, it didn’t take much to Ambrose, but this one wasn’t right. It was crazed with impress the yokels. A shelf of odd-shaped jars, some disease or somesuch, its skin all torn and rotting. glassware with shiny brass fittings, and Ambrose was a Figgered I’d do it a mercy by putting it down.” He blew wizard in their eyes. Not an aging, has-been, Academy his tea and sipped it gingerly. “But, before I could, it dropout. drops dead.” Some of the equipment served no purpose. He Ambrose sipped his own tea, savoring the warmth. displayed it only for effect. It was shaping up to be a long night, and he’d need the “Ah, here we are.” His knees creaked as he dragged focus. “At least that problem resolved itself?” the chicken cage from beneath the counter. It was the Colm shook his head emphatically. “Naw, that’s kind of thing no self-respecting alchemist should own, where it gets strange. This black stuff starts bubbling but his customers paid in poultry more often than coin. from the dog’s wounds and floats up in wisps of “Better put the bird in here.” shadow. It whirls all around, spun by some wind I Colm held the grouse at arm’s length, trying and couldn’t feel, and then rushes straight for me! But not failing to avoid its lunging beak. “Yow! Git in, little me, y’see. It goes for the grouse in my hands. Bird beastie!” At the cost of several scratches, he wrangled soaked that darkness up, and right away starts flappin’ it into the cage. and squawkin’. I swear the durned thing was dead the When Ambrose shut and latched the door, the minute b’fore!” His teacup rattled on the saucer as he hunter wiped his brow in relief. set it down with a trembling hand. The grouse stopped thrashing. It stared at them Ambrose stroked his beard. Though the tale was with all the solemn hatred a silly-looking bird could passing strange, he was used to superstitious bumpkins. muster. And yet… “The hour was late, was it not? And Ambrose took the alembic off the still-warm stove storming? Could it have been a trick of the light?” to make room for a kettle. “Ollie will keep watch on “If it was, Master Ambrose, my eyes tricked me it,” he assured the hunter——and, indeed, the cat gave good.”

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CHRIS CORNETTO “Eyes can do that, Colm.” Ollie stood and put his paws on the cage. The “But the bird… I snapped its neck.” grouse hissed at him, barely lifting its head. “Injured it, clearly, though I warrant the neck did Ambrose took another drag on the pipe, pacing in not break. That it still moves is all the evidence you irritation. “While it decays, we learn nothing.” He need.” The hunter frowned, but Ambrose pressed on, dismissed the hunter’s tale of a shadow-thing as poor not giving him a chance to speak. “There’s a perfectly lighting seasoned with fear. Still, something kept the natural explanation for what happened, but if the bird bird going long after death should have claimed it. Had makes you nervous, I’ll buy it off you for the meat. it eaten some mystic herb or root, a panacea against What say you?” even the grave? Unlikely, but at least it was a direction The hunter rubbed his eyes, drowsy and fuddled for inquiry. from the valerian root. “I’d sooner eat my boot than “Ollie,” he declared, “I think we ought to dissect that unnatural thing. Three pence and it’s yours.” it.” It was too late to look for stomach contents, but a “A deal, Master Colm.” Ambrose shook the man’s study of the organ systems might turn up something hand and helped him out of the seat, ushering him to unusual. “Now, if only the damned thing would hold the door. He fished in his pocket for the coins while still…” the hunter picked up his hat and bow. “Here you are. The cat stretched through the bars, claws extended, My regards to the missus.” reaching for the grouse. The bird glared back in sullen Colm tipped his hat and stepped into the storm, too irritation. confused to object to the brusque dismissal. He set off “Good thought, Ollie. If a broken neck won’t stop down the street, a little unsteady, but Ambrose judged it, decapitation might.” Ambrose set down his pipe and him well enough to make it home. gathered his instruments, as well as a large cleaver. He With the hunter gone, Ambrose resumed his seat put on his work gloves before lifting the disgusting at the table. The cat jumped onto his lap and slouched thing from the cage. against him, melting to a furry puddle. He stroked its The bird stank like an infected wound, molting neck idly while he finished his tea. shabby feathers to reveal mottled skin beneath. He “So, Ollie, what do you make of it?” wanted to recoil from its touch, but had to hold firm as From the cage, the crooked-necked grouse glared it thrashed and raged with renewed vigor. It pecked at at them both. him, and even landed a few good jabs despite its broken neck. Instead of a squawk, it gave a keening WO WEEKS LATER, THE BIRD SMELLED sound that stabbed at his ears. T like rot. It slumped, wasted and lethargic, only Holding it at arm’s length, Ambrose pinned the perking up when Ambrose drew near——and then, only bird to the table. When he slid the lamp closer, it cried to peck at his fingers. He gave up trying to feed it. If it louder and redoubled its flailing. Experimentally, he hungered, it could eat the berries and dead crickets slid the lamp away again, and it calmed slightly. He scattered among the wood shavings in its cage. repeated the procedure twice more, to the same effect. Ambrose puffed on his pipe. He hovered over the “Curious,” he told the cat. cage for the hundredth time, keeping his fingers at a Ollie circled the grouse, his back arched and safe distance. “The bird is uncanny, Ollie. It takes no hackles raised. He yowled angrily at it. food or water, yet it lives. A broken neck and an arrow Though fascinated by the experiment with the light, through its guts, yet it lives. How?” Ambrose was sick of the vicious, smelly thing. He The cat twitched its tail in a feline shrug. hefted the cleaver and brought it down with a dull, final “But does it live?” When Ambrose pulled the thunk. arrow from it, there was no blood——only a strange The headless grouse stopped twitching. Darkness black ichor that leaked out and knit the wound. And, issued from the wound, curling like inky smoke. It though progress was slow, its flesh was putrefying. “If it gathered into a hovering mass of shadow and launched weren’t animate, I’d take it for a corpse.” itself at the cage.

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HYPNOS Ambrose took a step back. The knife slipped from “No, Ollie. It’s no good to eat.” He didn’t doubt his fingers and clattered to the floor. the shadow would escape before becoming cat food, In the cage, wood shavings rustled. Black antennae but it modified a body in certain ways. For one thing, poked from the bedding. A cricket wriggled free and it converted blood to a thick, oozing ichor that did rubbed its legs in an experimental chirp. Then it more than knit wounds——the fluid could fill in for jumped through the bars. damaged tissue, patching torn muscle or severed On instinct, Ambrose smashed the cricket beneath nerves to salvage a tattered corpse. his bare heel. His stomach lurched with revulsion as it The cat placed its paws on his knee and gazed at crunched. him with pleading green eyes. And when the shadow seeped from under his foot, Ambrose rubbed its face fondly. “Oh, very well.” he nearly screamed. Tired as he was, he couldn’t put the cat to bed hungry. Despite his fright, Ambrose kept his wits. “Quick, He could make time for one more experiment. “I’ll Ollie! A box, a jar…” His eyes lit on an empty pot and have you a treat shortly.” he snatched it, nearly pulling down the whole shelf. He set two dead mice, fresh from the traps, in Crockery rattled nervously. boxes equidistant from the caged rat. He removed the But when the next cricket leaped from the cage, he legs from one mouse, and placed a candle near the was ready for it. He dove and caught it in the pot, then other. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and struck clanged the lid shut. the shadow-rat with a hammer. Ambrose sat on the floor, heartbeat thudding in his Darkness oozed from the flattened corpse, massing ears. He held the lid with trembling hands, but it didn’t above it in a shadowy vortex. It hesitated only a budge. No shadow-smoke escaped the container. moment before fleeing to the legless mouse, which “Well, Ollie,” he gasped, “I didn’t expect that.” began to wriggle like an angry worm. The cat prodded the pot cautiously. Inside, a Ambrose snapped the box shut. A shiver crawled cricket chirped. down his spine as he stood there clutching it. The spectacle, though he’d seen it several times now, took HE SHADOW-THING WAS UNCANNY. some getting used to. T Through repeated experiments, Ambrose found Ollie tugged on the hem of his robe, bringing him it could animate a corpse in reasonable condition, back to his senses. He remembered the other mouse taking on behavioral traits of the body inhabited. In and gave it to the cat. every form, however, it remained aggressive. After a brisk pace around the room to work off his Ambrose hunched over his journal, a safe distance unease, Ambrose returned to his desk. “While the from the hissing rat. His quill slipped, streaking ink shadow prefers a more utilitarian corpse,” he muttered across his work. He took a deep breath, struck out the as he wrote, “its dislike of light overrides that pre- error, and started over. ference.” The wet ink on the page looked too much His bandaged hand made it difficult to write. like the shadow-stuff, so he set the quill down and lit “As I was saying, Ollie, the results suggest the rat is his pipe. not a mere puppet. There seems to be symbiosis Ollie, finished with his snack, took his usual seat in between the shadow and its host. Since the behavior Ambrose’s lap. From long habit, the alchemist stroked proves the rat’s brain still active, we can conclude it’s the cat absently. As always, the touch of soft fur not truly dead.” centered him, soothing his frayed nerves. Ollie ignored him. His tail swished back and forth, “You know, Ollie, there’s real opportunity here. watching the rat with keen, predatory interest. Think how celebrated we’d be if we raised not mice Ambrose yawned into his sleeve. He reached down and crickets, but an actual man from the dead?” He and nudged the cat away from the cage. “Leave it be, closed his eyes and imagined going home to Raven- Ollie.” court in triumph. His old professors, if any still lived, The cat mewed at him in disappointment. would beg forgiveness for doubting his potential.

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CHRIS CORNETTO Maybe they’d offer him a position at the Academy. Back down in the kitchen, Colm pulled on his hat Maybe he’d turn it down, just to spite them. and cloak. “If that’s all, Master Ambrose?” He shuffled He yawned into the crook of his elbow, his eyes uncomfortably. heavy with sleep. “Of course,” he mumbled, “we’ll “Quite, quite. I’ll be right back with your payment.” need a human body to test.” He took from the cupboard a satchel of milky vials and He put down the pipe and settled back into his fan- pressed it into the hunter’s hands. “Two week’s med- tasy. It was a good dream. icine for Ginny’s cough, with my promise for two weeks more when it runs out.” OT HERE, OAF!” AMBROSE HISSED. “USE Colm’s face lit up. It was a decoction of horehound N the back door!” and poppy that any fool could brew, but to him it was The alchemist regretted his rudeness——it wasn’t solid gold. It wouldn’t cure his daughter——nothing just anyone who’d steal a corpse from the potter’s field would, but at least it kept her comfortable. for you. Still, despite the late hour, the man-shaped Feeling a touch guilty, Ambrose unlocked his bundle draped over Colm’s shoulder looked far too strongbox and gave the man a coin of actual gold. “Plus suspicious. a bonus, for your discretion.” “Sorry, Master Ambrose. I’ll meet you ‘round The hunter’s eyes went wide and he shook back.” The hunter, looking as uncomfortable as a man Ambrose’s hand until it ached. “You’re a right gent, hauling a stolen body ought, trudged into the alley. Master Ambrose. A real gent.” He tipped his hat, Despite his aging knees, Ambrose ran through the twice, and set off into the night. house. For days, his head had spun with dreams of The coin was several months’ earnings for a hunter, discovery and glory. It had been torment to wait for a even several weeks for an alchemist. Of course, if all hanging. Luckily, even a backwoods hamlet had its went well, Ambrose would soon have gold to spare. share of thieves. Ollie dashed after him, swept up in the wake of his HE DOOR HAD HARDLY SHUT BEFORE excitement. T he was up the ladder to the attic. Ambrose helped the hunter pull the body through Ambrose shook the box of dead crickets until one the back door. “Still rigid,” he noted. “Very good. jumped. “There you are, little sneak.” He caught it That’s the nice thing about criminals, you know—— gently, closed the lid, and placed the box at the foot of straight to the grave, with no lengthy mourning while the bed. the body rots.” He knew he was prattling, but didn’t He double-checked the bindings and found them care. secure. He lit candles in a ring around the bed, to di- Colm frowned. “If you say so, Master Ambrose. If rect the shadow to the proper corpse. All that was left you please, just show me where to put it. I’d like to be was to animate the hanged man——a rehearsal for his on my way.” moment of triumph. “No need to be sullen, Colm. This man has no Though his only audience was a cat, his imagination more use for his body, so why squander the wisdom filled the room with an awed crowd, eyes fixed on him we can glean from it? It might well be the first service and collective breath held. “Can he really raise the he’s rendered his fellow man.” He chuckled at his own dead?” one whispered. “Greatest alchemist of our wit. age,” murmured another. The hunter gave an awkward grimace. “As you say, Ambrose knelt over the corpse, letting suspense fill Master Ambrose. So… where do you want it?” the room. He motioned across its face in what he Using a pulley, they hoisted the body to the attic, hoped looked like arcane gestures, muttering a chant where they set it on a rope bedframe. As a concession he used to lend gravity, if not efficacy, to his healings. to the hunter’s sensibilities, Ambrose decided to And, with the sleight of hand of a born charlatan, he shackle the corpse later. crushed the cricket. He tried to hide his wince as blackness poured from his fist, sifting through his fingers like ebon

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HYPNOS smoke. The shadow circled once, then dove, filling the The corpse-man hissed through its teeth. The cat mouth and nose of the corpse as if inhaled. yowled back and flashed his claws. The dead man’s eyes snapped open, as did its “Don’t let him taunt you, Ollie.” He waved a candle mouth. Ambrose leaned close to hear what secrets it in front of the dead thief, causing it to keen and writhe might whisper, newly returned from the grave. against its bonds. He put the candle back, and the thing Without warning, the creature gave an ear-splitting settled down. “See? Not so scary. Still, I’m eager to be shriek. rid of it, too. Such a shame about Werner.” The adoring crowd vanished. Ollie yowled and Oliver retreated to the safety of the alchemist’s legs, lunged, claws first, at the dead thief. Ambrose un- where he resumed his yowling. covered his ears just long enough to stuff a rag into the Ambrose looked down at the cat. “Huh. Well, I thing’s mouth. hadn’t thought of that, Ollie.” He stroked his beard. “No, I suppose Werner doesn’t have to recover. And HE DAMNED THING SCREECHED FOR it’s not murder if I bring him straight back, wouldn’t T the next hour, forcing Ambrose and Ollie down- you agree?” stairs to escape the noise. If the keening had been awful So what if he came back a little changed? It would coming from a bird, it was worse from a human throat. hardly diminish the miracle. Even muffled by a gag, it set his hair on end. Ollie’s, too. MBROSE SLAMMED THE DOOR BEHIND Two hours later, fortified by a mug of homebrewed A him. He slumped against it, trembling and spirits, Ambrose went back up the ladder. giggling in fits of nervous laughter. “He didn’t taste it, Shackled to the bed by leather thongs, surrounded Ollie. Ten drops of mistletoe, right down the gullet. by a ring of candles, the hanged man stared at him We’ll have our corpse by morning!” It took him two balefully. Between the glowering and the broken neck, tries to hang his cloak on the peg. it almost reminded him of the grouse. Once he caught his breath, he noticed that the cat Ollie stared at the thief from between Ambrose’s hadn’t come to greet him. “Probably napping,” he ankles, hissing his displeasure. Where the cat had muttered. Ollie wasn’t a kitten anymore, and it was a clawed the man, black ichor sealed the wounds. napping time of day. The bedroom had a west-facing “Now Ollie, we just need to put up with him a little window, and the afternoon sun warmed the blankets longer. All we need is for someone notable to die. This nicely. demonstration requires an audience.” “Let’s see…” Ambrose mumbled. He found it He’d proven in practice that it could be done. The harder to think without Ollie to talk to. “What do I plan was foolproof——so long as the body was muzzled need?” The cricket box was already upstairs——a and restrained. supply for emergencies, and a trap in case the shadow To be fair, this man had been a thief, and likely shed its host. “A knife, and maybe a cloth for the worse. It made sense that he’d be belligerent. If floor.” The body wouldn’t bleed so much as ooze, but Ambrose revived a decent person, surely things would a cloth would help with disposal. go differently. He ransacked his counter for the carving knife Of course, just to be safe, he’d promise only before finding it right in front of him. “Ollie?” he resurrection. Not sanity. called, but no one came. “Where is that damned cat Ambrose took a long draw on his pipe, which he’d when I need him?” He tucked the spare tablecloth carried upstairs without thinking. “It’s a shame, Ollie, under his arm and carried it to the ladder. that Werner’s fever broke.” He had been to the mag- He didn’t make it past the first rung before he istrate’s house earlier to administer the usual tonic—— turned back. He dropped the knife and cloth on the willow, turmeric, and ginger——and found the old man floor. “Ollie, where are you?” It didn’t seem right to up and about, chasing after one of his maids. “Aside experiment without him. from his age, he’d make a prime candidate. He’s still, Ambrose checked the bedroom, but the cat wasn’t erm… vigorous.” there. Not on the sun-warmed bed, nor under it. Not

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CHRIS CORNETTO on the windowsill. On top of the armoire, he found looked at Ambrose with a strange expression, head nothing but dust. oddly tilted. Twisted just a little too far. Next he searched the pantry. The cabinets. The Then Ambrose saw the dead man’s arm. It had cauldron by the hearth. All the ridiculous places the slipped free of its shackle and was covered in unhealed cat would never be. wounds. Scratches. He looked again at the cat. No Ollie. Excitement gave way to creeping unease. “Oh, no…” The floor sank beneath knees too weak But there was still one room to check. to hold him. He staggered back, clutching his chest as Upstairs, Ambrose found half the candles burned if he could keep his heart from breaking. “Ollie, no…” out, with the remaining ones guttering. He’d been gone Ollie opened his mouth, but the sound he made too long. As he searched around the bed, he realized was no meow. It was a horrible, keening wail. He the thief was oddly still. “What, not in a shrieking lunged at Ambrose and, together, they fell through the mood?” he snapped at it. “Not going to glare and gnash hatch. your teeth?” The hanged man lay there, inert. His eyes, glassy T SUNDOWN, AMBROSE OPENED THE and glazed, stared through the ceiling. A door with a hand no longer his. His legs, un- Wary of a trick, Ambrose picked up a candle and bidden, carried him into the waiting dark, a passenger waved it at the man’s face. No reaction. His heart in his own body. raced. He dove for the box of crickets, but they were Though he did not tremble, though his pulse did all still dead. not quicken, he was afraid. That he could still fear Where had the damned shadow gone? terrified him all the worse. Ambrose tore at his hair. How could he have been Beneath the sliver of a moon, he walked down the so careless? What if there was a dead mouse in the muddy lane, away from a home more comfortable walls? A dead fly on the windowsill? The shadow could than he’d ever admitted. Away from a practice that be anywhere by now! would have brought pride to a humbler man. Away “No, not anywhere,” he whispered, scanning the from the still-warm body of a little black cat, his dearest room cautiously. It was still daylight for a little longer, friend. which meant the shadow was still in the house. He Poor, sweet Ollie. Ambrose ached for the familiar would tear his home apart brick by brick before letting weight in his lap, the touch of soft fur beneath his hand. it escape. Even could he shut his eyes, there was no blotting out A fuzzy form brushed his leg and he nearly jumped his last sight of the cat, crushed and limp on the kitchen out of his skin. “Ollie,” he gasped, heartbeat thumping floor. in his ears. “Naughty cat, you scared me half to death!” Ambrose tried to look back, but he couldn’t turn But, despite his scolding words, seeing Ollie filled him his head. He couldn’t even cry to vent the sorrow that with relief. His triumph would have been empty filled his soul to bursting. without his cat to share it. He could do nothing but regret. Of course, without the shadow-thing, there would His arms, his legs, his entire body… they belonged be no triumph, only a dead magistrate. Where was it? now to the shadow-thing that wore him like a shabby Ambrose reached for Ollie, but the cat vaulted onto coat. the bed and took a seat on the corpse’s chest. He

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Ta’xet By CHRISTIAN MACKLAM

(Found amongst the wreckage of the Ta’xet and I regarded the ephemeral hours with heedless Rock Lighthouse off the coast of Haida Gwaii, eyes. I profess no great desire to mend the course of British Columbia c. 1890) my life but long only for the promise of time, just as a dreamer upon waking wishes for a few more moments WILL NOT DELAY, FOR TIME DRAWS of rest. When that inexorable surge rises to wash both short and surely these words shall be my last. I I and my doomed balustrade from the face of the I hold little fear, as only fools dread or deny cer- earth, what reason have I to expect any more or less titude and there is none more conclusive than death. than unfathomable non-existence? Neither uncon- My own approaches swiftly, hastened by that mon- scious reverie nor posthumous utopia may await. strous wave; that abyssal darkness that now claws at the Perhaps it shall be as it was before birth——no des- jaundiced moon and whose false horizon swells to blot perate darkness or tormented limbo——just peerless, out the heavens. If there exists such an absurdity as inscrutable absence of being beyond the edges of time. fate, I cannot help but wonder how mine has ended But now, with the interminable pull of death upon here in this damnable beacon, imprisoned by a violent me, desire betrays reason. Through this paper and this and indifferent sea; how memories of nebulous youth ink is it not immortality I seek? For a fragment of my now are covered by the same ethereal shroud as once soul to survive through the ages? And, in so doing, I preserved the conceit of immortality. may at last achieve that great ambition of my life: to be The ship that transported me here, countless remembered. Death may then serve as the catalyst for months ago, was a salt scorned wreck of a skiff. Its my ascension into the coveted echelon of the masters— captain was no less than a corporeal visage of his paltry —Hawthorne, Melville, Poe! Yes, my death knell shall vessel. That barnacle of a man was the last soul I would be my great and final contribution, my claim to ever see. I cowered, shielding my belongings from the eternity. But in the cure lies the curse, for I shall not lash of rain and sea as it crashed over the gunwale—— survive to witness such a blissful fate, nor can I be clutching my life’s work tight to my chest. The light- assured that these words will not be lost forever to the house rose from the all-consuming mist. A beacon for deep, and with them, my dream-like aspirations. Fame the lost, such as myself. I had accepted the post as be damned. I want to live! keeper——sought it out, in fact——in the hopes that an I have peered from the porthole of my tomb, my extended period of solitude might provide the appro- ill-fated bastion. The shallows have drawn back like priate time and distance from the distractions of daily portent lips peeling into a sinister smile. The receding life to complete my manuscript. The papers I clung to, depths reveal remains of skeletal ships, the graveyard as a mother protects her babe, were to be my return to to which my bones shall too be condemned. Gods, the the coveted ranks of the literary greats. I had been wave approaches! I can see the moon no more. The there once, but time faded the veneer of success and heavens are naught but blackness. My life is become so relinquished it to the doldrums of the past. death. I can feel it now. I feel Now, I yearn for those distant days wherein bloomed the folly and phantasy of boundless existence

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Illuminations By J. P. SEEWALD

ITCHELL WOODRUFF NEVER FELT “You knew what I was like when you married me,” more miserable than he did on this day. Mitchell said. “I haven’t changed.” M In fact, it was the worst day of his life. His “That’s the problem,” Ginny said. “You won’t life was falling apart. His wife was leaving him, and make the effort to change. You keep yourself separate Ginny was taking his son Jimmy with her. She’d told from us. I have friends and family of my own and my him so that very morning. teaching career. But I always put you and Jimmy first. “I can’t stand living with you anymore, Mitch. You You are so self-absorbed, so cut off from human con- don’t communicate with us. All you do is work.” tact that you’re hurting your own child. I think Jimmy Ginny pointed an accusing forefinger at him. and I would be better off living apart from you.” “I work so you can have everything you want,” he Mitchell walked out of the house without saying said, knowing how defensive he sounded. another word. He didn’t know exactly what had gone Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “We want you. We need wrong. This wasn’t what he wanted. He felt confused you. Your son needs his father. Why are you so and hurt. He’d worked hard all his life, graduating at distant with him?” the top of both his high school and college classes,

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HYPNOS becoming a CPA in one short year. Didn’t that count of fresh flowers wove a certain charm. Yet his mind for something? His auditing company was one of the was too troubled and distracted to appreciate the best in the country. Why couldn’t Ginny understand scene. A sudden wind brought up brown, dead leaves that and respect him for his achievements? Where that circled him like a calliope. He found himself in had he gone wrong? front of the bookshop looking at the books in the He got into his car and drove as if by remote window. There were no familiar titles in the window, control. But instead of going straight to his accounting nothing crass or commercial. These books looked firm as he did each morning, Mitchell drove down expensive, maybe handcrafted and quite old. The Main Street. particular book he’d noticed before caught his eye He felt a strong urge to buy a gun. He had a permit, again. Now he could see the volume much more except he’d never gone out and actually bought a clearly. It was titled The Book of Illuminations. What weapon. Now he wanted to purchase one. Did he did that mean exactly? want to kill himself? Maybe. Did he want to shoot His feet seemed to belong to someone else as he Ginny dead? He wasn’t certain. He realized he wasn’t walked into the shop. He felt compelled to enter, thinking rationally. His mind was in turmoil. He felt a whether by curiosity or some peculiar force of mind sense of despair and desperation taking hold of him. control. A wind chime tinkled as if to announce his Where was that shop, the one that sold guns? presence. Around here somewhere. He made a left turn on The clerk approached instantly as if he’d been Broad Street and found himself stuck in traffic. As he anticipating Mitchell. Spry for an elderly guy. drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, Mitchell “Can I help you?” The clerk had a sotto voice. His noticed a store he’d never noticed before. The sign hair was pure white; his clothing suggested yesterday. above the shop said: Illuminations. The word was “I——I just came in to browse.” Mitchell felt off- boldly etched in gold Gothic lettering. balance, embarrassed. He did not normally behave as The front window carried yet another sign: “Rare impulsively as he was doing now. Books Bought and Sold.” Beneath the sign, beautiful The clerk smiled at him. His eyes were a clear, books had been artfully arranged. One book in par- deep blue. “Please feel free to look around.” The old ticular stood out and caught his eye. It beckoned and man extended an arthritic hand in a friendly gesture enticed with its multi jewel-colored cover that sug- and Mitchell felt somehow compelled to take it. How- gested a fine medieval tapestry print. The shop ever, the handshake was surprisingly firm. Mitchell glistened and glowed in the autumn sunshine of early felt the slightest electrical jolt pass through him but morning. The dazzling light nearly blinded him. thought he must have imagined it. Still, he broke the Mitchell turned his attention back to the street but physical contact immediately. his thoughts remained with the odd bookshop. He He glanced around, bewildered by the array of wondered how long it had been there. He’d never books. The volumes were well-arranged, seductive in noticed it before. Then again, stores came and went. their appeal. “I was just looking for something for my Even large bookstores were folding. Why should wife,” he said awkwardly. “She’s troubled. I’d like small ones be different? Yet he found his curiosity something that might prove salubrious.” He realized increase regarding the strange book in the store that he was lying out of embarrassment. window. “Ah, I believe I have just the thing for a lost spirit.” Reading had always been a favorite activity, giving He smelled coffee and saw a colorful ceramic pot him knowledge, pleasure, personal satisfaction, and and cups set up in the rear of the store with com- escape from the mundane everyday world. How long fortable armchairs nearby. had it been since he’d treated himself to a book and “Would you like to sit down? Perhaps have a cup taken the time to sit down and simply enjoy himself? of coffee? It’s my own special brew.” Mitchell pulled over. He parked his car by a meter Mitchell realized he’d left without breakfast that and walked back down Broad Street through the morning. Food had been the last thing on his mind. A shopping district. Brick, cobblestone and casements cup of coffee might help clear his mind.

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J. P. SEEWALD Mitchell sank down into one of the comfortable memoirs? The past lay before him, an unknown road chairs, coffee in hand. When the shop owner re- to explore. He turned to the first page, his fingers turned, he held out a book to Mitchell who stared at trembling with blatant anticipation. it. It was the book he’d admired in the window. But strangely, he couldn’t seem to focus or con- “I noticed you looking at this when you were centrate on the book. The print swam before his eyes. outside the shop. You were obviously curious about God, he just couldn’t fight it. He needed rest, peace the contents. Why don’t you peruse it?” The old man of mind. Drifting, drifting toward the light, so warm, placed the book beside him on a small table. so accepting. Mitchell had never seen a book quite like it before. “This is handmade, isn’t it?” RADUALLY, HE BECAME AWARE THAT “Yes, it’s an extremely rare book. One of a kind.” G his state of consciousness had altered. He felt Mitchell tried to give it back. “I doubt I can afford made of lead, as if he’d journeyed some great distance it.” and then slept for a very long time. Patterns of sunlight “Some things are beyond price. Take a few danced beneath his coffin lids. There was a familiar moments to examine the book.” The old man’s multi- scent in the air that he couldn’t quite place. Bacon faceted azure eyes seemed so large and riveting sur- frying, sizzling in a pan? rounded by the cloud of white hair. “Consider this a “Mitch, honey, time to get up. You’re running late.” free introductory offer.” Odd, that didn’t sound like Ginny. “Mitch, did you “What sort of book is it?” Mitchell inquired. hear me?” Ginny was beginning to remind him of his “The Book of Illuminations is an anthology. You mother. might describe it as containing stories of true life He opened his eyes and tried to focus them. He experiences. However, it may mean different things to could hardly concentrate, couldn’t remember the last different individuals.” The old man gave him an time he felt this weary. His eyes seemed to take an enigmatic smile. eternity to clear. When he finally could see, Mitchell Mitchell had a very strange feeling as he held the started in surprise. Something was very wrong here! book in his hand, an odd sense of disorientation that He stared at the woman standing in front of him in was creepy. Still, if the man wanted to give him silent disbelief. He tried to form words but couldn’t something for free, what harm was there in accepting manage to articulate them. it? Probably it was just good marketing. “Why are you looking at me that way?” However, he really needed to get to work. He He still couldn’t find his voice. glanced at his watch. Maybe he’d forget about buying “Oh, I know, it’s because of my eye.” Her hands a gun today after all. He could stay here a few more went to her face. “It’s all green now. But it’s not minutes. It felt right being here in this strange little swollen anymore. See? The bruises have all but gone. shop. Mitchell had been feeling so disturbed and de- It’ll be fine. Almost all healed again.” pressed. He felt better just sitting here. Instead of He kept staring at her. His mother’s hair was dark rising, he sat back in the comfortable chair lost in brown, exactly the way it had been when he was a boy, thought. and her face was nearly unlined. But she was thin and Was he a terrible husband and father as Ginny weary-looking, her shabby clothes hanging on her claimed? Wasn’t it enough that he was a good gaunt frame. provider for his family? He took the book and set it “Honey, what’s wrong? You feeling sick?” on his lap. There it sat drawing all light to it and ul- He still could not manage to speak; he just kept timately within. His eyes were focused on the object. staring at her. This had to be a dream. He must be For a moment, he sat staring as it glowed hypnotically. asleep. Yet the dream was so real and vivid. He was going to lose himself in this book, escape all “You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten. I have break- his cares and troubles and find himself in another, fast all prepared. But hurry up and don’t dawdle, better world for a little while. He longed to read the otherwise you’ll be late for school.” words within it. Was this a book of nostalgia, perhaps

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HYPNOS He looked around slowly, cautiously. It was his right away! You shouldn’t have coffee anyway. You bedroom all right, just the way it had been when he should drink milk. After all, you’re still a growing was a boy. School books were lying on the desk. He boy.” walked over and examined them. The top one was a As he finished breakfast, loud noise emanated from science book, on the cover in his own neat hand- the back of the small house. There was a crashing writing the word “Science.” His hand trembled. sound as if some piece of furniture was being knocked He left the bedroom and walked into the over. bathroom. Then he caught sight of himself in the “Damn it!” a male voice shouted. mirror over the sink. The familiar balding man of “You better get going, honey,” his mother said. forty with the deep frown marks etched around “Get ready for school.” He wasn’t imagining the narrowed lips had disappeared. Instead there was a widening of her eyes. boy’s face, freckled and with a full head of sandy- Moments later, a large man with bloodshot eyes colored hair. He looked down at his body pulling up entered the kitchen. the pajama top. He saw bruises around his ribs. “What’s he still doing here?” The man practically He went back to his room and opened the closet. growled the words as if he were a grizzly bear. The clothes were vaguely familiar. He dressed “Mitch is getting ready for school. I’m going to drive quickly, pulling out a pair of faded jeans and a flannel him today.” shirt. He was dazed, confused, close to panic. “I’m not giving you the car keys. He can walk to In the kitchen, his mother was serving up pancakes. school.” “I made your favorite this morning, blueberry pan- His mother gave the man an imploring look. “John, cakes with bacon.” we’re too far out in the country. He’ll be late for So that was the aroma. Ginny never made that kind school if he has to walk all those miles.” of breakfast. He wouldn’t have eaten it anyway. He “Why wasn’t he up in time to catch the school bus was too weight conscious. down the road?” “I’m not hungry,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. His “You know the answer to that.” His mother’s lips stomach felt as if butterflies were in flight. compressed. “But Mitch, I made this especially for you.” “Man’s got a right to let off a little steam. So I made “I can’t eat,” he said. some noise last night. I was fired yesterday. Those She looked ready to cry. “He’s still asleep. He bastards fired me! Can you believe that? Said I wasn’t won’t bother us. We’re safe for now.” reliable. Said they saw me drinking on the job. I’ll “I’m just not myself today.” That was true enough. show them.” The man went to the kitchen counter “I won’t have you starving yourself in misery.” and removed a sharp knife with a serrated blade from “Mom, do I look undernourished?” a drawer. “I’ll butcher them the way I done that buck “Just have one or two pancakes and I’ll be last month.” satisfied.” His mother bit down on her lower lip. “Ready, He finally agreed, not wanting to make an issue of Mitch? Get your books so we can go.” it. She smiled and her eyes lit up. She was almost Before leaving the kitchen, Mitchell turned to his pretty then. mother and impulsively kissed her on the cheek. She The pancakes were every bit as good as he seemed pleasantly surprised and touched her hand to remembered, but it wasn’t easy getting them down. the spot as if to make certain the gesture hadn’t been The situation was too puzzling and bizarre. He won- imagined. dered if he was losing his mind. He went to the stove He started toward his bedroom and took the texts to take some coffee from the pot that was heating that lay on top of the desk. Why was he doing this? It there. Accidentally, his wrist brushed against it. God, was all so crazy. And yet going along with the situation the pain felt real enough! seemed like the natural thing to do. “Honey, watch yourself.” She rushed over to him. As he walked back toward the kitchen, he heard his “Here, let me run some cold water over that burn mother scream. He dropped the books and ran into

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J. P. SEEWALD the room. The man had cut her on the arm with that the man. Mitchell went into a kind of stupor. Finally, wicked blade. She was bleeding. he came to his senses. “I said you aren’t going nowhere, woman. Don’t try “Mom, I think he’s dead. Can you hear me? Stop to defy me. You know what happens when you try. stabbing him!” Now I got to punish you.” His mother looked up at Mitchell with haunted Mitchell saw his mother was crying now. She was eyes. She didn’t look rational. They sat together on clearly in pain. He went to help her, bringing her a the kitchen floor made slippery by the pooling blood kitchen towel to wrap around her arm and stop the and stared at John’s body. bleeding. “He needed killing,” she said in a barely audible The man came toward them, menacing and sinister voice. “He wasn’t going to stop hurting us until we in his demeanor. were dead or he was.” “Get away from my mother,” Mitchell said in a Mitchell didn’t disagree. For what felt like a very quiet but determined voice. long time, they continued to sit there and stare at his The man laughed at him. “You gonna try to do father’s body. His final contact with his father and he something about it? You think a little boy like you can felt nothing. His emotions were frozen like the pond stand in my way? I’ll cut you up into little pieces.” in the woods. “John, I’ve put up with a great deal from you. But I Finally, his mother turned to Mitchell. “We’ve got can’t let you threaten our son that way.” to bury him.” “You and him are both mine to do with as I see fit.” “Don’t we have to call the police?” Mitchell asked. He started to swing that wicked blade again in his His mother shook her head so vehemently that a mother’s direction. lock of wavy hair fell into her face. “No, we don’t want Mitchell went to the drawer from where the man to do that.” She furrowed her brow. “We’ll bury him had taken the knife. His hands were shaking as he down in the root cellar. That’ll be a proper grave. No quickly searched inside. He located another knife, a animals will dig him up down there.” blade similar to the one his father held. Mitchell helped his mother drag, pull and push his “I’ll make you pay for disrespecting me in front of father’s body down the stairs, past the basement and the boy!” The man lunged toward his mother, and as into the old root cellar. he did, Mitchell used both his hands to plunge the That night, Mitchell suffered a nightmare. His blade into his father’s back. father shook him awake and he screamed. John Woodruff turned and faced him, stunned “You sound like a little girl,” John Woodruff said. with surprise. “What do you think you’re doing?” “You’re dead! You can’t be here.” “I’m stopping you from hurting my mother,” he “Oh, I’m dead all right. You and that she-devil said. murdered me. But I won’t let you have any peace for His father’s face was red as a rare roast beef. what you done to me. I’ll haunt you ‘til you die too.” “Gonna kill you both,” he said, staggering toward Terrified, Mitchell ran to his mother’s room. He Mitchell. As he did so, the knife he held dropped couldn’t stop crying. It was the most horrible moment from his hand. of his life and he thought the fear was never going to Mitch’s mother picked it up and plunged the knife end. into his back. John fell to the floor, but his mother “What is it? What’s wrong?” didn’t stop there. She pulled the knife out and kept “H——He was there in my room.” stabbing her husband over and over again. Mitchell “Who was there?” felt sick to his stomach. The scene before him was “You know who it was.” Mitchell shook violently, bizarre, surreal. God, there was blood everywhere! his teeth chattering. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare “He’s dead, honey. We buried him together.” of some kind. “He said he’d haunt me for the rest of my life.” There were moans from the figure on the floor, but “Mitch, sweetheart, it was just a bad dream. It’s his mother wouldn’t relent. She just kept on stabbing over. He can never hurt either of us again.”

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HYPNOS Mitchell wanted to believe that, but the following He remembered now. The guilt he’d felt——and the night, John returned, taunting and threatening. fear. Before his father descended into the depths of “You’ll rot in hell, boy, for what you done to your own alcoholism, he’d been a better husband and father. father.” Mitch ran from the room. Mitchell loved his father then. He wished things had “He’s not going to let me sleep ever again,” Mitchell ended differently between them. So many regrets! told his mother. He was terrified of his father’s ghost, Mitchell realized he hadn’t been all that kind to his even more frightened of the man in death than when mother. She lived down in Florida now. She’d never his father was alive. remarried but she did have a significant other, a man His mother shook her head. “Listen to me. We’re who was kind and treated her with respect. Maybe he putting an end to this. We’re leaving here forever.” should visit her more often. He’d forgotten how much At dawn, they packed their meager belongings. His she loved him, how much she’d sacrificed for him, mother took whatever money was in the house and and she wasn’t getting any younger. they drove away. After they’d left the old house in the woods behind, “Don’t look back,” his mother advised. “Never they’d moved to a tiny apartment in the city. His think about this again. It’s over. Bury all the feelings mother worked as a cleaning lady, in fact, did any like we buried him. He’s forever bound to this place. honest job she could find to support them. He’d We’re not.” worked slavishly in school, getting top grades so he Mitchell’s head was throbbing violently. He felt so was eligible for a full academic scholarship. He hadn’t weak and heavy. He’d taken his schoolbooks and they really appreciated all that his mother had done for weighed like lead in his arms. Soon, he couldn’t him. manage to hold them any longer. They dropped to It occurred to him that he hadn’t given enough love the car floor. He bent over to pick them up. The his- to his mother or Ginny or even his son. He’d been tory book was in one hand as darkness descended harsh and sharp with them at times, his strictness upon him. He was so dizzy. A corridor whirled coming not from strength but insecurity, the fear that around him spiraling into blackness. He felt as if he they would eventually find him out. Was he like his were being buried alive in a swirling vortex of own father had been? He hoped not! He’d never undulating motion. And then all rational thought raised a hand to his wife or son. But there were other ceased… ways to be abusive. Mitchell was about to walk out of the store when his OW ARE YOU FEELING?” foot hit against something. He bent down and picked H “W——Where am I?” up the object. It was a book, a history textbook. His “You’re in my shop.” old history book! There was no question about it. His He let out a soft groan. It seemed as if the man’s name was signed in the back along with the date. How voice were coming to him from some great distance. had the book gotten here? God, he felt peculiar. His head ached. “Must have Then he remembered something else and quickly fallen asleep.” glanced down at his wrist. In disbelief he saw a red “Perhaps you’d like some more coffee.” The old welt on it. He touched his wrist to make certain of its man spoke in a crisp, practical manner. reality and felt the pain. “Don’t fuss. I really have to get going. Have to get There must, of course, be a logical explanation for to my job. They’ll be expecting me.” what happened to him, but he could not comprehend He glanced around and breathed a deep sigh of what it might be. Perhaps he was still dreaming. relief. He was where he belonged——in the present Maybe… but no. moment. The past was nothing more than some bad He continued to walk toward the door in something dream, no matter how real it might have seemed. of a daze, trying his best to understand. But his Strange how he’d manage to block out the trauma of thoughts were hazy, as if he were moving through a his father’s death for so many years. mental fog.

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J. P. SEEWALD The old man was beside him. “Do come again,” he “Hey, don’t mock me. It was really frightening. I said. was at this rare book shop. I went in because I was “I think once is enough,” Mitchell said. drawn by a particular book. When I opened the an- Out in the street, Mitchell realized that he’d thology, it was like I was sucked into it, reliving my forgotten to take The Book of Illuminations with him. past. It was horrible but also enlightening.” But he really didn’t want it. It was the book from hell. Ginny crinkled her nose and narrowed her It had sucked him back into a past he’d prefer never chocolate brown eyes in confusion. “It’s not like you to remember. As he glanced back at the shop, he was to be fanciful. What shop are you talking about?” surprised to see the book sitting in the window again. “The bookstore near the greengrocer on Broad.” What did it mean? What did any of it mean? He Her lovely face registered surprise. “I didn’t know continued to walk toward his car. anything new had come there. Old Mr. Wiggins used He pulled out his cell phone and called the office, to own the store. He was a strange person but plea- telling the receptionist that he wouldn’t be coming in sant, sold all sorts of interesting and unusual things.” today. Then he drove back to his house. Ginny was “Such as?” busy packing her clothes into a large suitcase when he Ginny shrugged. “Books mostly. But also healing arrived. remedies and herbals. Some people swore by them. “Sweetheart, please don’t leave me. I love you and He was kind of a scary old guy. Some people actually I love Jimmy. I’m going to change. If you want us to thought he had supernatural powers. Can you go for counseling, I’m willing.” imagine? Anyway, he passed away about a year ago, Ginny put her things down. “Really?” She looked poor man. Store’s been empty ever since.” at him doubtfully. Mitchell felt a chill slither down his spine. “Honey, “Absolutely. I had a weird experience this morning, please give me another chance. I promise I’m going kind of like something that might happen in a horror to change.” movie.” Ginny stared at him thoughtfully. “We’ll see,” she “And you lived to tell about it?” She gave him a said. teasing smile.

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Plyaska By TRAVIS D. ROBERSON

HE PAINTER BEGINS BY ROLLING OUT A single face materializes all the way in the back of his tools. First the paints themselves——the the blackened theater——a face Anya shouldn’t be able T most alluring of his implements. Small silver to see from this distance. The Old Woman, the one tubes crimped in their centers like ladies in corsets, she remembers from childhood. That jagged nose crinkled, rolled to their peaks, milked to their limits. bent and pointed like a crooked blade, set against a Each one marked with a narrow band of color to sig- craggy face so wrinkled it makes a mockery of both nify the pigment contained within. When the time to time and death. paint comes his hands will idle over the tubes. A game Dance, Anya. of anticipation——which will he select? Her foot slips. Her leg buckles. She feels tendons Next, the brushes. Sturdy handles forged from snap and tear, the splintering of bone. The audience wood. They look strangely grim in the low candlelight— lets out a collective wince as she screeches and col- —a vivisectionist’s utensils. lapses on the stage, the spotlight still beaming down on On an easel The Painter places a canvas, stark and her. white but soon to be transfigured. He looks past the The pain turns real again, rekindling in Anya’s easel to the woman sitting before him, her face colored muscles and hauling her out of her dream. She wakes gold by the candle’s whipping flame. wincing and leans forward, grabbing her calf and mas- “Tell me of a place,” he says. “Somewhere you re- saging it as the Locomobile grinds to a halt. member. A place you wish you could return to.” “You all right, ma’am?” “Inspector,” she corrects, noticing The Chauffeur’s NYA DREAMS OF THE SPOTLIGHT. eyes drop in the rearview mirror. She forces her lips A It ignites like a bone-colored moon bursting into a cordial smile and says, “But yes. I’m fine. Just a forth from the dark, beckoning her to dance. So bright dream.” she can hardly decipher the faces in the crowd “We’re here,” The Chauffeur says, leaning over the watching her with nervous anticipation, amorphous steering wheel and looking out the window. “Can’t say shapes occupying the theater’s seats, frozen in gelat- I’ve ever been to Schenectady before.” inous silence. Waiting for the music. Waiting for her. Anya digs into her pocket and finds the small She steps into the light. leather pouch. While The Chauffeur continues to ad- Dance. mire the city’s midnight lights she quickly opens the She rises onto her toes, arms configured above her pouch and taps some opium powder into her hand, head. shuttling it into her mouth, reeling against the bitter Dance. taste as the vile filth slides down her tongue. By the The piano begins. Anya moves like water, like wind time The Chauffeur readjusts his attention to the back- and light. seat there’s no evidence of Anya’s imbibing. Her Dance, Anya. disgust with the opium powder shifts to relief as she She glides across the stage, volatile and delicate all feels the tension in her leg fade. She opens the Loco- at once. The spotlight follows. The crowd watches. mobile’s door and steps out. They are mesmerized and Anya knows it. She feeds “I’ll wait right here, Inspector.” on that power, her ability to hypnotize them. Anya moves across the street, knowing The Chauf- Dance, Anya. feur is watching her and constructing his own narrative Dance.

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TRAVIS D. ROBERSON in regard to her leg’s rigid movement. A story he will “And you think this is her?” never get right. The Client reaches for Anya’s hand. “Careful. What if that can hurt her?” HE WAKES THE CLIENT WITH A HEAVY Anya pulls away before The Client can touch her. S rap on the house’s door. Anya steps back and She steps back, noticing him ogle her leg’s obstinate waits, watching the windows turn warm and orange as movement. He doesn’t say anything about it the way a lamp flicks on. She readies her badge in her hand. some people like to do and for that she’s grateful. The door opens a crack and The Client pokes his “She used to come in here every night,” The Client head out, his hair swept in a wild manner only sleep is says. “Just sit and stare at it. Until… well…” capable of styling. “That woman wasn’t always in the painting?” “…yes?” he says, rubbing at crust collected in the “No. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It used to corners of his eyes. just be the field and the flowers. I didn’t notice it at Anya raises her badge so The Client can see it, the first. A few days after she disappeared I was sitting in cast iron shield with a coiled serpent in its center——the here and that’s when I saw it. The police rolled their same insignia painted on the door of the Locomobile eyes at me. That’s when I got in touch with ASP.” idling across the street. “I’m Inspector Anya Vasilyev “What’s the significance of this place?” Anya says, with the American Society of the Paranormal. You nodding at the painting. contacted us in regard to your wife’s disappearance.” The Client shakes his head and rubs his eyes again. “It’s quite late, isn’t it?” “Apparently she used to go there when she was a little “Yes.” girl. I don’t know. After she brought the painting home “You don’t sound American.” she kept talking about how real it felt. It’s all she’d do. “Does it matter, sir?” Stare at it and talk about it. I should have never let her The Client invites Anya inside and offers her tea, go to that carnival.” which she declines as she always does. Anya continues to gaze at the painting, watching the “I didn’t know ASP hired lady detectives,” he says. woman in question, as if waiting for her to move. “Inspectors,” she snaps. “Right. Sorry.” HINK,” THE PAINTER SAYS. “A TIME. A “Can you show me the painting?” she says. T place. Something that makes you happy.” The Client nods, his face darkening. “Of course. This way.” HEN SHE WAS A LITTLE GIRL HER W father took her to the ballet. She was spell- NYA GAZES AT THE BRIGHT SUMMER bound the moment the dancers took the stage. A flowers forged in thick dabs of oil. Pinks, whites, Women of austere beauty and remarkable strength, a subtle dash of red only the most eagle-eyed would capable of movements and contortions the audience spot. Beyond the flowers broad streaks of browns and could only dream of——left envious in their seats. greens comprise a rolling countryside. Against a bright The dancers propelled across the stage, moving blue sky stands the grainy shape of what looks like a with the elegance of spirits. Goddesses of the theater. woman in a flowing dress, a parasol shielding her from Anya knew then she would do anything to join their the white sun painted overhead. ranks, to dance like them. Anya lifts a gloved hand to the painting. She halts Hypnotic. Entrancing. As powerful as lightning. and looks over at The Client. “May I?” The Client nods his approval. HE CHAUFFEUR DRIVES ANYA TO THE Anya runs her finger gingerly across the painting’s T outskirts of Schenectady where the carnival is surface, feeling the bumps and rivets made by the paint camped, preparing to leave for the next city they will and the artist’s meticulous brushstrokes. She follows enthrall and inspire. the smoothness of the verdant field until her finger Anya moves carefully through a crowd of practicing lands on the woman in the center of the painting. jugglers, clowns rehearsing new comedy routines, a

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HYPNOS bearded woman spooning a plate of beans into her one another, unsure how to proceed. The other dan- mouth, careful not to dribble any into the coarse hairs cers crowd around Anya. dangling from her chin; through wagons and caravans, “Don’t,” The Director yells from the side of the cages housing animals from countries with shores stage. “Don’t touch her.” thousands of miles from this place. A lion purrs lowly Only one member of the audience remains seated. as she passes. The Old Woman smiles, her eyes locking with Anya’s. Anya finds The Ringleader and flashes her badge. She is the only thing Anya can see and she continues She tells him she’s looking for a painter. The Ring- grinning as she rises from her seat and slowly shuffles leader only points, to one of the few tents that hasn’t out of the theater while the rest of the audience been broken down and packed away. screams and scrambles. The tent stands erect and imposing, painted in red and yellow vertical lines that make it shine like a bea- ESCRIBE THE STAGE,” THE PAINTER con even in the dark. Anya’s leg locks up and slows her D says. “Tell me how it felt to dance.” down, the opium beginning to wear off, her muscles revisited again by that permanent tourist called pain. AINTINGS SO REAL YOU CAN LIVE IN This walk to the tent reminds her of something else. P them, proclaims the sign outside the tent. Years ago… Inside, the tent is lighted by a single candle dripping trails of white wax. No decorations besides The Pain- ALLIVANTING THROUGH THE WOODS ter’s easel fixed with a blank canvas. A chair for his G behind her childhood home situated outside subjects. Moscow, her head still swirling with the images of the The Painter stares at Anya when she enters, as if dancers she had watched only hours before. Doing her he’s been expecting her, his eyes smoldering with the best to mimic their divine movements, spinning thro- candlelight. ugh the leaves, slashing her leg through the air, raising “I should have known someone would come,” he her arms and waving them like a swan in flight. Soon says. “Is it wrong if you’re helping people——guiding her mother would yell for her, summoning her to the them toward happiness?” dinner table, but until then she would dance. “Tell me how you do it,” Anya says. Dance, Anya. He raises his arms in a puzzled gesture. “How does She twirled and pirouetted until she arrived at The anyone do anything?” Old Woman’s house nestled in the center of a copse Anya imagines herself dancing, feet moving nimbly of towering trees. A small shack upheld on stilts com- beneath her in a testament to grace. posed of hundreds of tiny bones fused together. “I can show you,” The Painter says, gesturing to the “You dance so beautifully,” The Old Woman said, chair. “Please. Then you can do whatever you want hobbling out of the shadows. “Is that what you wish to with me. Just let me show you.” be——a dancer?” “Yes,” Anya told her. NYA CLIMBS BACK INSIDE THE LOCO- “If that is what you wish I can make it so,” said The A mobile and sets the canvas next to her. Old Woman. “But one day you will owe me.” She “What’s that you have there?” The Chauffeur says. pointed behind her to the stilts of bones holding her “I’d like you to take me home,” Anya tells him. home upright. “Are you willing to pay your debt when “Will you roll up the partition, please?” the time comes?” “Yes.” HE PAINTER BEGINS BY ROLLING OUT T his tools. HE HOLDS HER LEG AND SCREAMS, WRI- S thing on the stage. The audience rises, shouting to

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When All Turned to Dust By NESTOR DELFINO

HE CLOCK ALARM PULLED ALBERT He figured he had drunk the water during the night, from his dream of Ellen like a bulldozer but the sand was inexplicable. He did not remember T ripping a tree from the ground. He tried to hit working in the yard the day or even the week before. the snooze button, but instead, he knocked down the For a fleeting instant, on his way to the washroom, glass of water he kept on his night table; it hit the floor he thought of Rachel and Luke. Often, his neighbor’s and shattered. children pulled pranks on him. Saturday, 7:00 AM. The toilet did not flush. The lever felt stiff as if The picture of Ellen was still on the night table. It blocked by something. A microbiologist should not be had been three years already. One day——he kept expected to engage in plumbing tasks but still, he telling himself——he would finally move on like his wife opened the toilet tank to perform a visual inspection. had begged him to, in her final days. It was full of sand. Swearing, he jumped out of bed ready to deal with Now he was certain Rachel and Luke had done it. the soaked hardwood. But instead of water, all he He decided to complain to his neighbor and best found among the shards of glass was a tiny pile of sand. friend. Even that early, the climbing Florida sun hurt 41

HYPNOS his eyes. While he shaded his face with one hand, he confirmed that not only the United States was affected, pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his golf shirt’s but also the rest of the world. breast pocket with the other. He lit a cigarette, took two His net2phone rang. puffs, and then he knocked on the door ten times. “Dr. Carey, this is Dr. Pauling. Have you heard the “Oh, it’s you, Albert,” the neighbor said, looking a news?” bit surprised. “What a coincidence. I was just about to “Yes sir, and I’m still hoping this is a nightmare.” go ask you if you had any water. The strangest thing “No such luck. Come to the lab as soon as humanly happened here. There’s sand in the pipes!” possible.” Albert felt a bit less angry and a lot more amused. “Listen, Mike, whatever they wrecked in your house HE PREEMINENT ADVANCED BIOLOGICAL they wrecked in mine. Now you know I love your kids T studies building in the country was hectic like a as if they were my own, but this went too far. How are beehive and Albert could not find a spot in the gigantic you going to fix this?” parking lot; all the VIP places were taken. He just left “Hi Uncle Albert!” said a boy with a spray of the car by the main entrance and darted inside. Dr. freckles across his nose and cheeks and a look of mis- Pauling and his whole executive team were waiting for chief in his bright green eyes. him in the main boardroom. So was the president, Poking her head from behind the prime suspect vice-president, and the chiefs of staff. was the second accused, a spindly little girl with straight “Madam President, Mr. Vice-president, chiefs, blonde hair cut short, and bangs over her eyebrows. ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Pauling said, “This is Dr. “Hi Uncle Albert!” she said. Carey, our Chief of Microbiology.” “When are you gonna take us to the Moon?” both Albert looked around the packed boardroom. The of them asked Albert, “It’s open today!” president looked as desperate as a prisoner about to Remembering how much fun the three of them had walk the distance from her cell to the electric chair. had at the theme park named after Earth’s natural The chiefs acted as if they were in a war briefing. satellite the month before, Albert could not help but “Let’s get started,” Pauling said. “Today at 5:00 AM smile at the kids. He had already forgiven them. “I this institution received a report that all surface water don’t think you naughty ones deserve it today. But if on Earth had turned to sand.” you behave, I promise I’ll take you two back to the Open mouths, but silent. As if their owners had Moon.” Then he set his expectant gaze back on his stopped breathing. friend. “Any liquid containing water, even in sealed Before red-faced Mike could apologize, both men containers, has experienced the same transformation. looked beyond the driveway, at a flash crowd con- We are drilling deep holes to determine if subsurface verging on the sidewalk. Neighbors. Asking each other water has followed the same fate.” about the sand. Looking at Mike’s house with accusing “Madam President,” said a general with so many eyes. A small girl pulled her mother’s hand and said, medals pinned to his chest that his uniform looked like “Mom, the bottle of orange juice in the fridge is full of patchwork, “It’s evident that the Russians are behind sand too. I’m thirsty!” this! Some new weapon they’ve unleashed on us! We “Hey everybody, listen!” somebody yelled through must launch!” a window. “It’s all over the net2 streams. They said it’s The silence was louder than before, and Albert happening all over the country! Water has turned into hoped he was about halfway through his nightmare, sand!” and that he would wake up to a rainy Saturday Albert was no chemist, but he was still a scientist morning. Water, water everywhere; water dripping and knew what that man had said was impossible. So from eavesdrops, water pooling around his front door, he ran into his home, leaving Mike looking as stunned water flooding his basement. as the rest of his neighbors. He opened his flex-pad “Chief,” the president said, “stop your nonsense and checked the biggest net2 news sites. It was now this minute! The Russians have reported the same, just like every other country.”

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NESTOR DELFINO “But we can’t trust the Russians, Madam President! turned to sand. The ice that had been under that snow They must be behind this!” was sand also, indistinguishable from the layer above. Dr. Pauling turned on the TV, RT channel. The Riots were threatening governments worldwide. English-speaking journalist showed Lake Volga, form- Already drought-stricken countries in Africa were now erly the most voluminous lake in the world, now a being pushed to the brink. The sand granules, “the gigantic sandpit. The general took a deep breath and Sands from Hell” as the Church named them, were the sunk in his chair like a beat-up boxer at the end of a most hated particles in history. Antarctica became ruthless round. another Sahara, albeit with ice-cold sand. The Atlantic “Dr. Carey,” the president said, “Do you have any and Pacific oceans became the largest deserts on Earth. idea why the water in our bodies hasn’t turned to sand? Actually, the biggest graves on Earth. Entombed in Do you have any idea if that will happen?” them, all of the planet’s extinct marine life. Satellite All eyes were on Albert. He felt the weight of all the radar images revealed large oblong bodies dotting the world’s water-turned-sand on his shoulders. Pacific Ocean, which marine biologists identified as “No, Madam President. But I’ll get on it right whales buried under the sand. There were larger away.” objects, larger and at greater depths than the whales: “You do that. And whatever you need, you call me submarines. Sailors were trapped under hundreds of at this number. Day or night. Thank you, everybody, meters of sand, not able to say goodbye to their loved now get to work. We only have a few days before we ones. Harrowing reports began pouring from the die of thirst.” stranded vessels that found themselves half sunk in the sand like some ancient ruins. Oil tankers, container AY ONE WITHOUT WATER. ALBERT FELT ships, cruise liners. People had literally jumped ship D a bad headache coming on as if he had been and began pointless walks across continents, under the drinking heavily the previous night. Which he had, blistering equatorial sun. now that he thought about it. He had a rule of thumb Albert’s mind kept switching from the current, dire for his nights of heavy drinking: five glasses of water situation, to his dead wife, Rachel, and Luke. How before hitting the sack. But the previous night had were they doing? When he tried to contact them, the been special; he had been looking at the photo albums, net2phone was dead. How much he regretted blaming which demanded extra alcohol. When he finally them for the sand in the pipes! If he could only make crawled to bed, he barely managed to turn off the it up to them now, if he could only take them to the lights. Moon, that theme park they loved so much! Now the headache was killing him. He needed a He thought of hitting the bottle, after discovering drink of water. Water! None could be found in the that whiskey did not follow the same fate as water. Juice building. For the first time in recorded history, every- did. And pop. It seemed that alcohol prevented the body was equal; the homeless, the president, the transformation somehow. But a quick experiment Queen of England, the CEO of the biggest bank. All demonstrated that once the alcohol and the water were equal. All would die within days unless a source of separated, he ended up with forty percent pure alcohol water was found, water that did not turn to sand. and sixty percent pure Sand from Hell. The deep-well tests were discouraging. Somehow, Unfortunately, he was not the only person to realize whatever had transformed the surface water to sand, that. In spite of the government’s warnings, scores of had also acted deep underground. It was the perfect people got dangerously intoxicated. And with no water nightmare: no water left on Earth. Microscopic studies available, a lot of those drunk people died that first day. of the sand granules revealed a slightly different The country ground to a halt, as the government took molecular structure than “normal” sand grains. No emergency measures and ordered citizens to stay trace of water, not the faintest sign of the liquid they home. Only Police and National Guard were allowed had been before the transformation, as the media on the streets. coined it. Even research stations from Antarctica had Buzzing with guru scientists, Albert’s lab was the reported that the snow covering the ice sheet had been crisis center. Similar hubs had been hastily formed in

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HYPNOS Russia, China, UK, and Germany. All of them were disobeying it. Some claimed that the president herself asking Albert what to do. did not respect her own executive order. Looking up from his microscope, Albert said to the Albert locked his lab from the inside because the president, who would not leave the lab, “Madam president was becoming unbearable. No matter how President, I’m sorry but I still don’t have an answer for much she banged the door, he did not care. He fo- you.” cused his attention on NASA now. “Dr. Carey, you have the resources of the country “Dr. Carey,” the NASA administrator said, at your disposal, plus those of our friends and allies. sounding and looking increasingly annoyed, “why do What else do you need? The clock is ticking.” you keep asking about asteroids, comet tails, and It was hard concentrating in such an environment. cosmic dust? I thought you were an authority in bio- Albert’s boss had done his best to keep the president technology, not a spaceman.” away, but the president was the president. The re- “There has to be an external catalyst. Are you sources of the entire country, the president had just absolutely sure you haven’t detected anything strange said. Who else did he need? Every top biologist and lately, no matter how insignificant?” chemist was in that room doing the things they were As the administrator lost his cool and began yelling, best at. What else did he need? and then cut the video call short, one of Albert’s many “Madam President, I need to talk to NASA.” assistants tapped his shoulder and gave him a cell- Earl Reed, NASA’s administrator, sounded tired phone. Someone else from NASA. A control room over the net2phone; dehydration manifested quickly in technician who sounded in a hurry. older people. “Dr. Carey,” he said, “The president has “Sir,” the technician said, “I’ve been trying to reach instructed me to put all NASA resources at your you through the official channels, but NASA has disposal. What do you need from me?” denied me permission. You must know that there’s “Has anything out of the ordinary been detected by water aboard the International Space Station. One of your satellites, by your hunt for near-Earth objects?” the astronauts there told me so. There’s some sort of “Nothing. Are you implying that something from cover-up going on——” outer space is causing this?” The soft beep that indicated the call had ended “I’m not implying anything, because I’ve no idea startled Albert like a fire alarm in the middle of the what’s going on. Just a gut feeling.” night. He just sat there, frozen, the cellphone glued to “Dr. Carey,” the president said, “you have been at his ear. He turned to his assistant and said, “Can you this all day and you still cannot tell us what is call him back?” happening?” But the assistant said that the number was blocked, Albert looked at his boss. He looked back at him, and he could not trace it back. twisting his head left to right. A don’t do it type of look. Albert felt as if his dry throat was turning to ash. His “Madam President, with all your respect, don’t you assistant’s look of hopeless indifference did not help to have other matters to attend? We can’t work when you ease his mounting desperation. Water aboard the ISS? and your people are all over us like angry hornets.” A NASA cover-up? Was this some government ex- Ignoring the president’s sudden bright red face, periment being orchestrated from low Earth orbit? His Albert continued: “Sorry to be blunt. Please leave.” mind was full of questions; chief among them, what Then he went back to his microscope. was he going to do now? And how were Rachel and Huffing and puffing, the president stormed out of Luke doing? He was not allowed to leave the lab. He the lab. was denied his request to bring his neighbors into the safety of the facility. AY TWO WITHOUT WATER. DAY TWO D without sleep. Tempers and thirst flared. In spite AY THREE WITHOUT WATER. LAW- of a presidential executive order forbidding the con- D lessness. The little snippets of information sumption of alcohol, even government officials were Albert heard in his bunkered lab came from media people attached to the White House. Strangely

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NESTOR DELFINO enough, the vice-president was nowhere to be found. intelligence that he was organizing a coup. Vice- The anarchy did not seem to be as violent as he had president against president. Man against woman. feared; the rioters were dehydrated to the point of Albert kept worrying about his neighbor’s kids. exhaustion. It was a slow-unfolding calamity. Those two rascals had given him plenty of headaches With his boss unconscious in the infirmary, Albert since his wife died. Before she would calm him down; had to make a quick decision. He unlocked the lab and ever since her death, he had become a bitter scientist let the president come in. He video-called the NASA who yelled them out of his backyard daily. And he also administrator. Reed did not look well, as expected for loved them and invited them and their family for someone his age who did not have a drink of water in barbecues once a month. Were they all right? Child- seventy-two hours. ren and old people were more likely to perish from “Why didn’t you tell us about the water on the thirst earlier. ISS?” His computer beeped and brought him back to his To Albert’s surprise, the old man did not try to hide grim reality. Video call. The NASA administrator it. again, this time flanked by the president. “You think we haven’t explored every possible “We don’t have much time,” the president said. scenario, Dr. Carey? We don’t know! The astronauts “Listen carefully. Tell him, Earl.” on board don’t know! We’ve asked them to do all sorts “We know what’s causing this,” Reed said. “We’ve of experiments, based on the work you’ve already known since yesterday, after going through your latest done in your lab, those cursed sand molecules you’ve analysis.” analyzed so thoroughly. Whatever is happening to the Albert felt an urge to insult the old man, but he kept water, it’s only a planetary-level phenomenon.” listening. “Earl,” the president said, surprisingly calm under “Last month, a meteor shower dispersed some sort the circumstances. “How much water does the ISS of chemical agent uniformly throughout the Earth’s have?” atmosphere. A delayed, coordinated, simultaneous “Enough for a few years.” The old man paused, activation of those trillions of particles, days after they then added: “Those few people up there will witness fell to the surface, was what made the water turn to the end of the world.” sand.” Albert’s energy was not enough, he concluded, to HAT LITTLE NEWS ALBERT PAID scream. Instead, he just said: “Now you tell me? W attention to did nothing to improve his mood. What’s the point? In a few days, we’ll all be dead! The US Government was collapsing. Other govern- Except for the astronauts aboard the ISS!” ments around the world were in the same pre- Somehow managing to ignore his by now almost dicament. Contact across the ocean was sketchy. News constant migraine, perhaps because his scientific about ships stuck in the sand halfway across the Pacific curiosity was one of the few things that kept him going, Desert (as it was now called) and missing Hollywood he asked for data about Antarctica. He knew that the celebrities (presumably buried in their swimming snow had been turned to sand down to the ice sheet, pools), all seemed like some sort of unfolding B-tragi- but he wanted to know if the slush beneath the ice was comedy. naturally sealed enough to prevent the transformation. Closer to the lab, an exhausted, dehydrated army For all they knew, Antarctica might be the last place on did its best to protect the perimeter from the equally Earth where water could be found. Perhaps there were exhausted and dehydrated attackers outside. Anarchy caves filled with ancient water. Perhaps that water in slow motion. could buy humans a few more months. The army itself was descending into chaos. There Reed sent him a summary of the latest data were reports of skirmishes between National Guard gathered from the still-surviving research teams in the units. Tanks were out in the streets, and some para- South Pole. Albert’s ongoing nightmare kept on going: noid soldiers were becoming trigger-happy. The vice- deep drilling had revealed that the sand extended president had mysteriously disappeared, and there was below the ice sheet and that there was no slush below,

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HYPNOS let alone water. Apparently, the chemical agent had the “no smoking” sign on the cover of the ammunition started a chain reaction; every water the sand touched box. “Sorry sir,” he said in a grave voice. “Too many turned into more sand. Everything that was not as per- things here don’t like sparks.” fectly sealed as the water containers sent down from Smoke or no smoke, Albert felt a killer headache the ISS. coming on. Horrific as it seemed to waste any of the precious The last functional government facility was pro- water from the ISS, NASA had performed an ex- tected by an impressive perimeter of tanks and periment. Scientists had exposed a tiny amount of machine-gun nests. But as the armored vehicle passed water to the air inside the cleanest lab at their disposal. through the only gate, Albert saw the army was in a From the height of a table, they let one of the ISS sorry state; the soldiers looked like dying desert containers drip the tiniest amount of water: five drops; crossers. His own dry tongue slapping against his even what splashed on the clean room’s gleaming surface drier palate reminded him that his time was coming to was five grains of sand. an end, too. Albert massaged his temples and cursed. The president and Reed walked Albert five levels “Dr. Carey,” the president said, “we don’t know down to a cavernous basement with bright, warehouse- how much longer this link will work. An armored like ceiling lights. Running on backup power, Reed personnel carrier is on its way to your lab. You are explained. Somehow, the old man looked livelier than needed here.” before. They sat by a large metal table full of printouts, but AY FOUR WITHOUT WATER. DAY TWO empty of anything resembling glasses or jugs. The D since the fall of the United States government. president said, “Half the world population has per- The crew manning the electric APC seemed to have ished. The surviving half has a couple of days by our come straight out of Hell. Their cracked lips, their doctor’s best estimates. Hardy individuals might make sunken eyes, their robotic, mindless movements it a few more days. In the best case, the human race alarmed Albert. Then he caught a glimpse of his own will be extinct by this time next week.” face in a side mirror as he boarded the dusty vehicle, Albert’s headache took a turn for the worst; his and felt sorry for himself. He looked worse than the vision blurred and he failed to keep his vertical. Going young soldiers taking him to the last NASA operating down he hit a water cooler which was full of sand. The facility in recently rebuilt Cape Canaveral. president and the administrator, displaying surprising It stank like smoke. In a sorry attempt at a joke, agility and strength given the circumstances, caught Albert said, “You guys lit a fire here?” him before he hit the polished concrete floor. The crew commander, slightly older than his two He opened his eyes as he was being dragged to a crewmen, said, “Some crazies shot MANPADs at us. room with men and women in white lab coats. Fortunately, the driver saw the flashes and swerved in In the infirmary, there were six gurneys, five of time. There’s a rebellion going on.” them occupied by people that looked as if they were Through the little windows, Albert saw the deva- about to depart the world of the living. Doctors were station: burnt, upside-down cars, bodies, fires raging fixing some sort of respirator to the man on the gurney out of control in collapsed buildings, and zombie-like, next to Albert. The man opened his mouth and sucked rag-clad human wretches wandering the apocalyptic on a straw-like transparent tube. Some clear liquid landscape. Crawling, actually. Albert felt desperation flowed through the straw and the man swallowed, and and impotence when a little girl holding a teddy bear swallowed, and swallowed until no more liquid came collapsed on a gritty sidewalk and laid there flat. No- out of the magical contraption’s tube. body came to her aid, because there was nobody to The doctors laid the man flat on the gurney. Then come to help those who should have come to help. they approached Albert. They said something to him, Albert craved a cigarette. When he took out the but he was not listening. He allowed them to place the crumpled package from his breast pocket, the crew mask on his face and opened his mouth as much as he commander shook his head left to right and pointed at could, almost to the point of popping his mandible out

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NESTOR DELFINO of place. Then he gulped the odorless, colorless, repurposed to assist with this international effort. This tasteless liquid. Exquisite. mission was rushed, there was no time for planning When they removed the mask from his face, he and safety considerations.” tried to pry it back from them. He had to be restrained. Albert’s gaze shifted from the administrator to the Reed said, “Dr. Carey, we have only a limited president. amount of water. The few gallons in this facility came “You ride on the last rocket to ever launch from from the ISS, in the escape craft, inside a specially this country,” the president said. “With the rest of the sealed container.” scientists here. You must protect the water. You must Albert licked his lips meticulously, trying to absorb make sure those sands from hell never get near it. You every last molecule of moisture, but all he managed to must build a shield over the Moon habitat.” do was introduce sand molecules in his mouth. There were large TV screens everywhere, with live The administrator continued, “There isn’t much video from a launchpad in the distance. Standing one time. You and the other scientists here must blast off hundred feet tall was the untested rocket that would to the ISS.” He looked at his watch. “Within the next send a few survivors to a pit stop in low orbit, and then five hours.” on to their final destination, an obscure Moonbase. I’m clearly delusional, Albert thought. But when Reed explained the rocket was almost ready for take- the president confirmed Reed’s statement, and after a off, and that there was one backup rocket in the domed nurse with a tired face pricked him in the arm with a silo behind the main building, in case something hypodermic needle, he began to realize that something happened to the spaceship being readied outside. extraordinary was going on. Now that Albert was re-hydrated, he began to think “What? Who? I mean, who gets to live? Who more clearly. He remembered his wife, what she said decides who gets water? You?” he yelled to the pres- just before she died, that he had to move on with his ident. “Or you?” he yelled to the administrator. life. He remembered the young neighbors that had “Sir!” the president said. “I would gladly distribute made the last few years annoying and fun. The child- the water to the dying people out there. How many do ren he had seen grow up, his neighbor and best friend, you think I could save? The ISS sent down its only and his kids. The ones he had promised to take to the escape craft, so we won’t be getting any more water. fun-filled park “The Moon.” We have to keep you and your fellow scientists alive. How could he have forgotten about them? It had You’re too precious. You people are humanity’s last to be the lack of water! hope.” “I need to find my friend’s family,” he said to the “What the hell is going on here?” Albert said. president. The president looked at him with a face that With deep, penetrating eyes, Reed said, “Some- displayed understanding and sadness. thing’s un-terraforming Earth.” “Dr. Carey, as soon as the launch crew gives the Neither the president nor the administrator sugar- thumbs up, you are boarding that rocket. In the mean- coated it. The transforming agents, as they called the time, you are to go over the launch procedures with the microscopic particles from the last meteor shower, had other passengers.” spread evenly throughout the atmosphere, and had “I’m not leaving this planet until I get my family!” eventually landed all over the planet. “You must launch! As your president, I’m ordering A desperate mission from the United States, China, you!” and Russia, to send a few chosen survivors to an “I’m not getting on that ship!” Albert pointed at the improvised Moon habitat hastily made of inflatable administrator. “He said there’s a backup rocket, didn’t modules, was the only lifeline left for humanity. he? Send me up on that one, with my friend’s family. “Already, water is being stored under the Moon’s Or arrest me!” surface,” Reed said. “The last rockets to the ISS are Just as the president seemed ready to order blasting off today from every able launch complex. someone to do something, there was an explosion, Some will not make it, even if they manage to at least followed by machine-gun fire from the defensive peri- dock with two secretive Chinese space stations, meter. The fence beyond the launchpad had been

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HYPNOS breached by a lone tank which was now burning, thick were adequately protected from the dying zombies black smoke billowing from its turret. A direct hit from marauding the streets. the security around the building. If they ran into the army, that would be another The crew commander who brought Albert to the story. facility burst in the infirmary. “Madam President, it was a scout. We’ve detected an armored column a few OW THE WORLD HAD CHANGED! hours from here. I think they’re going to attack this H Through the APC’s slit windows Albert saw facility.” entire suburbs in ashes, or well in the process to “Madam President,” Reed said, “we must launch become ashes. Firefighters were an extinct species. now!” The electric APC drove cross country whenever the “Agreed. Tell the ground crew to skip all pre-flight crew felt the ruined streets were too narrow, apt for an checks and launch!” ambush. Out in the open though, they had no cover. “Commander,” Albert said, showing him a map of From the tree line, some two hundred yards away his neighborhood on a screen, “Can you take me came a sudden bullet storm that showered the slit there? I need to save my family!” windows with sparks, like burning hornets. “Commander,” the president said, “Place Dr. “Evasive action!” the commander yelled. The APC Carey under arrest.” veered violently to one side, then to the other, as the Albert was dragged from the infirmary through the driver began zigzagging. The bullets were no longer frenzied hallways of the last working government hitting the armor, but there were more and more facility. The once orderly space center was now flashes coming from the tree line now behind them. looking more like an asylum for the insane. The crew commander trained his scope on that area, “Don’t worry doc, my crew and I will take you and said, “Tanks! Abrams M1A2’s! Floor it, driver! there. It’s only about an hour cross country on a fast Get us out of here!” APC. We must avoid the roads; they’re either blocked One tank fired its massive cannon; the round flew or destroyed.” past the APC and hit the ground only a few yards Albert could not contain his surprise. “Why are ahead, and the explosion covered the vehicle in dirt. you doing this, commander?” The driver kept going, always zigzagging, until they “You’ve no idea the horrors I’ve seen in the last went up and over a meadow that protected them from couple of days. I’ve seen generals gone mad blud- further fire. geoning their subordinates to death. I’ve seen high- “Can they catch us?” Albert managed to ask. ranking politicians killing babies to drink their blood. “Not a chance. This electric, light armored vehicle I’ve had to shoot some of those crazies.” is way faster than those tanks. We’ve lost them.” “Babies!” Albert parroted, incredulous. “Batteries are overheating!” the driver reported. “Doc, you’ve been cocooned in your lab since this The commander ordered to reduce speed and to madness began. This country is falling apart. The vice- get back on the nearest road. president has taken command of a chunk of the army Albert knew that road, or what was left of it. His and has convinced it that we’ve got tons of water and crescent, only a few minutes away now, was bordered that we’re hiding it to keep control over the people. by lush walnut trees. Although most of the trees were Once those armored units break in, they won’t stop to still standing, the houses were not. Except for the ruins listen for explanations.” of his house and his neighbors’, which somehow had The APC waited outside. The crewmen looked not been completely burned to the ground yet, he better than the last time Albert had seen them. Nobody could not recognize anything else. paid attention when they came into the building and “That’s the house!” Albert said, tapping the driver whisked Albert away. The APC had a decent-sized on the shoulder and pointing at the Greek-like ruins machine gun fixed at the top, and together with the that used to be his best friend’s home. Two crewmen rifles the crew carried, it seemed to Albert that they jumped out of the vehicle and after securing the area,

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NESTOR DELFINO the commander came out with Albert. “Keep your “Commander!” the president said, “deliver Dr. head down,” the commander said. Carey to the bus immediately! I don’t care how, knock What they found, Albert never imagined he would him unconscious if you have to!” ever have to behold. His friend and his wife lay lifeless The commander saluted again but stood his on a pool of blood under the kitchen table, itself ground. His chief’s eyes were about to shoot lightning covered by chunks of drywall and wooden beams from rods. the collapsed ceiling. Searching frantically now, he “They’re waking up,” the tired nurse said. opened the base cabinets looking for the children. Albert hugged the children, who were not strong Until one of the crewmen said, “Here! Found ‘em!” enough to sit up on their gurneys. When they asked Albert was terrified of looking at them. They were about their parents he told them, again, that everything under the thick, solid table in what had once been a would be alright, that he promised everything would be beautiful dining room. alright. “They’re still breathing!” the same crewman said. “Madam President,” Albert said to the woman who “Give them water!” Albert screamed. had managed to drag a couple of young military police They carried them to the APC and fitted the officers with her in order to do her bidding, “You don’t drinking masks on their faces. The moment the first need me on that rocket. The scientists you’re loading droplets touched their dried lips, it was as if they had on the bus are more than capable to get your habitat been robots with dead batteries that just been plugged up and going.” He looked at Rachel and Luke. “What to a socket; they came back to life with a jolt. They you need is people. People! Young people to keep could not control themselves from sucking on those humanity going!” precious trickles of the last water on Earth. The president seemed about to explode. Albert Rachel tried to say something, but Albert told her kept talking. “Send me on the backup rocket. Let these to just lay down. There was no need for words. Rachel kids take my spot on the first one, I’m begging you.” and Luke began to cry without tears. Soon, both of “We’ve got incoming!” somebody yelled over the them passed out on the vehicle’s drop seats. speakers. The vice-president’s army had just been The way back to the last NASA complex took two spotted a few kilometers from the perimeter, and they additional hours because the crew was extra careful were coming in numbers. “Twenty tanks,” reported about driving in the open again. Instead, they went the same voice, panicking now. through forests and abandoned neighborhoods. They “Get them out now!” Albert said. came across crawling people who waved at them as if The commander ordered his crew to push the they were their saviors. Albert felt relieved that the kids gurneys out of the infirmary, out to the tarmac where were unconscious. the bus awaited to take the travelers to their spaceship. When the towering spaceship appeared over the Albert ran alongside. “It’ll be alright guys, I promise. horizon, the commander contacted the defense peri- You’re going to the Moon!” meter to ensure safe passage. They went through the Once they loaded the children on the school bus, line of tanks and machine guns, and they took the the driver shut the doors and revved the engine. Albert children to the infirmary. tapped the window. The kids were too weak to move, “What was all this nonsense?” a livid president so a scientist opened it for them. demanded. As she stormed by, the commander “Promise you’ll send me pictures!” Albert said. “I saluted. love you guys!” “Are you out of your mind?” she said, shaking The bus sped away downrange, toward the rocket. Albert’s shoulders. “Who are these children? Oh, It seemed so far away as if the bus was actually slowing never mind! Get your ass on the bus immediately! down. Then the first salvo illuminated the tarmac, just Can’t you understand you’re irreplaceable?” a few feet ahead of the school bus. When the driver “I’m not going without them!” swerved to the right, making an arc around the fireball, Albert remembered that he should not neglect his breathing.

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HYPNOS “Come!” the commander said, dragging Albert The commander ordered half his troops to follow back to the perimeter of tanks just outside the building. him, toward the rocket, and the other half to defend “We must fall back!” the building. As soon as they crossed the last line of defense, the All hell was breaking loose. Projectiles were flying, commander ordered, “Fire for effect! Fire for effect!” and the main building was sustaining heavy damage. The barrage made Albert deaf. Incredulous, he Albert wondered if the president and the administrator followed the tracers across the tarmac, as they landed were still alive. But he had more pressing matters to just beyond the fence. Whatever had fired that initial attend to; he was a passenger in that vehicle of war, in round was history, he thought with a mix of rage, relief, the last battle on Earth. and sadness. His worries were well-founded. One enemy tank He had just jumped inside one of the tanks in the began shooting at the rocket which, for some defense perimeter now, so he could hear the chatter. inexplicable reason, had not lifted off. The com- “Thirty more tanks beyond the fence, sir! Orders?” mander ordered his crew to fire at the rogue while on “Hold position!” the commander said. pursuit. All shots missed. “No!” Albert screamed. “You must protect the The rogue tank scored a direct hit mid-ship and the ship! They’re going to blow it up!” fiery explosion that consumed the rocket also engulfed “My orders are to protect this facility, doc! Now sit the attacker. down and shut up. I’m not going to disobey any more Albert froze in place, his mouth open in a orders today!” breathless, silent scream. What remained of im- “Damn you, can’t you see nothing else matters portance in the world had just been blown to pieces. now? Those kids are the future! And so are the The commander’s group dealt with the remaining scientists that must go with them to the Moon! To hell rogue elements. Time to go back to help what was left with your orders!” of the main defensive line around what was left of the “Five tanks have just crossed the fence!” came over building. He ignored Albert’s desperate cries to go the radio. “Orders?” back to the smoldering mess in place of the spaceship. For an instant, the commander seemed to be in Another column of vice-presidential tanks was turmoil. Then he smiled, took a pack of cigarettes out advancing toward the building, and nothing seemed to of his breast pocket, lit one, and sent smoke rings be able to stop them this time. toward the “no smoking” sign on the ammo box. He Albert did not care anymore. He wanted to get out grabbed the radio and said “All units engage all targets! of the tank and face the incoming onslaught with his Protect the rocket! Copy!” bare fists. The commander had to restrain him. A myriad of “yessir!” came back, as if from an angry “Keep it together!” the commander said. “The kids chorus. are safe! We must protect them until they launch!” Albert’s tank was now leading a pack of enraged Albert did not understand what he meant until he metal beasts that looked like rhinos protecting the last saw the main building dome opening up like a flower watering hole on Earth. This time the thunder of the in bloom. Incandescent orange flames shot out, and canons was muffled, but he was still able to see the the ground trembled. tracer rounds speeding toward the enemy; the in- The backup rocket. The one that was supposed to truders went up in smoke. take him to the Moon. But the main body of the vice-president’s rogue “Get it now?” the commander said. “The first army had arrived. Albert saw the flashes from their rocket was only a decoy. The bus went back to the cannons. Explosions all around him. Tanks to his left building, to the reinforced dome behind it. That’s and to his right caught fire. Yelling over the radio. Five where they kept the real spaceship. Sorry to say, but more tanks from the rogue army were now motoring you’ve missed the bus.” toward the rocket, which was in the final countdown. A beautiful roar. The rocket flew into the sky like an arrow shot by some mythical bow. Humanity’s precious cargo. Some rogue tanks fired at it, but the

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NESTOR DELFINO arrow was climbing too fast and was already out of Albert felt as if he was in some surreal dream. He range. Even antiaircraft missiles launched by a couple stared at the screens, open mouthed, and only came of rogues got lost in the rocket’s wake. back to himself when the president pressed a hand- Something hit Albert’s tank, and the explosion kerchief against his bleeding sideburn. knocked him against the wall full of knobs and “There’s a message for you,” she said. switches. He felt something warm dripping down the “Uncle!” Luke said. “This is so cool, we’re floating! side of his face. The commander and the rest of the We miss you, are you gonna join us on the Moon?” crew were not so lucky. The driver was limp over the Albert looked at Reed. He gave him a sad smile. controls and the gunner’s head had been smashed by Albert smiled a happy smile. The spaceship sent live the caved-in gun turret. The commander was moaning. video of the Earth: a cloudless, featureless, gray disc. A Albert pulled him out of his seat, kicked open the Sahara-like desert had taken over the whole planet. back doors, and dragged him through the fog and “Un-terraformed planet,” Reed observed. destruction, toward the building, down the stairs to the Albert kept on smiling. Rachel and Luke were safe, control room. What remained of the defensive peri- and they would join the survivors on the Moon habitat. meter was valiantly delaying the inevitable for as long An explosion rattled the ceiling lights, the chairs, as possible. the tables, and the screens receiving the live feed. Nurses carried the dying commander to the Albert glanced at the president, who shook her head infirmary, and Albert found the president and the and told him to say goodbye. administrator following the spaceship’s progress on the The last thing Albert said, just before com- screens. It was now leaving the atmosphere of the munications were cut off, was: “Kids, promises are desert planet. The last spaceship’s captain reported promises. You’re going to the Moon.” that they would rendezvous with the ISS as planned, and thanked them for their ultimate sacrifice.

The Piece Makers By JULEIGH HOWARD-HOBSON

Knuckles are the best, but we’ll not insist; Beggars can’t be choosers these days. We know There’s been a lack. No one hangs, no one is Left rotting, no gibbets drip things below That we can pick up and put to good use. Whether it is the future you want to See spread before you, or you want the twos And threes of jacks to catch at, there are few Better materials than human bones To throw. Nothing else has the heft, the smooth Feel, the soul to its marrow——not wood, stones, Ivory, not even gold will do. Truth Is, human bones are magic, and they’ll play Back with you if you know the proper way.

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The Shrine of the Lizard-God By DAVID R. LLOYD

N A FORGOTTEN CORNER OF THE WORLD you came to this place, you were drawn to the secrets there is a great desert, so barren and so vast that even the gods do not know. You enter the vaulted cave I for thousands of years, travelers, both man and at the center of the sea. All is black, but you can feel beast, have skirted its edge, leaving the land alone to the burden of time more deeply now. This is the dream in its quiet solitude. In the center of this desert graveyard of the old worlds. The darkness becomes there is a sea of sand——the remains of some ancient complete. Perhaps you are dead? Asleep? In sinister lake——now a skeleton bleached white by the sun. The whispers you perceive a malicious power rising from nomads have no legends for this sand sea, because within. It draws you deeper. none of them have ventured deep enough into the de- The graveyard of each world is built atop the last. sert to see it. It is a black pit in the minds of the local Billions of souls, billions of stories, each life an eternity people. Impassible, as if the world dropped off at this of its own creation. But upon what foundation do they place, like a hole in a bag of sand. Indeed, the wisemen rest? Visions begin to fill the lightless void: holocausts, of the nomads claim that at the center of the desert, burning towers and burning flesh, violence and an- beyond their knowledge, there is a hole in the earth, guish, and beneath, yet deeper, a nameless will. You and all the land is slowly falling into it, and that one cannot see through the murk in the caves, but you can day, it will consume the entire world. But it is not so. perceive each shaft and chamber as they stretch on for Truly there are holes amidst the sandsea, but they lead countless leagues. Countless, but not infinite, and not through the earth, but deep into its bowels. whether by your will or another, you come to the end. You do not remember how you came to this place, And in the blackest chamber of the blackest cave, but you cannot remember your life before it. You re- deep beneath the sand-swept plains, stands a black member only the crashing waves of sand, the limitless throne on a blackened stone. It rises like a shadow pale blue sky, the overbearing sun, the gentle moon, above a black altar, stained with the blood and ash of and infinite stars. Dreams you have as you wander up- an aeon of unnamed of victims. And from the throne on the empty sands. Dreams of continents moving a pair of serpent’s eyes gleam like the polished gems of across oceans, mountains bursting forth from colliding kings. Suddenly, the air turns icy cold, and the throne land, stars falling, and great bodies of water under begins to move. Grotesque and unnatural, it unravels stormy skies. You dream too of towering cities, vaulted like some lazy, muddy coil. The red eyes come halls, robed priests, and solemn rituals. But the figures forward, still fixed ahead, unblinking. The mass of are not familiar, this was a different world, buried twisting black slithers around the altar, suggesting beneath time and the movements of the earth. It is shape and form yet still shapeless in the dark. Yet you through the dreams that you first felt the sandsea, felt can perceive its mass in the confines of the room and its insides, explored its body, heard its heart beating. It your instincts can feel it move like some great and was then, too, that you first knew that this world was horrible reptile. A sickly warmth fills your stomach, yet many worlds. Each one fading into another, making you shiver, and your skin is cold. The red eyes move the changes almost imperceptible. Nothing lasting long closer——you perceive them now as a sound——a high- enough to remember what came before. Except for the pitched scream growing louder and louder, dulling all sandsea. other senses. Suddenly you realize the scream is your The bones of the sea stretch deep into the ground, own, and you remember no more. and they are hollow. They hold stories untold, night- mares undreamt, and horrors unimagined. That is why

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Hot Doctrine By CHARLES WILKINSON

HE GOWLERS’ FIRST VIEW OF THE coppice of gaunt trees, a straggling hedge… and then a Hope Springs Guest House was from the cluster of white buildings. The largest had a pitched T wrong direction. For over two hours, Terry roof and a porch that suggested it was a converted Gowler had been intimidated by the empty terrain: the chapel. stark hills stripped of human habitation, with only a “I think this might be the place,” said Jane. dribble of a dry stone wall; the coarse grass and gorse “Well there’s nothing else here. Though my Da subsisting in thin soil; an absence of animals, apart used to say there was a little garage, only had the one from a solitary bird of prey wheeling in the distance. pump, like… on the other side of that mountain behind Surely they could no longer pretend they weren’t lost? us, she was. But her is long gone,” said the driver. The taxi driver had turned off the main road too soon. A minute later they were parked in front of the iron There had not been so much as a solitary sheep or railings. At the front of the building there was an roofless farmhouse for over half an hour. He’d been arched window above the porch and a sign with the on the verge of suggesting they turn back when the road name Hope Spring Guest House in bold black letters. dipped into a valley with a few hints of fertility: a No doubt the name of the chapel and its pastors had

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HYPNOS been painted over recently. The moment after Terry water or changing facilities. The walls were white. No had paid the driver he realised he should have taken trace of decoration or ornament anywhere. the precaution of seeing whether the proprietors were “What else could it be?” in. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s for… oh… dipping “Well, at least we’re here,” he said, huddling in his sheep.” sheepskin coat. “Hardly welcoming, is it?” “Easy to tell you’re not a country girl,” he laughed. “I’ve told you three times that it was the only place “Well, I don’t know. It could be some a sort of vat with vacancies.” or storage tank.” On the other side of the railings was a lawn bisected Terry knelt down and dipped a hand into the water; by a short gravel path and, to one side one, what its surface blinked like quicksilver. appeared to be a gravestone. Jane’s mauve leather “It’s actually quite warm. Here… you try.” jacket, short skirt and high heels appeared outlandish; “No, thanks. Let’s go back and knock again. even their luggage seemed unsuitable, an affront to the Perhaps the proprietor was in the bath.” austerity of their surroundings. Their suitcases, which they had left neatly po- Terry dragged both suitcases to the wooden front sitioned on the doorstep, had vanished. door. There was no bell only a rusty iron knocker, “I told you we should…” he began. which he rapped three times. No response. He tried “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obvious that someone’s again, this time with a good deal more vigour, but the taken them inside. Do you think they’ve been stolen sound was oddly subdued, as if the wood absorbed by a flock of invisible sheep?” most of it. The door opened, revealing a tall figure dressed in “You did tell them what time we expected to a black suit with a white shirt and tie. The formality of arrive?” he asked. his appearance was somewhat offset by his shoulder- “Of course, but we’re late. Aren’t we?” length dark hair, cut in a fringe across his forehead. His “There are some outbuildings round the back. long face was clean shaven and deeply lined. Perhaps we should look there. If you guard the suit- “You’ll find your suitcases await you in your cases, I’ll…” rooms,” he said. “Do you seriously imagine anyone is likely to steal them here? I’ll come with you.” ANE’S ROOM WAS NEAT, CLEAN BUT To the rear stood three or four flat-roofed out- J austere: no paintings on the walls; a mouse-coloured buildings of various sizes, all of which had been bed coverlet; no rugs on the dark wooden floor, al- covered in the same white plaster. Their windows were though it had been polished to a gleam. There was small and most were covered by blinds or shutters. more colour outside, in the washed-out green of a field One, the largest by some margin, had an arched at the foot of the hillside, a splash of pale yellow gorse double door and small round windows set high in its higher up. wall. Had it been some kind of parish hall in the days “What did the hippy funeral director say his name before the closure of the chapel? Terry was glad there was?” asked Terry. were no more gravestones. He knocked. Once again, “John Pentamarsh. At least that’s what is on his there was not a sound from within. Cautiously he website.” turned the handle and the door opened. “Yes, he didn’t exactly say call me John, did he?” “Jane, look at his? You didn’t tell me this place had “No, but we’re going to be very nice to him.” a swimming pool.” “Why?” “It wasn’t mentioned on the website,” she said, “There’s still no signal on my mobile phone. So drawing level with him. “Odd. Are you sure that’s what we’ll have to use his landline if we’re going to phone it is?” the garage or ring for a taxi. And this place only does The pool, which occupied most of the available bed and breakfast. Remember?” space, was circular and surrounded by flagstones. “He’ll rustle up a meal… when we explain our There were no diving boards, ladders leading down to situation. But why has he put us in separate rooms?”

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CHARLES WILKINSON “I’m not sure. I’m certain I asked for a double. He “Alcohol is not served in Hope Springs Guest must have misunderstood. Shall we ask him to move House. We are without a licence,” Pentamarsh in- us?” toned. “But you will not be denied bread. I will leave “Let’s leave it for tonight. It looks as if we’re going some on the kitchen table so you may eat at your con- to ask for enough favours as it is.” venience. Let me show you the place now.” The rain was coming in hard now: ribbons of water Their host stepped past them into the corridor and sliding down the windowpanes. At least the room took them through a small dining-room and into the wasn’t cold, although it was hard to detect where the kitchen. A bare oak table stood in the middle of the heat was coming from. room. There was a large sink made out of stainless “There’s no phone in your room either?” steel and, beyond the draining board, an array of “No.” kettles: a traditional copper one with a whistle, several “We might as well ask him now.” made from stainless steel, a modern, cordless jug with Bare wood on the staircase but not a creak on the a window to watch the water boiling; some were tall, steps. The whole interior was recently scrubbed and others portly; a few were of in between height and carpentered; every fitting and fixture had a glint. On breadth. Each had its own point at the mains. the ground floor, Terry pointed to a door marked “Do you collect kettles?” asked Terry. PRIVATE. “No,” said Pentamarsh; “they are simply objects I “This must be his office,” he said, pushing a bell. find to be of service. I will leave a carafe of cold water The door opened at once to reveal Mr Pentamarsh; for you. Should you prefer your drink hot you are wel- he appeared taller, his long frame stretching almost come to use any of the kettles provided.” from the threshold to the lintel. Although he obscured “I think we’ll be fine with cold, won’t we, Jane?” most of the view, a faint mist could seen hovering “As you wish, but I believe the cleansing effects of behind him. He was still wearing his jacket and tie. hot water in the digestive system to be remarkable.” “We’re sorry to disturb you, but we had a few Terry followed his wife up to her bedroom. For the problems en route. Our car broke down on the other first time, he noticed that there was no television set. side of the border. The man at the garage said it would The bookshelf was empty apart from a copy of the take him a couple of days to fix it. Tomorrow we’ll ring Bible. for a taxi and see if we can hire a vehicle in the nearest “We’re in for a veritable cornucopia tonight!” said town. And so we’ll need something to eat tonight and Jane. then… “ Terry glanced at the window. The sky was Terry halted. And then what? Pentamarsh was darkening; cloud and drifting rain tousled the nearest gazing sternly down at him, as if a bacchanal were being hilltops. suggested. “I don’t fancy walking to the pub, even if there is “It doesn’t look to me,” Terry continued, “as one anywhere around here. And the telly’s out. I though there’s much in the way of public houses or haven’t got one either. How carefully did you check restaurants around here. Am I right?” their website?” Pentamarsh’s features remained embalmed in a June flicked her hair back. “I quite forget how many look of disapproval. The question, Terry assumed, times I’ve told you that this was the only place with had been dismissed as rhetorical. vacancies, but it’s a lot.” She took the Bible off the “And so we were wondering if you could make us bookcase and flicked through it. “Still, we can always a little… we haven’t eaten since… “ read to each other from the Book of Job.” “A couple of sandwiches would be fine,” Jane “Perhaps there’s a T.V. in a guest lounge.” interjected with a gritty smile. “Just something to stave “I doubt it. And even if there is the reception must off the hunger pangs till your excellent breakfast to- be pretty poor… don’t look at me like that! The website morrow morning.” didn’t specifically say no televisions, a speciality.” “And a couple of bottles of beer.” “In that case, there’s nothing to do but eat.” “Or you could have a bath.”

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HYPNOS Terry took off his sheepskin coat. “Is that a hint?” merely simmering? He’d switched them on full. If he “No, but you’ve been in that thing all day. So if failed to act the bathtub would overflow. He grabbed a you’re imagining you can creep into my——” towel, wrapped its several times around his right hand “I’m not,” he said, furious with her. “But I’ll leave and forearm and somehow turned both taps off, you with your super-sensitive nostrils while I unpack. although he could barely see them. And I might have a bath. It will give me chance to Back in his room, he examined the damage: a red reflect in peace.” weal stretched across his fingers; his face and neck were stinging——in the mirror he was red-pink, as if ROM TERRY’S WINDOW, THERE WAS A he’d emerged from a sauna. He dressed himself slowly F view of the tombstone and the road on which and went back to his wife’s room. they’d arrived. Where did it lead to? It was quite “I strongly advise against having a bath,” he told possible that their taxi had been the only vehicle to pass her. “I just escaped being badly scalded. There’s been down it all day. He’d no recollection of seeing a sign- some damage as it is…” post since they took the wrong turning. This was not “Yes, there’s clearly something wrong with their the sort of landscape in which a fully fledged village boiler. Both my sink taps run hot water.” could be found. In the next valley, there might be “I suggest we eat now and then take all this up with scattered hill farms, a drovers’ inn boarded up for Pentamarsh. The bathroom’s a death trap.” thirty years, a red-brick chapel with a fair-sized cem- “I do love your hyperboles.” etery and a congregation of five: a place that was almost “I can assure you the exaggeration is slight. Are you flourishing in comparison to where he was now. He coming?” started to unpack. The suit he was planning to wear to In the kitchen, a loaf of brown bread and some roll his friends’ wedding was creased. Something leaking mop herrings had been left out for them. Terry picked from his sponge bag had stained the cuffs of his white up the promised carafe of cold water and held it to his shirt. He’d failed to pack a book or even a magazine. injured hand before taking a piece of bread. If there was a guest lounge, there might be newspaper “A somewhat Biblical repast. Do you think he’ll or a selection of paperbacks previous guests had left multiply this little offering if we ask?” said Jane. behind. It was too early to eat. An event was needed to “It’s simple fare, but I have to say this bread is interrupt the long evening. Now he had the choice of good.” reading the Bible or taking a bath. He undressed, “It’s the only thing I can eat. You’re welcome to my picked up his towel and looked around his room: no herrings,” she said, appropriating slightly more than sign of any of the almost impossible to open shampoo her share of the sliced loaf. “This kettle fetish is sachets or minuscule bars of soap. Was he expected to unusual.” read the Bible in the bath as an aid to spiritual hygiene? “They’re obviously there in case we should want to The bathroom was at the end of the landing and hurl boiling water over each other.” smelt of fresh paint. He turned on the hot water tap “I’ve been tempted.” and almost before he had succeeded in hanging his Terry looked at his scalded fingers; the blisters had dressing gown on a peg the room was swirling with risen, white ridges in raw flesh. vapour, which already appeared to be on the verge of “Thanks for that. In the circumstances, it’s not even thickening into a fog. The taps were just identifiable remotely funny.” through the white-grey, seething murk. He reached “Time for what the South Africans used to call down and drew his hand back with yelp. The metal separate development,” said Jane, smiling stonily as seemed so hot it might have been just smelted. He she gathered up her bread and made for the door. must turn on the cold tap while he could still see it. How long was it since they begun to hate he each Once again, he stretched down. The metal was almost other? Of course, they still made tactical alliances scalding, yet he was able to twist sharply, releasing a jet when they wished to humiliate their friends or incar- of water that to added to the rising steam. Were both cerate their elderly parents in care homes. At most taps for hot water——one for boiling and the other for dinner parties they put up a united front. It was when

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CHARLES WILKINSON they were alone that rancour would insinuate itself into ANE AWOKE EARLY. SHE HAD FORGOTTEN the most innocent of conversations. Perhaps it would Jt o close the curtains completely; agitated light have been better if they’d stayed single. However much hurried shadows about the room. She glanced at her he pretended otherwise, he knew their marriage was watch. Too early to go down to breakfast, but there was no more than a matter of social and monetary con- no chance of further sleep. Booking into Hope Spring venience. Guest House was not one of the happiest decisions As soon as he returned to his bedroom, he she’d made. She should have searched the internet for remembered he’d failed to complain about the hot longer, though this was not something she’d ever admit water and forgotten to see if there was a guest lounge… to her buffoon of a husband. The older she got the Now that he thought about it he hadn’t seen any other more the man with a degree in sports journalism and a residents. There were still several hours before sleep subsequent career as a very moderately successful was likely let alone possible. If there was no lounge, sports journalist failed to provide the intellectual stim- he’d knock on Pentamarsh’s door and ask if he could ulus she deserved. And now his performance in the borrow a newspaper. And was there a Mrs Penta- bedroom was fading to somewhere in the lower ranks marsh? If so, was it possible that she would prove less of the third division, it was difficult to think of excuses unbending than her husband. He might even be for staying with him. With luck, he’d treat booking in invited in for a diminutive glass of sherry. Don’t let here as a deliberate provocation: one more disaster your fantasies get out of control, he told himself. Go and he’d file for divorce. She had enough evidence of down and have a quiet look around first. his early philandering to force a settlement on favour- The first two doors he tried were locked. It wasn’t able terms. It was strange that now he was finally until he was halfway along the corridor leading to the faithful she wanted to be rid of him. kitchen that he heard the noise: a faint hiss than turned This morning she must find a way of mollifying Mr to a watery rumble; these sounds were then partly over- Pentamarsh. Their host had not warmed to her written by a thin high whistling. The kitchen door was husband. If they had come up by taxi and train the ajar and already a thin plume of steam was drifting into night before the wedding, as she’d suggested to Terry, the corridor. He opened the door wider. Pentamarsh they would not now be faced with a whole day to fill was leant over his kettles. The copper one was coming and a crumbling classic car, which should only have to the boil; his hand stretched out to switch on another. been used for short journeys, in a garage in a border Terry watched as his host orchestrated a polyphony of town she’d never heard of. hissing, grumbling, whooshing, gurgling and clicking. At breakfast there was no sign of Terry, but then he The medley was organised so that at least one kettle was often tardy in the mornings. Only one table had was on the point of coming to the boil. Pentamarsh been laid. How annoying they appeared to be the sole appeared consumed with concentration as he presided guests in residence. On the sideboard there was a over a process that had the power of ritual. huddle of kettles, more of them than seemed entirely “Excuse me,” said Terry. “I’m sorry to disturb you. necessary, and a choice of various dark, dung-infused But I’m looking for the guest lounge.” brans. The room was as unadorned as a refectory in a Pentamarsh swung round and wiped the con- remote Alpine monastery. Then she saw Terry densation from his face. “There’s no such room on the through the window. He was on the front lawn, premises.” crouched down and studying what appeared to be a “Oh. I forgot to pack my book. I was wondering if tombstone; in fact, now that she looked closely that was you… or… Mrs Pentamarsh… could lend me a book… indubitably what it was. She gave an involuntary or a newspaper.” shudder of repulsion: breakfast and death were not “Mrs Pentamarsh? Gone to her grave. As for good companions. As soon as she rapped on the newspapers, you’ll not find one in Hope Springs Guest windowpane, he looked up and she signalled to him to House. A copy of the only book you’ll ever need is in come in. your room.”

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HYPNOS “Take that thing off! And what were you doing out “What?” there?” she asked, as he entered, wearing his sheep- “Or any masts on top of the buildings? What skin. worries me is that there’s still no signal on my phone. “A curious inscription… when we’ve had breakfast I’m beginning to wonder if he even has a landline. If you must come out…” he doesn’t, how are we going to order a taxi if we can’t Mr Pentamarsh reappeared, holding a tray with a phone for one? And where’s his car? I don’t see one.” teapot and two mugs, which he put down in front of “It’s a wonder that he received our booking.” them. “Cereal on the sideboard. Hot or cold milk?” “Perhaps he didn’t. Have you heard him address “Cold please,” said Jane. Terry nodded. us by our names?” “Two eggs to follow. With bread,” said Penta- “But you said there was a website and you…” marsh, turning round at once and leaving the room. “Stop bellyaching! We will have to go inside now Terry picked up the teapot and began to pour. and talk to him if we want to have any chance of “Hold on. There’s nothing but boiling hot water in making the wedding. Do try to be civil this time.” this.” The plates in the breakfast room had been cleared “Perhaps that’s simply to top it up. He’ll come back away. In the kitchen, a wisp of steam lingered in the with the tea when he brings the milk.” air. Terry put a finger on the nearest kettle and took it “When Pentamarsh returned, he was carrying a off quickly. “Still hot,” he said, flapping his hand. milk jug and a small pot of honey on the tray. “He must be in his office.” “Excuse me?” said Terry. “Would it be possible to Jane rang the bell. Her husband had been wrong to add some tea to the teapot?” describe Mr Pentamarsh’s hairstyle as hippyish, she “There’s hot water and there is cold water. Which thought. If he’d seen engravings of divines of the Civil is it to be?” War Period and shortly after, he’d have realised that “I’ll stick with hot,” said Jane. “Come on, Terry. many clergymen, whether of the puritan or Anglican You should try something new. We’re on holiday.” persuasion, wore their hair long. She rang the bell After they consumed their breakfast in silence, again and the door opened. apart from Jane’s encomium to the freshness of the “I saw you!” he said, nodding, before Jane could eggs, which Mr Pentamarsh heard without emotion, begin. they went outside. “I’m sorry but I don’t know…” “I want you to take a look at this,” said Terry, “Inspecting my father’s grave. The both of you. pointing at the tombstone. Him twice.” “Whatever for?” As she sensed Terry moving forward and about to “Read that!” speak, she put an admonitory arm across his chest. “We are sorry if we have given cause for offence, Here lies Paul Pentamarsh, Mr Pentamarsh. It was a case of simple curiosity. We Last Pastor of the Immaculate Baptists apologise. As I think we have already mentioned, we Of Hope Springs, are to attend to a wedding tomorrow, but we’ll need to Immersed in the Warmth order a taxi. Unfortunately, our mobile phones aren’t of the Pure Stream working. Would it be possible…” Of Eternity “Are you two married?” “Yes.” “So, the place is obviously a converted chapel. Or “By what rite?” hadn’t you noticed? And images of rivers and water are “We were married in a registry office,” said Terry, common to most religions.” defiantly. “It’s the warmth, I don’t care for. How many “So you’re not married. I hope there will be no degrees below boiling? That’s what I’d like to know.” more creeping into each other’s bedrooms while Jane elected to ignore this manifestation of self-pity you’re under my roof.” and paranoia. “Can you see any telegraph poles?”

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CHARLES WILKINSON “Absolutely not!” said Jane. “As I’m sure you’ve It had not been comforting to know she was in a observed we’ve perfectly happy with separate bed- house owned by a man of such beliefs, assuming, as rooms and most comfortable they are. Tell me, and seemed reasonable, that John Pentamarsh supported forgive me if I’m being impolite here, but I was his father’s doctrines. Although finally lulled to sleep wondering in what ways the Immaculate Baptists differ by several less than enthralling chapters of Leviticus, from others of the Baptist persuasion.” she dreamt of water steaming, rumbling and bubbling. “We all believe in adult baptism by total im- Terry was already at the breakfast table when Jane mersion. Only the Immaculate Baptists believe in the arrived. He was dressed in the suit he intended to wear last cleansing, the total purification of the body in the at the wedding. moments before death.” “You’ll look almost presentable——as long as you “How fascinating! You must tell me…” don’t wear that filthy fleece in the church.” “Read the Bible. That’s all I’ve to say to you…” “I’ll see how cold it is first.” “And our taxi? We’ll need one for ten thirty.” The door opened and John Pentamarsh entered “You can be sure a vehicle will be ordered for with a tray on which stood a cup, a jug and large metal tomorrow morning.” receptacle, not unlike a samovar. Its numerous in- Later that morning Jane and Terry went for a walk, scriptions were deeply incised in a language Jane was although only her husband’s sheepskin coat was suit- unfamiliar with but which might have been Farsi or able for the conditions, the winds swinging round from Arabic. east to west, bringing a Siberian blast with thin flurries “Yesterday you asked for tea, sir. This was the brew of snow followed by a rainstorm gliding off the favoured by my late father. It is best to let it infuse for ridgeway. They struggled far enough to confirm Mr a few minutes. And for Madam?” Pentamarsh’s silence had correctly implied an absence “Thank you, but I’ll stick with the hot water, of inns nearby and then returned, limping and soused, please.” to the guest house and a meal of loaves and fishes “Certainly.” they’d negotiated with their host. As soon as they heard him walking back down the corridor, they glanced at each other, surprised and ITH NOTHING TO READ THE PREVIOUS almost pleased. W evening, Jane had decided to summon sleep by “This is a something of a sea change. He was looking through the Bible. To her surprise, the edition actually courteous this morning. I wonder why that was one that had been specially printed for the should be.” Immaculate Baptists. There was an introduction by the “Perhaps it’s his way of apologising for the late Paul Pentamarsh, much of which was devoted to a shortcomings of his establishment.” lengthy justification, full of finicky theological argu- “I’m not sure he’d see it like that. But least he gave ments she found hard to follow, of adult baptism. But the unrelenting rudeness a rest.” there was one paragraph she found greatly alarming: Terry poured out his tea, added a splash of milk and took a sip. “Unusual.” He peered at it for a And for those not certain of Election, it is only moment and then drank a little more. “In fact, it’s by undergoing the Last Cleansing that they shall really rather good. You should try some.” have Hope of Paradise. Without Removal of “No thanks. I’ll stick with the indisputable benefits every Impurity of the Flesh, which shall not be of hot water.” brought to pass without the Second Immersion, “Come on, Jane! You should try something new on they will be irredeemable, cast down into the holiday.” Place of Darkness, where Suffering is know- He took another sip of tea, closed his eyes and ledge of the Absolute Instruments of Pain. Only smiled. by the most gracious acceptance of the Scaldings “Have you settled up?” can a mere fleeting Agony forestall the Tor- “What’s that?” he asked, opening one eye. ments of Eternity. “Have we paid?”

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HYPNOS “As a matter of fact… no. I offered him my card Somewhere in the outhouses there was bound to be a shortly after we first arrived, but he said that I would ladder. It took her another five minutes to find one. pay later. I hope he doesn’t expect cash.” He opened Once she’d climbed up to the window, she had a good the tea pot and inhaled. “Smells good, tastes won- view of what she now realised was not a swimming pool derful, but I think it’s quite strong; in fact, I’m going to but an enormous font. Terry was strapped into a kind have a lie down, if you don’t mind. The effect… comes of ducking stool suspended over the water, which on suddenly… and is… somewhat… soporific.” seethed and frothed beneath him. He was naked, his “Fine, but we’d best be outside by 10:15 at the very flesh pale apart from his flushed face. Pentamarsh, latest. Make sure you’ve settled up by then.” standing at a distance of the edge, was still dressed in Jane went to her room and started to pack. She had his dark suit, but now a stole was draped over his never seen such an abrupt mellowing. He was normally shoulder. He was reading from what could only be a the one to check and chivvy when they were leaving. Bible. Perhaps she should knock on his door in another ten The bubbles rising to the surface of the water were minutes. no longer small. Vapour trails snaked and bloomed. She found him lying fully dressed on top of his bed. Soon it would no longer be possible to witness what His night clothes were strewn over the floor. was happening. Then Pentamarsh closed the book, “You haven’t finished packing.” stepped forward and pushed a lever, submerging Terry “Why would I want to pack?” in the boiling waters below. Later she’d admit that it “Because we’re leaving. Remember. Have you at was just as well it was impossible to hear someone least settled up?” screaming underwater. Had he kept his mouth shut or “No, I’m staying. The only ‘settling’ I intend to do did the searing flood rip over his tongue to blister his is right here. Why would I possibly want to leave a throat before poaching his trachea and oesophagus in place where they make such a wonderful cup of tea?” an instant? Pentamarsh pulled the lever and the stool She went over to the sink, poured him mug of water rose, dripping and fuming. For a brief moment she saw and put it down on the bedside table. Terry, his red, bloated body slashed with paler scalds. “Here, drink this. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. I Steam started to fog the window. She climbed down expect you to have packed by then.” the ladder, took off the high-heeled shoes she’d in- If the bill hadn’t been paid, it would save time if she tended to wear at the wedding and ran to the front of did so now. It was imperative that they both be outside the house. Her luggage was still in the house and there on time. Although no doubt the taxi would wait for a it would remain. The choice was between making a while, they mustn’t risk any impatience on the part of dash for it and waiting for the taxi. A black vehicle was the driver. Halfway down the stairs, she remembered descending the winding road down the hill. There was that she’d deliberately left her debit card at home. not much time left. She shouldn’t have left the ladder On the way back to her room she passed a window propped against the wall. Pentamarsh was certain to that overlooked the back of the property. Terry, realise she’d witnessed her husband’s homicidal bap- garbed in what looked like a white bathrobe, was being tism and come looking for her. What should she do? guided by Pentamarsh along the gravel drive that led to Already she could hear the sound of something being the building that housed the swimming pool. The man wheeled along the gravel at the back of the house. was holding her husband’s hand as if he were a small There was almost no cover; she made for the tomb- child being taken to a first appointment at the dentist’s. stone and crouched down behind it. The vehicle came Jane rushed down to the ground and went out onto the down the hill smoothly. It was longer than she’d front drive. There was evidently a back staircase in expected, more like a limousine than a taxi. Pentamarsh’s apartment. As she ran past the tomb- Pentamarsh appeared, pushing a wheelchair, into stone, she saw them disappear into the building. By the which Terry’s naked, violated body was securely time she reached the entrance it was locked; most belted. The wound that was his well-cooked head likely bolted from within. She flailed and beat im- seeped and lolled from side to side as the procession potently at the door for half a minute. Utterly futile. of two crossed the lawn. The hearse, consummately

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CHARLES WILKINSON glittering in radiant black and chrome, came to a halt had come from. For an overcast day it was uneasily on the far side of the gate. The driver, a man in a dark warm. But there was a sliver of blue above one of the suit and peaked cap, got out to open the boot and help hills, a hint of a space not permeable by Pentamarsh’s Pentamarsh with his burden, which was quickly bun- hot clouds and boiling rain. Her feet were lacerated, dled inside. The exchange was completed without but she kept running in the hope of soft grass ahead. either man saying a word. As she neared the path leading to the hill, she heard a Sarah remained quite still until she heard the distant shout from behind. Glancing over her sounds of the hearse being driven away followed by the shoulder, she saw it was Pentamarsh, waving to her as front door shutting. The distance between the tomb- if this action alone could enforce her return. She was stone and gate appeared to have grown, and it was too far away to hear what he was saying, but in the more than minute before she scurried onto the road dreams she had afterwards he always asked if she and ran in the direction opposite to the one the hearse would like a cup of tea.

Witch’s Garden By RONI RAE STINGER

Candy cane fence around gingerbread cottage Awaits on the hill. In the garden I sip tea of chamomile And rosemary. Peacock flowers speak of adventure. Poppies spill their magic. I remember the boy,

But choose my own path. Brittle branches grab My hem, hinder escape. I spiral Into fingerprints and growth rings, transform To wild bush, crimson buds bright against fallen snow.

Blood drips, drizzles down trunk. A smear of pink. Green shoots unfurl, bind body to seed. Hold tight, Invite thorns to penetrate flesh, marry skin to cane. Absorbed, pulled into roots, to the molten core.

The woman in white stands above laughing. Swords of ice pierce earth, cause upheaval. Branches stick to limbs, pluck from forehead And wrist, tiptoe around errant plant.

Stew simmers on woodstove. I collapse In the doorway, grown weak and thin. The rose bush thrives. My breath pulls Sharp and cold, rattles.

Tap, tap, tap of the crow, rose held In beak, dropped into hand. Thorns poke my palm. I fall through dirt, beneath roots and graves, To where dead things gather.

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The Spaniel Tree By JOHN WATERFALL

HAVE THE BOY’S JAWBONE. I KEEP IT sky from a wounded distance. The wind went still, I not from any sense of guilt or perversion, but as remember, the soft heads of heather coming to rest. I an artifact, an assurance that what I saw was real, I was moving to them before it started, sensing a that it is still real and I am sane. This place is a ruin thing of abnormality. He had them hung now, the last now, a consequence of dead fathers and sons, aban- two, I could see them wriggling as they died. And when doned to distant cousins in the city who pay me for its the young master stepped back to admire the work he upkeep. could see what I could, that they were all wriggling, the I was at work in the stables when I saw the young newly dead struggling from their ropes till they master in his final dark temper, stalking into the dropped to the ground and converged upon him in a heather. He held the remaining two pups like a brace black swarm. He fell into the heather and I could no of pheasants, fat young bodies squirming in his cruel longer see, only hear the dim sounds of violence, be- grasp, the mother trotting at his heels, nipping as he fore the wind picked up and flung the unearthly sounds kicked at her. A black hearted little boy on the march, beyond human comprehension. the completion of his unworthy project waiting in the When I reached the boy most of him was gone, distance, twisted and bent-backed at the top of the what was left spread thick on the grass. The bitch moor, stark against the bruising penumbra of the re- prone among the carnage, wet and panting, waiting to ceding day. The shapes of the other dogs hung from it suckle the strange offspring that had vanished from the like larvae, a breeze of unseasonably warm air making earth. I but a ball in her head. Sweet old girl. There them undulate. A dead place. A hanging tree. I cursed she remains, buried in the reddened soil, whereupon his dark imagination. It would be my work to cut them in storm weather a dark litter grows from the cruel down when the deed was finished. Innocent little clawed branches of the spaniel tree. I watch from the things, entered into the world to barely sniff the air manor window as the thing uproots itself and lowers its before being so rudely ejected. heavy branches towards the horizon, a mane of dead The bitch was whining now, wheedling the boy’s dogs baying into the strange and touched thunder. calf till he struck her with the back of his hand, hard I have the boy’s jawbone. I keep it to make sure that enough to cry himself. I could feel the coming storm I am still sane. I keep it, because I shudder to think of in my bones, the air heavy beast’s breath. what will happen if ever I am caught without. He reached the tortured ash, and worked at noosing the two pups, the bitch howling into the roiling

62

Troubled Waters By MICHAEL MAYES

ARRY THOMASON SAT ALONE IN A recalling details that had lain buried for years, yet here dark corner of the Lakeview Inn Tavern. On they were again, resurrected like some undead L the table in front of him sat a mug of stale beer. creature out of an old Hammer film. Larry wondered He would have been angry about the lousy quality of if that was not a pretty apt comparison. He wondered the brew had he any interest in actually consuming it, what she would think of these recollections; would she but drinking was not why he had come to the Lakeview think him crazy, like everyone else in Bennington? Inn this night. That being the case, he sat with his el- Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, he thought and bows on the scarred oak table in front of him, his stood up to leave. hands wrapped around the frosty mug that would She walked in at that exact moment. Larry would never touch his lips, the cold glass soothing his cal- not be able to slink off into the night after all. He sat loused hands. He stared into nothingness, his mind on back down and cupped the slowly warming mug of a sort of autopilot. The memories were coming more beer in his hands again, resigned to what was to come. often and more vividly these days. He found himself He cut his eyes to give her the once-over without 63

HYPNOS turning his head. It was her alright. He recognized her Larry just wrapped his hands around his beer mug from her photo on the Massachusetts Globe website. and, without looking up, said, “I don’t know about She was wearing what appeared to be brand new that.” Wrangler jeans, a red and black plaid shirt with pearl “Well, I do,” she said. “Are you ready to start?” buttons, and a pair of scuff-free boots. Everything “I suppose so.” looked brand new. She’s trying to blend in with us Donna picked up the device, pushed the red rednecks, he thought and chuckled under his breath. record button, and spoke into it, “October 14, 2019. It’s not working; she looks like an escaped extra from Bennington, Texas. Interview with Larry Thomason.” Urban Cowboy. She then placed the device back on the table. “Okay, She looked around with wide eyes. Larry would Mr. Thomason, whenever you’re ready.” have bet his last nickel that she had never been in a place like this before. After a few moments—— GUESS THE STORY REALLY STARTS BACK moments when it seemed to Larry like she might be I in 1969. That’s when the Corps of Engineers the one thinking about leaving——her eyes adjusted to dammed up the Nolan River,” Larry said and shook the gloomy, cavern-like lighting in the bar, and her gaze his head. “They said they needed to create the lake in fell upon him. Despite the fact she had never laid eyes order to provide flood control protection for towns on him before, she seemed to recognize him im- downstream.” mediately. Shit, he thought. I guess there’s no getting “You don’t think that was necessary?” Donna out of this now. asked. She strode across the bar quickly, her momentary Larry took a deep breath and replied, “I don’t lapse in confidence gone. She was now fully in business know. What I do know is my family had lived on the mode. Once at his table, she stretched out her hand river for generations and never experienced any and said, “Mr. Thomason, I’m Donna Sharpe.” flooding.” He paused before adding, “I guess I can’t He stood slowly and took her hand, “Hello, Miss speak about anything that might have happened down- Sharpe.” stream, but I can tell you that my folks were furious His hand felt like sandpaper in hers, but the grip about the impounding of the river.” was gentle. “May I sit?” she asked. “And why was that?” “That’s why we’re here, right?” he answered. “We were losing our house, for one thing, but that As she took her seat, she took stock of the old man. wasn’t all.” His clothes were clean, but old and threadbare in “What else?” she asked. spots. His hair was longer than she would have ex- “Thousands of acres of hardwood bottomland pected on a man his age, but seemed to suit him in were flooded. My family had hunted and trapped in some way. She could tell he had once been quite those woods since before the Civil War. It was thick handsome, but hard times had taken a toll on his with wildlife. Bear, deer, hogs, panthers, and bobcats.” weathered face. It was his eyes, though, that made the Larry looked up from his still full mug to gaze Donna biggest impression upon her. They were dark—— in the eyes for the first time since the interview started. almost black——and sunken. There was no shine in “It was a paradise.” them, no spark. She had never seen eyes that looked “Was your family compensated for the loss of their so tired. land?” Donna asked. She took a small digital recorder from her bag and Larry smiled at that, but there was no joy in it. It placed it on the table between them. “Do you mind?” was a wry grin indicative of a deep pain. Donna thought “It’s fine,” he replied. it the most painful and ironic smile she had ever seen. “I really do appreciate your meeting with me and “Compensated? No. You see, my family never had an agreeing to tell your story,” Donna said. “I think it’s official title or deed to the land. My great, great important.” grandfather was sent to Texas to fight in the Mexican War under General Zachary Taylor in 1845. Once it was over, he decided to stay. Somehow, he ended up

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MICHAEL MAYES settling here on the Nolan River. Nobody put up a fuss Donna picked up her recorder and followed him about it because nobody was here. This was dangerous out onto a large deck that looked out over Lake Ben- territory in those days for white men. The Tonkawas, nington. The moon was large——nearly full——and and worse, the Comanches, were still roaming this area there were more stars in the sky than she had ever been and didn’t take too kindly to folks taking up residence able to see in Boston. “It’s beautiful,” she said. on their hunting grounds. Somehow, my great, great “Yes, I suppose it is,” Larry replied. granddad managed to make it work and that land be- The reporter and the old man stood there for longed to my family for over a hundred years.” several minutes before Larry reached into his shirt “Until they impounded the lake?” Donna asked. pocket and extricated a Marlboro short from the soft Larry nodded. “Until they impounded the lake, pack there. He lit up and took a deep drag. yes.” Donna chided him gently, “You know those are Donna watched as Larry reached for the old probably going to kill you.” memories. While his body remained across from her, Larry smiled and said, “Probably, but who wants to he was clearly far away. She decided that those who live forever? I know I don’t. Immortality isn’t pretty.” said time travel was impossible were wrong. Larry was Donna looked at him, a quizzical expression on her traveling back decades before her very eyes. face, and said, “That’s an odd thing to say.” “Eminent domain,” he said. He turned away from her to look out over the lake Donna was snapped back to attention by his words. and said, “Not if you’ve seen what I’ve seen.” “I’m sorry, what?” The pair stood in silence until Larry finished his “That’s what they called it, those government smoke. As he crushed out the butt he said, “I guess fellas,” Larry said. “Eminent domain. They told my you want to hear the rest?” father that’s what gave the government the right to take She nodded. our land.” “Okay, then,” he said. “Back in the days before “But they still should have had to compensate your they flooded the bottoms, about five miles upstream family, “Donna said. from where the dam sits now, there was a small “Well, they didn’t,” Larry said quietly. While he community called Sparta. It had a school, a general had spoken softly, the bitterness in his voice was pal- store, a gristmill, a cotton gin, and for a while, even a pable. “They told my father he was nothing but a post office. The big shot who owned the gristmill and squatter and was lucky they weren’t throwing him in jail the general store was a man named Winston Bullock. for trespassing.” Supposedly, he was a dentist——though he never “That’s horrible,” said Donna. “Did your father get practiced in Sparta——so everyone called him Doc. legal representation?” Sparta was doing really well in those days. Of course, Larry laughed at that, a harsh and raspy sound. “A the better Sparta did, the better Doc Bullock’s lawyer? No, no. Pa was a good man but uneducated businesses did and the wealthier and more powerful he about such things. I doubt he even thought about that.” became. Rumor has it that he was contemplating Larry leaned back and ran his hands through his long running for Governor before the fire.” gray hair. “He fought in the war, you know. He was in “The fire?” Donna asked. the second wave that landed on Omaha Beach. He was “Yep, a big one,” Larry said. “It took out most of a hero, a patriot. It broke his heart that his own govern- Sparta including Doc Bullock’s general store and his ment did that to him. He was never the same after mill. It pretty much ruined him.” that.” “Does anyone know how it started?” the reporter “I’m so sorry,” Donna said. asked. Larry stood up and stretched. The sound of his “Not that I know of,” replied Larry. “But he had his back popping sounded like a gunshot. “Sorry about share of enemies. Doc was mean as a snake, and that. Getting old is hell. Would you mind if we walked people who crossed him tended to suffer from some out on the deck? Pete won’t let me smoke in this mighty terrible luck soon after.” dump. Says he’s allergic.” “How so?” asked Donna.

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HYPNOS “Different ways,” Larry said. “Stolen livestock, last fifty years. I used some of that time researching, burned barns, that sort of thing. A few, though, just… trying to find out what might have happened to Doc disappeared.” Bullock after 1969. In the early years I wrote letters, Donna’s eyes widened at this revelation, but she lots of them, to anyone I could remember from the old said nothing. days that might know what happened to Doc. I Larry lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply. reviewed old newspapers, phone books, registered “I’m guessing one of the folks he had tormented dentists, and anything else I could think of. I found no- wanted to get even,” he said. “Anyway, a lot of people thing. Once the internet was available, the searching left after the store and mill burned. Sparta never re- was easier, but I never found hide nor hair of him.” covered. I think that is what made it so easy for the Larry took another drag on his cigarette and added, government to come in here and take the land; there “It’s like he just vanished.” was hardly anyone left to fight them.” “Can I have one of those?” Donna asked, pointing “What happened to Doc Bullock?” asked Donna. at the Marlboro pack in his shirt pocket. “I was just a pup teenager then, but I heard he came Larry’s eyes widened a bit and he smiled, a real pretty unhinged after losing everything. He stayed, smile for the first time that night. “Yeah, sure.” He tried to rebuild, even opened up a new store, but there watched her light up and take a drag that would have was no one left to patronize it, and it went under in less choked a horse. “You know, those are probably going than a year. After that, he lived like a hermit in his big to kill you.” two-story house until the flood.” She took his mocking as the good-natured ribbing “Flood? You mean the impoundment?” Donna that it was and said, “I’ll quit tomorrow. How about asked. you?” “Yeah, I guess I do. The impoundment.” “Not a chance,” he said and they both laughed. Donna looked at over the waters of Lake Ben- After a few moments, she said, “You said most.” nington. The night was clear and the water like glass. “Huh? What do you mean?” he asked. “So, what did he do?” “You said most people think he went back to Fort Larry continued to look out across the water. Worth. What about the others?” Without turning to look at her, he said, “Well now, “Oh,” he said. “The rumor was that Doc never left that is where things start to get interesting.” Sparta.” “How so?” she asked. She questioned him with her eyes and then asked, “There are conflicting stories as to what happened “You mean they thought he stayed in the area?” to ol’ Doc Bullock,” Larry said. “All anyone knows for “No,” Larry replied. “They think he stayed in sure is that after the flood——I mean, the impound- Sparta, in his house.” ment——no one ever saw him again. Nobody around “During the flooding of the lake?” she asked. here anyway.” He smiled that rueful smile again and said, “Yep, Donna said nothing. She just looked out at the still that’s what they say. Like I said before, he came un- water and waited for him to continue. She did not have hinged after he lost everything, and he decided he to wait long. wasn’t going anywhere come hell or high water.” “Most folks think he packed up and went back to “Literally, in this case,” she said. Fort Worth——that’s where he was from, Fort Worth— “Literally,” he repeated. “Yes, ma’am.” —and started practicing dentistry again.” Donna chewed on this new information for a bit Donna looked at him and asked, “But you don’t before asking, “Did anyone ever substantiate this? believe that, do you?” How can you, or anyone, be sure Doc never left “No ma’am,” he said. “I don’t.” Sparta?” “Why is that?” “The rumors were around from the very beginning, Larry paused long enough to light up another but I got a pretty convincing account that seemed to Marlboro and took a deep drag before replying, “As confirm the stories,” he said. “Only one person ever you know, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands over the answered my letters. I guess most folks were scared to

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MICHAEL MAYES reply to a convicted murderer with a prison address. Larry waved her off, “It’s okay, you have a job to Anyway, the one person who did answer was a do. I get it. No, I can’t say for sure she’s dead, but she Mexican lady named Anna Clemente. She had been would be well over a hundred years old now if she were Doc’s housekeeper before the fire, before he…” still alive, so I’m betting against it.” “Went crazy?” Donna finished. “Understood,” she said. “So, Larry, what do you “Yes,” he said. “Crazy as a shithouse rat.” Larry think happened to Doc.” looked over his shoulder at a picnic table behind them Larry looked her in the eyes and said, “I think he and asked, “Would you mind if we sit down? My old went back to his house, just like Anna said. I think he legs aren’t what they used to be.” likely sat right on the front porch as the water rose and She nodded and joined him on the picnic table he drowned. They might have taken his house and bench. “What did she say in the letter?” Donna asked. property, but by God, they weren’t going to move him. “She said that she had moved with Doc into a That’s what I think.” rented house in Bennington a few weeks before the She nodded. “How long after the reservoir was impoundment process began. She said he didn’t want filled before the sightings started?” to go, but the government boys served him with some “You mean other than mine?” Larry asked. kind of legal paperwork that basically said he could “Yes,” she said. “Other than yours.” move out or go to jail.” Larry sighed and then said, “I can’t say for sure. I Larry reached into his pocket for the pack of wasn’t… around.” Marlboros. He shook out two and handed one to “Oh,” Donna said. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.” Donna. Before lighting up, he said, “Maybe I will quit “No, no, it’s fine,” he replied. “It is what it is.” tomorrow.” The pair sat silently for several minutes, as if waiting “Liar,” she said and took the lighter from his hand. for the sudden uncomfortable moment to pass. The two sat for several minutes enjoying the night. Finally, Larry said, “The first account I heard about The wind had picked up slightly and it was noticeably after the trial was from October of 1971, two years after cooler than when they had come out on the deck, the reservoir was filled. It was in the Bennington though the sky remained clear. Journal——Momma used to send it to me every month. “So, what else did she say?” Two fishermen claimed to have seen a ghost walking Larry exhaled and continued, “She said he got on the water.” downright scary, and that she was afraid of him. He The wind picked up at that moment and he noticed swore that he would make them pay for what they had Donna shiver. He was not sure if it was the cold gust of done to him. Who ‘they’ were, she didn’t know. She wind or the details of his story that elicited her chill, also said that once the impoundment process began, but he thought it best to head back inside. She agreed, Doc would drive down as far as the Corps guys would and the pair returned to the table where their con- allow and watch the water level rise. He went every day. versation had begun. He waited patiently as she One day he didn’t come back. They found his car changed the batteries in her digital recorder. It was parked outside the barricades, but he was nowhere to good that she was putting fresh batteries in the device; be found.” the story was really only getting started. “Let me guess,” Donna said. “It was the day water began to overtake Sparta.” NCE FRESH BATTERIES HAD BEEN IN- “That very day,” he said. “Anna said she never saw O stalled, Donna hit the record button on her Doc again. She stayed in the lease house another device and said, “I tell you what, we’ll get to the couple of weeks, but when the rent came due she had accounts over the years later. If you don’t mind, let’s to leave. She went back to Juarez, that’s where I found talk about what you saw and the… events that followed. her. I guess she stayed there until she died.” Is that okay?” “Are you sure she’s dead? It would help if I had a Larry flinched noticeably at this and seemed to second source to corroborate things,” Donna said. become a bit smaller to Donna, as if he were slowly “Not that I don’t believe you.”

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HYPNOS deflating. He hesitated a moment before whispering, “No, no, it’s okay,” he said. “I think it might be best “Okay.” if I just get through this as quickly as I can.” Donna knew that this part of the interview was Larry tilted his head back as if examining the going to be the most difficult for the old man, but she Lakeview Inn’s ceiling and took a deep breath. After did not anticipate the tangible sadness that emanated exhaling, he returned his eyes to Donna and finished from him. The despair——even after all these years—— his previous sentence. “… if he had lived.” still clung to him like a damp sweater. She supposed it As a journalist, Donna was well aware of the power would do so until he died. of words, but could not recall ever seeing someone “After we lost our home, Pa moved us into a small struggle so much to speak so few of them. She reached house behind a filling station where he took work as a across the table and placed her hand on Larry’s and mechanic.” Larry paused, his eyes viewing images in- asked “Are you sure you want to continue?” visible to all but him. “It wasn’t too bad, I guess, but “I do, yes,” he said. “I actually feel a bit better now. Mike and I really missed the old days when we could Anyway, Mike got that old junker running in no time. hunt and fish whenever we wanted.” I think even Pa was impressed. It still looked like hell, “Mike was your brother, correct?” asked Donna. but it was purring like a kitten. Mike wanted to fix the “My big brother, yes,” replied Larry body up, too, but didn’t have the tools so he went down “How much older was he?” Donna asked. to old man Carter’s body shop there in town and asked “Two years. Mike and I were thick as thieves, best if he could do some work there in exchange for access friends.” The old man paused for a few moments to the shop so he could work on the Plymouth.” before asking, “You know what he did for me?” “How did that work out?” Donna asked. “No, I don’t,” said Donna. “Tell me.” “I guess it didn’t,” Larry replied. “All I know for “Pa had been restoring an old Plymouth but got sure is that Mike ended up selling that car to old man tired of fooling with it. I guess the last thing he wanted Carter. He took the money, went straight down to the to do after working on cars all day was to come home hardware store, and bought us both brand new bi- and do it some more,” he said and shrugged. “Anyway, cycles.” he was going to try to sell it, probably for scrap, but Larry stopped to compose himself again; however, Mike asked if he could have it.” this time Donna noticed a single tear did manage to “Did your father give it to him?” Donna asked. break free, despite the old man’s best efforts, and ran “He sure did,” Larry replied. “Mike said he wanted down the length of his face. “I couldn’t understand why to try and fix it up himself so he could have a car when he did it,” Larry said. “He loved that car.” he got his driver’s license the next summer. I think that “It sounds to me like he loved his little brother made Pa proud. He never said so, but you could tell, more,” Donna said. sort of a chip off the old block kind of thing, I guess.” Larry said nothing for a few moments while strug- “Did he?” she asked. gling to keep his composure. Finally, he said, “He told “Fix it up?” Larry asked. Without waiting on a me he knew I missed fishing and hunting and the lake reply, he added, “Oh, yeah. He did a good job, too. was just too far out of town to walk to, but we could Mike just naturally understood how things worked. He ride the bikes there easy enough.” Larry took another was always fiddling with broken clocks, toasters, and deep breath before adding in a voice barely audible, other things around the house and almost always got “It’s still the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” them working again. I think he would have gone on to The pair sat silently for several minutes. The only be a great mechanic if…” sound in the Lakeview Inn was the murmuring of the Donna watched as the old man choked up. Tears few folks sitting at the bar and the sound of Keith welled up in his black eyes, but he seemed to will them Whitley crooning Don’t Close Your Eyes coming from back from whence they had come and not a single the jukebox. drop escaped to run down his grizzled cheeks. Donna broke the silence by asking, “Can you tell “Are you okay?” She asked with real concern. “We me how you and Mike ended up on the lake that day?” can take a break if you want.”

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MICHAEL MAYES “Alright,” he replied. “Mike didn’t use all the Larry laughed again and handed her the pack and money on our bicycles, he also bought a little alum- his lighter. After lighting up, she said, “Okay, let’s inum jon boat. It was a beauty, hunter green with continue.” padded seats. He got Pa to haul it down to the lake and Larry nodded. “That summer, after school let out, stashed it in the woods not too far off the old Sparta was the best time of my life,” he said. “Fishing and Road.” swimming every day and every minute of it with my “I’m assuming that road went all the way into very best friend.” A wistful look crossed his face and Sparta, before the impoundment, I mean,” Donna he added, “There are a few years in a boy’s life that are said. almost magical. It’s that time when you aren’t a little “Correct,” Larry said. “It went right through the kid anymore, but you aren’t grown up enough to go to middle of town. Once the lake was impounded it just work either. You’ve noticed girls, but don’t know what led into the water. A road to nowhere.” you’d do with one if you had one and still prefer your Donna nodded and asked, “Okay, what happened baseball card collection anyway. And if you have a next.” genuine best friend to share those years, well, that Larry shrugged his shoulders and said, “Nothing, makes them even more special. I had that with Mike. really. We rode down there at least twice a week and Yes ma’am, the summer of 1969 was special.” pulled the boat out of the woods to go fishing. Mike “So, you didn’t see anything unusual that sum- had found an old trolling motor in a dumpster mer?” asked Donna. somewhere and repaired it. Pa gave us a battery that “Not one single thing,” Larry answered. had been laying around the garage at the filling station Donna took the final drag from her cigarette, and we were set.” dropped it to the floor, and ground it out with her boot. Larry paused and smiled, awash in memories. Larry looked on with admiration. Maybe he had been “What are you thinking about?” Donna asked. wrong about her; maybe she had been in places like “Just how it pleased Momma and Pa to see us this after all. She looked up at him and said, “I figured happy again,” Larry said. “It wasn’t like it used to be, with all the peanut shells all over the floor——and since but being able to go fishing again made us feel a little there isn’t an ash tray anywhere in sight——Dottie more like ourselves somehow.” wouldn’t mind.” Larry reached into his shirt pocket for his pack of “You figured right,” he said. cigarettes, shook one out, and lit it. “Ah, that’s better,” “Good. Now, let’s talk about the fall of 1969,” she he said after exhaling a huge cloud of smoke toward said. “I need to nail down when odd things started to the ceiling. happen.” “I thought you said you couldn’t smoke inside,” Larry nodded and said, “School started up right Donna said. after Labor Day. Mike and I weren’t able to get out on “No, I said Pete wouldn’t let me smoke in here,” the water much after that. He got… busy.” he answered. “Pete goes home at 10:00 and Dottie “How so?” closes up.” Larry leaned in and added, “And she “Well, he got himself a girlfriend. Dorothy was her smokes like a chimney.” name, and he started to spend most of his free time “Pete doesn’t notice the smell of smoke?” Donna with her. By this time, he had turned sixteen and could asked. drive. He didn’t have a car of his own, but Pa let him Larry laughed and said, “Oh, he notices alright. It take his truck out on Saturday nights.” Larry paused, drives him crazy. Dottie told him she can’t smell any took a deep breath and added, “It didn’t leave much smoke and everybody just sort of followed her lead. time to go fishing with his little brother.” The whole town is in on the joke. Pete thinks he’s the “So, this situation with Dorothy upset you?” Donna only one who smells it.” asked. “Well, in that case…” Donna said and motioned “Damn straight,” he said. “I was only fourteen and toward the soft pack of Marlboros in Larry’s shirt just didn’t get it, you know? Plus, Mike wasn’t just my pocket. best friend, he was pretty much my only friend. Mike

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HYPNOS had a way about him; everybody liked him. People “It’s hard to explain,” he said. “It was like a woman were drawn to him. I wasn’t like that. I was quiet and being murdered, but not like in the movies. Those pretty shy. I had a hard time making friends.” screams aren’t real… once you’ve heard the genuine “Did you talk to Mike about it?” she asked. article, you know the difference.” “I did, and he said he was sorry and would make “Could it have been a panther?” she asked. “I’ve an effort to take me fishing more often, but it didn’t heard they scream like a woman.” happen,” he said. “I’ve heard that, too, and it’s bullshit,” Larry re- “What did you do?” plied. “A cougar makes a bunch of weird noises, I’ll “I said ‘To hell with it, I’ll go by myself,’” Larry give you that, but nothing like what I heard that night. answered. “One Friday after school I pedaled down to Plus, this scream came from out on the lake, not from where the boat was stashed. I didn’t have the trolling the bank.” motor with me, but the boat had oars and that was “So, what happened,” Donna asked. good enough. I knew I didn’t have the nerve to go too Larry chuckled. “Scared me so bad that I fell over far out anyway as it was getting dark. I just needed to backward, right on my ass,” he said. “My legs just quit prove a point… prove I didn’t need him.” me and down I went. I got soaked.” Donna nodded. “How’d that go?” “Did you see anything?” asked Donna. “Not well,” he replied. “I guess what happened next “I… I’m not sure, maybe,” he replied. “I thought I would be the first really odd occurrence on Lake Ben- saw something out in the middle of the cove. The water nington, at least that I know of.” was turbulent out there. It was bubbling and churning, Donna leaned forward slightly and asked, “What getting foamy. I had never seen that on the lake happened?” before.” “I had pulled the boat out of the brush and was just Donna, now fully engaged, leaned even farther getting it into the water,” he said. “I was pulling it by a forward and asked, “What did you do?” short rope we had tied to the bow. I was in about knee- “Ha!” The sound startled Donna so badly she deep water and just getting ready to climb in when I nearly fell out of her chair. “What did I do? Same thing heard it.” you would have done, I imagine,” he said. “I ran like Sensing she was about to get to the part of the story hell. I didn’t even take the time to pull the boat onto she had come to Texas to document, Donna said, the bank. I just left it there and ran for all I was worth.” “Tell me what you heard.” “But you made it home okay?” she asked. “Doc Bullock,” he said. “I made it home, but I wasn’t okay,” he said. “I was terrified, shaking all over. I couldn’t even speak for a OC BULLOCK?” DONNA ASKED, HER couple of hours. It scared the bejesus out of poor D eyes wide with surprise. This was not what she Momma. I can’t explain how afraid I was. I felt it down had expected to hear. “I thought the ghost of Ben- to my soul.” nington Lake was referred to as the banshee.” The unlikely pair was quiet for a few minutes “I’ve come to believe that’s what haunts this lake, before Larry waved and captured Dottie’s attention. the ghost of Doc Bullock,” Larry said. “At the time, I He had decided maybe a drink was not such a bad idea didn’t know what it was, just that it scared the hell out after all. She nodded and brought him a fresh beer, at of me. The banshee name came later. A reporter for least beer as close to fresh as could be had at the Lake- the Bennington Journal used that term in one of the view Inn. “You care for anything?” he asked Donna. articles about the ghost of the lake, and it stuck.” “No, I’m fine,” she said. “If you don’t mind, let’s “I see,” said Donna. “Tell me what you heard, what continue.” did it sound like?” Larry nodded and said, “Once I settled down, I Larry’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. Sud- told Momma and Pa what happened, I’m not sure they denly, he looked like anything but a man who was believed me, but they knew something had scared me ready to share his story. After a few moments, he awful bad down there. Mike came in from his date seemed to relax, resigned to whatever she might think. about that time and he and Pa grabbed a couple of

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MICHAEL MAYES shotguns and went down to the lake to see if they could eat,’ and slapped me on the back. I smiled, but some- figure out what was going on.” how his saying that made me feel even worse.” “Did they find anything?” Donna asked. “I’m sure he meant it,” Donna said. “Did the two “No, not a thing,” Larry said. “Even the boat had of you go home then?” drifted off somewhere. Pa said it was as quiet as the Larry shifted uncomfortably in his rickety chair. grave down there.” “We started to, but no, ma’am, we didn’t.” Donna shivered at the analogy. “Do you think they Donna could see he was gone, once again fourteen believed you?” years old and back on the banks of Bennington Lake. “I’m not sure they knew what to think,” Larry said. She watched as his eyes darted side to side, seeing “They just knew I had been scared nearly to death and images that were more than fifty years old as clearly as nothing like that had ever happened before. I wanted if they were happening here and now. In a way, she them to believe me, of course, but I was more afraid supposed, at least to Larry, they were. that Mike was going to be mad at me.” “We got back to the cove and started up old Sparta “Why on earth would he be mad at you?” Road, back to where we had stashed our bikes in the “I had taken the boat out by myself,” Larry replied. woods,” Larry said. “We started pedaling for home, “Technically speaking, it was his boat. He bought it but I suddenly felt this urge to look back. God, how I with his money and now it was gone, drifted off to who wish I had never done that.” knows where?” “Why, Larry? What did you see?” “Was he?” asked Donna. “The boat,” he replied. “It was beached right next “Mad?” Larry asked. “No, he was actually pretty to the spot where the road entered the water.” He great about it. He told me not to worry and that it paused and leaned in close to Donna. “I know it wasn’t would probably drift up on shore somewhere not too there when we started up the road. We would’ve seen far away. He said he’d go find it in the morning.” it; hell, we would’ve practically tripped over it.” “Then what?” Donna asked. “But it must have been there,” she said. “There “We all just went to bed,” Larry said. He turned his wouldn’t have been time for it to have…” gaze downward so as not to meet Donna’s eyes before “But it DID!” he interrupted in a voice loud adding, “I slept with Momma and Pa that night. Four- enough to cause the few patrons at the bar to momen- teen years old and I slept with my parents. That’s how tarily turn their way. scared I was.” Larry leaned back in his chair and said in a gentler “I can’t say I blame you,” Donna said. “How did tone, “I know it’s crazy, but one second it wasn’t there the rest of the night go?” and the next it was.” He looked Donna straight in the “I finally settled down and managed to sleep some,” eyes and added, “I swear on my Momma’s grave it he replied. “I’m not sure my parents did, though. The wasn’t there when we walked by that spot.” bed was small and with my big ass in it they each only “Okay,” she said. “I believe you,” and found to her had about twelve inches of mattress.” He paused be- surprise that she really did. “What happened next?” fore quietly adding, “But they didn’t complain.” “I called out to Mike,” Larry said. “He was already Larry took a long draw from his mug and wiped the halfway up the hill, but turned around when he heard foam from his gray mustache. “Pete ought to be ar- me. Once he got back to me all I could do was point.” rested for selling this piss-water. It’s terrible.” “What did he say?” Donna asked. Donna smiled and waited for the old man to “At first nothing,” Larry replied. “I think he was continue. After another big swallow of stale beer, he stunned, too. He knew we had just been right there. I continued. “Mike and I spent most of the next day heard him mumble, ‘Son of a bitch,’ and then he looking for that boat. We walked the bank all day, but started down the road toward the water.” never saw it. Mike tried not to show that he was upset Donna could see that Larry was trembling. This about it, but I could tell he was disappointed. He was the part of the story she had come to hear, but she caught me looking at him and said, ‘Don’t worry about could feel the fear and pain of the old man. It was it, little brother. Let’s go home and get something to coming off of him in waves.

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HYPNOS “I tried to stop him,” Larry said. “It just felt… Larry swallowed hard and continued, “Its clothes wrong. I called out to him, but he didn’t stop.” were just in tatters, barely there. Its skin was white. I “What then?” she asked. don’t mean white like I’m white or you’re white. I “Mike got to the edge of the water and reached out mean white like the belly of a dead fish; ghost white.” for the bow of the boat, but he couldn’t reach it. It was “What did Mike do?” odd, he kept stretching out trying to get a hold of that “He was startled and fell back against the side of the boat,” he said. “The thing is, it wasn’t more than a foot boat,” Larry said. “But he didn’t try to run. I’ve never out of his reach. All he had to do was take a step into understood why.” the water and he could’ve pulled it right up on shore.” “What did he do?” asked Donna. “But he didn’t?” Larry took a long draw from his now room “No, not at first,” said Larry. “He just kept trying to temperature beer. After swallowing, he said, “He stretch out and reach it.” He stopped to gather his reached into the boat and grabbed one of the oars. He thoughts and then added, “It’s like part of him knew seized hold of it like it was a baseball bat and swung it there was something wrong. Part of him knew that he at that… thing for all he was worth.” shouldn’t go in the water. I just sat there on my bike “Did he hit it?” Donna asked. watching. I was petrified but didn’t know why. I kept “Not exactly,” he replied. “This thing just reached trying to call to him, but I could only whisper, ‘Mike, out and stopped it, the oar, I mean, in mid-air. It was come back, come back.’ It was like my throat was like Mike had been moving in slow motion. It just closing up. Then Mike turned to look up at me. He caught it and snatched it away from him. Then…” looked strange, scared. He didn’t say anything, just The old man stopped in mid-sentence and looked raised his hand and gave me a slow wave.” at Donna, trying to gauge whether or not he should Donna watched as Larry broke down. If he was still continue. I’ve come this far, he thought and said, trying to hold back his tears, he was having no more “Then it screamed. It was the loudest and most luck than the citizens of Sparta who had fought the terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. I… I pissed rising water of the Nolan River so long ago. She said myself.” nothing but took both of his hands in hers and waited. Donna sat transfixed, unable to ask a follow-up “He knew,” Larry said. “But he did it anyway.” question. It turned out not to be necessary. “What?” asked Donna. “What did Mike do?” “That scream must have done something to Mike,” Larry wiped his eyes and said, “He stepped out into Larry said. “He just stood there, didn’t move a that water.” muscle.” The old man closed his eyes and added, “Then that thing brought that oar down on Mike’s ONNA FELT HERSELF TENSE UP. AT LAST, skull.” D she was getting to the heart of the story. She was Horrified, Donna brought her hands up to cover going to hear, firsthand, Larry Thomason’s ex- her mouth. planation of what happened to his brother more than Larry, who now looked exhausted and haggard, half a century ago. “Can you tell me what happened, continued, “His head just… exploded. It was like that Larry?” home movie of JFK getting shot. You know the one?” For several seconds, Larry sat unblinking and just “The Zapruder film,” she whispered. stared at her. She gave his hands a gentle squeeze and “Yes, that’s it,” Larry said. “What I saw looked just asked again, “Larry, what happened to Mike?” like the second that bullet hit Kennedy’s head. There “You won’t believe me,” he said. “No one ever was just a spray, a cloud of blood.” has.” Donna felt queasy. “Dear, God,” she said. “Try me,” she said. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Larry said. “Someone… something just exploded up out of the “But it’s the sound, the sound of that oar making con- water,” he said. “It looked like a man, but it was no tact with Mike’s head that I remember most.” Larry man.” looked down at the table and added, “I hear it in my Donna asked, “What do you mean?” dreams.”

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MICHAEL MAYES Despite not really wanting to hear any more, enraged over Mike choosing to spend time with Donna asked, “What did you do, Larry?” Dorothy instead of me, that I beat him to death with Still looking down, he said, “I just sat there on my that oar, and dumped his body somewhere in Lake bike, too scared to move. I just sat there while that Bennington. I guess it made more sense to the jury thing killed Mike.” Crying now, he continued, “Mike than the crazy story I was telling.” Larry paused before just sort of sank down into the water real slow. Once adding, “The trial lasted a week. Momma came every he was out of sight, this thing looked up at me. Its eyes day; Pa didn’t come once. She fainted when they sen- were red, like hot charcoal, like some kind of devil. It tenced me to life.” screamed again and that’s all I remember.” “Forgive me for asking, but why did the D.A. not “Did you go home? Did you call the police?” seek the death penalty?” asked Donna. Donna asked. “I’m not totally sure,” said Larry. “It likely had a lot “I woke up at home, but I have no idea how I got to do with my being so young and the fact that Mike’s there,” said Larry. “I was in my room on my bed. I body was never found. I also think Momma’s suffering could hear Pa talking to another man in the living played into it. They didn’t give two shits about me, but room.” He paused before adding, “And I could hear I think they were afraid of what would happen to her if Momma crying in her bedroom across the hall.” they executed her only living son, even if he was a “Who was your father talking to?” asked Donna. murderer.” “Turns out it was the law,” he said. “Not just any “Larry, I am so sorry,” she said. “It is the worst story old cop either, but the High Sheriff, himself. I heard I’ve ever heard.” him tell Pa they had found our boat on the shore near “What’s done is done,” he replied. “I’m out now. I Old Sparta Road and that there was blood, bone, and guess the parole board figured fifty years was long what looked like brain matter all over it. I also heard enough. I want to do something positive with whatever him say that one of the oars had been snapped clean time I have left.” in two, the paddle end covered in blood and tissue just “I think that is admirable,” Donna said. “Do you like the boat.” have any idea what that will be?” “My God,” Donna said. “It must have been hor- “I do,” he said. “I know to your readers this will all rible for your parents.” just be a spooky story in the Halloween edition of your “It was, but it got worse two days later when they paper…” He paused long enough to light up his last came back to the house to arrest me,” Larry said. Marlboro with trembling hands then continued, “…but “Momma was hysterical.” it’s more than a ghost story to me. People continue to “What about your father?” Donna asked. go missing on this lake, and I’m the only one who Larry looked up at her and said, “He just sat there knows why. I have to stop it, stop him. I’m the only in his chair, no emotion on his face at all, and watched one who can.” them take me away.” The old man’s eyes were once again filled with tears over the memory. “Momma was ARRY HAD NOT SAID A WORD ON THE screaming at him to do something, but he just sat there L drive to the lake and Donna was getting nervous. and stared off into space. That’s when I knew.” Despite the fact she believed his story——something “Knew what?” Donna asked. that made no sense to her at all——she was starting to “That he thought I had killed Mike,” whispered seriously question the wisdom of getting in a vehicle Larry. with a convicted murderer in the middle of the night. Donna exhaled slowly and tried to digest everything As if sensing her thoughts, Larry said, “It’s okay, that she had just been told. The story was crazy, Miss. Really it is.” downright insane. Larry must be lying, he had to be, Donna blushed. She was sure he would be able to but somehow, she believed him. feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. She decided Without being prompted, Larry said, “The rest is a not to pretend he was wrong about what she had been matter of public record. They tried me as an adult. The thinking and, instead, asked, “Are we close?” District Attorney’s theory was that I had become

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HYPNOS “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “As a matter of fact, “Nineteen,” he said. “Nineteen souls have drowned we’re here.” or gone missing in this cove since the fall of 1969. Larry brought the truck to a stop in front of a low That’s more than three times the number of people iron gate and killed the engine. A brown sign with who have died in the rest of the lake during that same bright yellow lettering let Donna know this was Sparta time period.” Park. “This is it,” he said. “This is where it happened.” “And the banshee?” she asked. “It’s only seen and Donna could see the road beyond the gates heard here?” dropping away in a steep slope until it reached the Larry said nothing, he only nodded. waters of Lake Bennington. “A road to nowhere,” she An uneasiness, a feeling something was terribly whispered. wrong, had begun to grow from somewhere deep Larry nodded and said, “Down close to the water inside of her, telling her to go, to run. She decided to they’ve added some picnic tables, fire rings, tent pads, listen to it. “Larry, I think I’ve seen enough; I have what that sort of thing, but nobody camps here. Too much I need. There’s no need to go farther.” has happened.” Without taking his eyes off the dark water of the Donna stepped forward to peer over the iron bar cove, he replied, “I understand.” of the gate and down the road. The forest on both sides The pair turned and began making their way back seemed to be slowly creeping closer to the blacktop in up the hill toward the truck. They had not gone far an attempt to reclaim land that properly belonged to it. when a compulsion to look back down the hill over- The tops of the trees had already managed to grow took her. Her mind screamed at her not to turn, not to across the road and branches from both sides look, but she had no choice and she knew it. She interlocked like gnarled fingers over it. It’s like looking stopped and turned to look back at the black waters of into a pit, she thought and grew unsteady on her feet. Lake Bennington one more time. What she saw “Miss? You alright?” Larry asked. “Donna?” chilled her to the marrow. She latched on to the sound of his voice like a “Larry,” she whispered. drowning person might grab on to a life preserver and The old man had taken several more steps up the shook off the wave of dizziness that had momentarily hill. Deep in his own thoughts he had not immediately engulfed her. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” realized Donna had paused during their ascent. He Larry looked at her and knew better, but said only, realized she was no longer next to him at almost the “Alright then, I guess we should get on with it.” exact moment he heard her whisper his name. He was The pair stepped over the iron bar of the gate and at her side within moments. He could see her eyes started down the dark remnant of Sparta Road. Donna were wild with fear. “Donna? What is it?” felt as if she was walking into the throat of some dark “Larry,” she whispered again and pointed toward beast, but forced herself forward. About halfway down the bottom of the hill. the hill Larry stopped and said, “This is it.” What he saw when he turned to look was im- “This is what?” she asked. “I don’t understand.” possible. It was madness. There, floating just a few feet “This is where I was——give or take a few feet—— from the point where the blacktop of old Sparta Road when I looked back down the hill and saw Mike’s met the dark waters of Lake Bennington, was a small, boat,” he said. green, aluminum boat. Donna turned and looked down to the water’s “Son of a bitch,” Larry croaked. edge. She could hear it now, lapping gently against the “Is it?” she asked. shoreline. Had she been anywhere else, she would Larry nodded. “I think so, yes. That’s Mike’s boat.” have considered the sound quite relaxing, soothing. “It’s impossible,” she whispered. “How many?” He nodded again and replied, “You’re right, but “Since Mike in 1969?” Larry asked, understanding even so, there it is.” the question without needing clarification. Larry took a step down the hill toward the water “Yes,” she whispered. and the boat. Donna grabbed him by the arm and

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MICHAEL MAYES halted his progress. “Larry, no, you can’t go down fifty years, hung loose and waterlogged from bones that there! You know that!” were visible even from the hill. The creature made no He turned to look at her. It was clear whatever sound, it only watched and waited. doubt she might have still harbored about his story “It’s time,” Larry said and broke free from Donna’s when they left the Lakeview Inn was long gone now. grip. Her face was more than ashen; she had gone so pale it Donna watched as he walked slowly, but steadily, almost glowed in the night. White like the belly of a down the remaining blacktop of old Sparta Road and dead fish; ghost white, he thought and shivered. “I have into the dark waters of Lake Bennington. The creature to go, don’t you see? It wants me. He wants me.” made no sound nor did it move as Larry approached “Who?” she asked. “Who, Larry?” it. “Doc Bullock.” Oh, God, no, she tried to shout but found she The sound of water splashing and roiling out in the could not make the words come. She watched, hor- cove reached their ears. The old man and the reporter rified, as Larry reached out to the banshee. The turned as one to look down the hill again. Just beyond creature seemed to hesitate as if it had not expected the boat, the water had come alive. It bubbled and this; but after a moment, it reached out with two churned as if it had reached the boiling point. It skeletal hands and grasped Larry by the shoulders. seemed to be slightly fluorescent, lit somehow from “No, oh, no, no,” she gasped as she watched the below. monster take hold of the old man. “Dear God,” Donna gasped. “Larry, get me away As if in response to her soft cries, Larry and the from this place, please!” creature that had once been Dr. Winston Bullock Without taking his eyes off the angry waters below, turned and stared up the hill at her. Larry’s eyes now he said, “I’m sorry, Donna. I can’t do that. I have to burned with the same unholy fire as those of the beast. stop this.” Donna dropped to her knees in horror. She wanted to “Stop it?” she screamed. “How can you stop it? He run but could not will her mutinous body to move. She will only kill you like he killed your brother!” could only gape at that which should not be in the “No,” Larry said and turned to look at her. “I think water below. Donna could feel her mind becoming he and I are kindred spirits. In some ways, we’re the unhinged, could feel her grip on sanity slipping away… same.” then the unholy duo below screamed, and there was “No, Larry,” Donna replied. “He’s a lunatic, a nothing. murderer. You’re not like that.” “That’s true,” he said. “But we both lost everything ONNA SHARPE WALKED OUT OF HER when they flooded Sparta. Doc Bullock lost his D editor’s office, down the stairs, and out of the livelihood, his mind, and then his life. I lost Mike and building that housed the Massachusetts Globe. Tony whatever good I might have done with my life. We’re had refused to run her story. She was disappointed, but the same.” not angry about it; after all, Tony had sent her to Texas It was then that Donna realized what he meant to to get a ghost story——a fluff piece for the Halloween do. “You can’t, Larry. Please, don’t!” edition——and she had come back with… what exactly? “I have to, can’t you see?” he asked. “No one else A whole lot more, she thought to herself. understands what he’s lost. I do.” The more she thought about it, the less she could He turned to look down to the cove again. Donna’s blame Tony. The story read like a horror novel, a work eyes followed his and what she saw made her swoon. of fiction. She must have sounded like a lunatic trying The water had calmed; it was now like glass. Standing to convince him that every word of the piece was true. behind the boat, somehow on the water itself, was an A cabbie had to slam on his brakes to keep from abomination straight from hell. The beast glared up at hitting her when she jaywalked into the traffic of Con- them with eyes that glowed as red as the fire of any gress Street. The cabbie laid on his horn and shouted furnace. The pallid skin glowed white, somehow self- at her in an exotic tongue that she did not understand. illuminated, and the flesh, underwater now for over Without breaking stride, she replied in the universal

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HYPNOS language of an upturned middle finger. Donna stepped was clearly very old. The County Coroner stated that up on to the curb and entered The Patriot, her favorite he could not give a definitive cause of death until an pub. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the low light of autopsy was completed, but it was obvious from the the bar and, just for a moment, she felt the terror again, damaged skull that this John Doe had suffered a the sensation of walking into the throat of some dark catastrophic head injury. He also stated that DNA tests beast. She shook off the feeling and continued to her would be conducted in an effort to identify the victim. usual table near the back. The bartender, Andy, met “I flew back to Boston the next day. There was no her there with a glass of Jameson’s. She thanked him need for me to stay and wait for the DNA tests to come and sat down. Andy left her to her own thoughts. back: I knew it was the body of Michael Thomason After finishing her whiskey, Donna pulled her that those bird watchers had found. Somehow, Larry’s audio recorder from her purse, the same device on sacrifice had appeased the ghost of Doc Bullock, and which she had recorded her interview with Larry it had released Mike’s body. Not knowing what else to Thomason sixteen days earlier. She stared at the do, the authorities decided to search the cove again. recorder for several minutes before pushing the record They pulled six bodies from the lake bottom almost button. immediately. A photo of the corpses lining the bank of “October 30, 2019. Boston, Massachusetts. I Sparta Cove——covered in Bell County EMS blankets reported the events of October 14 to the Bell County except for their pail, bloated feet——that ran in the Sheriff’s Department. They were actually very kind to Bennington Journal was picked up by the wire services me and, as far as I could tell, did a thorough job of and appeared in almost every newspaper in the searching the area for any sign that a murder had been country. Six more bodies have been recovered since committed at Sparta Park. They searched the woods then, bringing the total to twelve. I strongly suspect at around the cove that night and most of the next day least seven more will be recovered in the days to come. but found nothing. They dragged the cove in an effort I also believe that the days of unexplained dis- to find the body of Larry Thomason but did not locate appearances and drownings in and around Sparta Park it. I think by the end of the second day of searching are over. I think Larry Thomason has made sure of they were beginning to think the Yankee lady from that.” Boston was off her rocker. Even so, it was undeniable Donna clicked the off button on her recorder and that Larry Thomason was missing, so they kept waved at Andy, who gave her an understanding nod. looking. They even brought in some recovery divers She pulled a pack of Marlboro shorts from her purse, from the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department to liberated one of the cigarettes, and was in the process search the cove. They, too, found nothing, and the of lighting it and taking her first drag about the time search was called off. Andy returned with her drink. “Those are going to kill “I was never told not to leave town, but I stayed you one day,” he said. anyway and kept looking myself, but only during the “I’ll quit tomorrow,” she replied. day. I couldn’t bring myself to stay out there after dark. “Liar,” Andy said and walked back to the bar. On October 20, I arrived at the park to find what had Donna sat quietly until she had finished her smoke to be half of the law enforcement officers in Bell and then activated her recorder again. “And so ends County already there. It seems a couple of bird the strange tale of the Banshee of Bennington Lake. watchers had spotted what looked like a dead body in It’s a story of loss, murder, sacrifice, and, maybe, re- a small green jon boat beached at the point where the demption. Impossible? Maybe, but it all happened black top of old Sparta Road met the waters of Lake exactly the way I have described it. There is one more Bennington. The officers on the scene were clearly thing. I did some checking, and the jon boat in which puzzled by the sudden appearance of this small boat in that body was found——the boat that looked nearly an area that had been combed by searchers, myself brand new with its hunter green hull and padded included, multiple times in the days following Larry’s seats——was built by a company that is still around disappearance. The boat——a hunter green beauty with today, but that particular model has not been man- padded seats——looked almost new; the body however, ufactured in the United States for over fifty years.”

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The Spire By D. J. TYRER

OU’RE USING ME,” ZANE SAID AS HE that campus, not even when that… that thing nearly stared out through the windscreen of the killed you.” Y rental car, trying to see through the snow He snorted. “I thought you wanted to spend some splattering across it. “You’re a user, Theo, I know it.” time with me, what with me being banned from cam- Theo gave him what was intended to be an in- pus, and all, but no, there’s an ulterior motive.” nocent smile, but she couldn’t help but let her lip “I respect the righteous indignation, darling, but twitch in acknowledgement. could you please keep the car under control?” Zane shook his head. “And, here I thought we were Glancing at her, he said, “Sorry,” and, then, slowed going to have a nice little getaway, get you away from the car, before observing, “We’re nearly there.” your thesis worries and have some quality ‘us time’.” A sign directed them into the parking lot of the “And, we will. I promise.” hotel and Zane parked in its lee, out of the worst of the “I should’ve realised when you said you wanted to flurries. The building loomed over them, a tall spire get away from school: You never want to go far from forming a black void against the winter’s night sky.

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HYPNOS “Here we are,” he said as he switched off the As they followed the man along a red-carpeted engine, before clambering out and fetching her chair corridor, Theo noted that the building was silent and from the trunk. had an empty feel to it. Given it was off-season and Theo slid out of the passenger seat and into her without any winter sports or other seasonal reasons to wheelchair with an ease that made his own exit appear recommend it, the hotel quite probably was empty. positively clumsy. “This is your room.” The night manager swung a “Shall I?” he asked. dark wooden door open to reveal a room panelled in “Just to the door——this gravel and slush is a pain.” equally dark wood. The space was dominated by a He pushed her around to the entrance and large four-poster bed. bumped her up the steps to the door. Zane gave a whistle and, then glanced, at Theo. “No ramp,” muttered Theo. “That’s going in my “I like the look of this,” he said with a grin. review on Trip Advisor.” She smiled at him as the night manager dis- Zane wondered if she really planned to review the appeared off, back towards the elevator. place, or, indeed, whether it would still be standing by “I thought it might make up for me using you.” the time they left. “It just might.” Zane went over to the bed and sat “I’ll go and sign in,” she said as he headed off to down on it, testing it. “Comfy.” fetch their bags. Then, he looked at her and said, “I get the feeling The lobby was done in a colonial style that really it’s not yet time for bed, yet.” belonged to a hundred years earlier and a few hundred Theo shrugged. miles to the east of the hotel’s construction. “Go on, spill. You still haven’t told me exactly why Still, she thought, it could’ve been worse, if you we’ve come here. So, speak.” were inclined to be concerned about such things. “Do you mind if I have something to drink first? There was no one behind the desk, so she rang the It’s been a long journey.” bell. With mock exasperation, Zane said, “Fine!” A moment later, a man in an ill-fitting black suit, There was a coffee machine and Theo set to work with a little plastic badge marked ‘Night Manager—— making herself a cappuccino. How may I help you?’ pinned to his chest, emerged “These things never come out quite as good as in a from a rear office. He looked down at her with a blank coffee shop,” she said as she frothed the milk, “but, I expression that somehow managed to convey a sense just can’t resist them. One day, I’ll learn the knack.” of disdain. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Want She waited a couple of seconds for him to speak. one?” He didn’t, so she tossed her credit card onto the desk. “Sure, why not?” “I booked a double room for two nights,” she said, Theo passed him one and halted beside the bed just as Zane entered with their bags. with her own. The night manager picked up her card with an air “So, you want to know why we’re here?” of reluctance and checked her details. “Yes.” “Indeed, you did. If you’ll follow me, there is an el- She blew on her coffee for a moment, then took a evator.” sip. It was an old-style one like a brass cage and was “Okay. This place was built by Philip Marvell operated by manually turning a lever until you reached Bishop, about a hundred-and-fifty years ago, perhaps a the floor you wanted. Theo was glad they were only little more. He was from Dunwich, Massachusetts. one floor up. You’ve heard of Dunwich?” “This way,” said the night manager after sliding “Of course, I’ve heard of Dunwich. Everybody’s back the gate. heard of Dunwich; plenty of crazy talk around cam- Theo bumped with difficulty out of the elevator, pus.” which was marginally misaligned below the level of the “Well, half of it’s true and the other half’s probably floor, and followed after him with Zane to her rear. too tame,” Theo said before taking another sip of her

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D. J. TYRER coffee. “Anyway, the place was impoverished, but “Well, you know me, it’s not as if I’d let my legs Bishop had some money, so he made his escape and stand in my way.” She paused to consider the image. headed west, built this place.” “You know what I mean.” She paused. “But, he was every bit as odd as his Zane sighed. “You’d crawl up the stairs if you had kinsfolk, a seeker after lost lore.” to.” Zane gave her a grin. “Like you?” “I sure would. But, I don’t need to.” She grinned. Theo nodded. “Yes. Legend says he built this place “Turns out ol’ Bishop had a dodgy leg following a using certain profane forms of sacred geometry and hunting accident and built that elevator so that it ex- added the spire so that he might summon an entity of tends all the way up into the spire.” the upper air. Zane gave a nod. “Convenient for the occult “The building certainly includes some interesting rituals.” measurements,” she added. “Indeed. So, all I need to do is pop up there and “And?” Zane asked. take a look.” “Legend says the thing he summoned is still there, “And, this is for your thesis, or just for fun?” in the spire, and I think they’re right.” Theo shrugged. “I doubt there’s enough hard data “Okay…” for an academic write-up, but knowledge is power and “From my research, I believe he was trying to power is all this world is about. Nothing else matters, invoke a being known as the Emperor of the Upper we’re nothing but blinks in the eye of the universe, our Air and managed to call down one of its children or existence meaningless. Only power offers the most servitors. Bishop’s writings speak of it as being ‘alike minute mote of meaning.” unto an angel’, but I suspect it may be akin to the “You know,” said Zane, “you’re different to other ‘Fishers From Outside’.” women. You’re the only one who isn’t desperate for a Zane groaned. “And, what? You thought you’d meaningful relationship.” stop by to say ‘hello’?” He shook his head. “Seriously? She laughed. “A meaningless moment has to do. It You don’t remember how these things go? You know, just helps if it’s a damn good meaningless moment.” you could’ve opted to just have a straightforward hol- “Okay, so you’re ‘popping up’ into the tower. So, iday. Still could.” what did you want me along for? Or, am I just your “I know.” She chuckled. “But, where’s the fun in ride?” that?” “Would it help if I said ‘Your scintillating per- Then, she saw his face. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it sonality’?” like that!” She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll have some fun “Might do… But, really?” together, the two of us.” “Okay. Although the elevator goes as high as the “If we don’t get killed…” spire, the tower is off-limits to guests and the elevator “If we don’t get killed,” she acknowledged with a only goes up there if you have a key.” smile that didn’t quite banish the possibility. “But, first, “And, I’m guessing, they don’t hand it out on I’ve got to do this. You know me; you know I do.” request?” He shrugged. “All I know is you make a decent “No, I have to steal it.” cappuccino. Fine, so, there’s something supernatural Zane smiled. “I can see where this is going…” you want to mess about with. But, you said, the thing’s “You’ll hack their security system and turn off any up in the spire, didn’t you?” alarms or cameras?” Theo nodded. “It is.” “You do know I’m still banned from messing about “And, how do you propose to get up there? with any technology more advanced than a flip- Because I am not piggybacking you up all that way.” phone?” With a chuckle, Theo looked down at herself as if Smiling, Theo went over to their luggage and she hadn’t noticed she was sitting in a wheelchair. passed a laptop case over to him. “I hope this will do it…”

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HYPNOS “Should do,” he said, taking a look. “You going Moving a chair aside, she edged carefully around now?” the desk, trying not to bang anything and make a noise. Theo nodded. “It’ll be just like when we broke into This was the difficult part of her plan: She hadn’t a the restricted section…” clue to where the key was kept. Zane frowned. “As I recall, that nearly went badly She tried the desk. The top two doors to the left wrong.” were unlocked and contained the usual office eph- She waved him quiet. “All I need you to do is shut emera, but the third was locked. Again, the rectangle stuff off and let me know where the night manager is. of metal came into play and she managed to spring the How long will it take you to get into their system?” lock. He smiled. “Already in. The alarms and cameras Theo groaned. There was petty cash and a digital are all on a wireless network; they’ve obviously up- camera and a phone, but no key. graded quite recently, but not their passwords.” He She closed the drawer and tried those on the right. snorted. “You just have to hope they don’t have Again, the top two were unlocked and of no interest, anything that’s still on the old system. But, otherwise, but the third refused to slide open. you’re good to go.” “This better be it,” she muttered as she jammed the “Thanks.” She smiled back at him and went over piece of metal between the drawer and the desk. “A to the door. “Let me know if that night manager or safe’s sure to be too much for me.” anyone else is anywhere near me.” The drawer sprang open and she softly clapped her “He appears to be the only member of staff,” said hands together in delight: An old brass key with an Zane as she opened the door, “and he’s snoozing in a oddly curved, rather than toothed head lay beside a little office off the reception. We seem to be the only bunch of more modern keys. guests, too, which is handy. Going by the security, the Taking the key, she closed the drawer, then care- office you want is a couple of doors down from it and fully reversed her way out of the office and headed for says ‘Manager’ on the door. Try not to make much the elevator. noise”, he added as she left. Her phone began to vibrate in her jacket pocket as “Good job I got my chair serviced,” she called back she reached the cage, but she didn’t answer until she as she headed for the lift. had raised herself a floor. If there was one good point to using a manual “Yes?” wheelchair, thought Theo as she turned the handle “Where were you? I was getting worried!” that moved the elevator, it’s that it keeps your arm “Getting into the elevator. What is it?” muscles fit. “He’s got up to take a stroll around. Thank good- The elevator bumped to a halt and she rolled out. ness he hasn’t bothered to check the cameras.” Her chair had been freshly oiled prior to the trip “And, now?” The phone was pressed between her and the tyres checked and it moved silently along the shoulder and her chin as she continued to turn the corridor to the office she wanted. She could hear the handle. soft buzz of TV or radio from the room behind the “You’re in luck,” said Zane, “looks like he’s headed check-in desk and hoped the night manager would back to his TV.” remain dozing or pre-occupied. “Good.” She killed the call, slipped the phone back The office was locked, but she slipped a thin into her pocket, and kept turning. rectangle of metal in between the door and its frame There was a bump as the elevator halted and the and gave it a jiggle. The antique lock popped and the handle refused to turn anymore. door swung open. “Time for you,” she muttered, lifting the key from She entered with a little trepidation: A large oak her lap and slipping it into a slot beside the handle and desk filled the room, leaving little space for cabinets turning it. and chairs. In her wheelchair, it was a tight squeeze There was a click and she gave the handle an ex- and, if the night manager came prowling past, her perimental turn and the elevator began to move, once chances of exiting to a quick getaway were close to nil. more.

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D. J. TYRER The elevator came to a halt in the middle of a dark Theo shrieked as the wings buffeted against her, open space. Above her, the hollow interior of the spire something damp slapping across her, like a questing reached upwards and appeared to vanish into the tongue. blackness of space. Like a moth drawn to a flame, it flapped about her; It was here; the entity Bishop had referred to as turning off her phone did nothing to dissuade it. ‘like unto an angel’ was here, somewhere within the The stink of decay was nauseating and where the darkness of the spire, she could feel it. damp tongue-like tendril splashed against her, her skin felt as if it were burning with an allergic reaction. HE SLID BACK THE DOOR OF THE ELE- She tried to knock it away, but her blows only S vator cage and slowly trundled out onto the rough seemed to agitate it more and it was so large that its wooden floor of the room within the tower. She turned buffeting was causing her chair to roll back, away from so she could gaze up the shaft of the spire. It was dark the elevator. and empty and, yet, she could feel a presence, an in- Theo fumbled in the pockets of her jacket, praying tangible menace; she wished she’d brought a flashlight. that her other researches had been as successful as There was a faint vibration that rose up through the those that had led her here. She pulled out a small, flat wheels of her chair and entered her body and a object, a rock, one of those referred to as Star Stones rumbling from outside the tower: the winter winds or as the Elder Sign or All-Seeing Eye. were picking up. She thrust it towards the shadowy moth-thing and Theo took out her phone and called up the notes prayed to the God she’d long since abandoned belief she’d made: A series of nonsense syllables. in that this was a real Star Stone and that the stories of She read them twice to ensure she had them right, their protective properties were true——and, applied in then put away her phone and began to chant in a this case. language unlike any used on Earth, struggling to pro- The creature flew back as if burnt and gave a duce the correct series of sounds, calling out to the horrible, high-pitched squeal. child or servitor of the Emperor of the Upper Air. The eye etched upon the stone seemed to glow for Some of the ancient authorities said that angels in- a moment, but then the darkness returned, and Theo habited the sphere between the Earth and the Moon, was uncertain if it had. while others spoke of demons or stranger things, but She could hear the moth-thing flapping above her Theo knew such distinctions were of little meaning to in agitation and there was a louder rumble and, then, the entities that existed beyond the confines of the the sound of cracking and splintering wood. Earth, that they were merely an attempt to impose Theo swore, dropped the stone into her lap and human understanding and moralities upon things that began to propel her chair towards the elevator. were quite, quite alien. Good and evil didn’t matter to The entity swooped down at her, ragged and the true adept, merely knowledge and power. stinking, and she threw the star stone at it. Yet, that didn’t stop her feeling a frisson of fear as There was a flash of light followed by black, black she caught the sound of motion somewhere above her darkness, a shriek that may have come from her or the in the darkness of the spire. She could sense it and moth-thing, and an awful rending sound. what she sensed felt inimical. She felt her chair bump into the elevator cage. There was the soft beating of wings and something Then, there was a rushing wind and a cacophony of descended towards her, a shadow in the darkness, voices speaking strange, alien words and she was accompanied by the smell of rotting flesh. falling. She pulled out her phone, its screen providing a For a brief moment of complete blackness, Theo little light. felt as if she were floating in a void, chill and starless, Something like a bat swooped towards her, then then there was the tortured squeal of metal and she she realised it was more like a moth, dark in colour, jerked to a halt and was thrown from her chair, it like living shadow, with a body the size of hers and landing on top of her. wide, tattered wings.

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HYPNOS The reverberations of a loud crash echoed about With the elevator gone, the stairs were their only route her, then silence fell and she lay there, on the floor of of descent. the elevator, cold and stunned. “I don’t expect you to,” she replied and gave a “Theo? Theo?” nervous laugh. She raised her head. The voice sounded distant. He pushed his hair back. “Emergency services “Theo?” should be here soon. Weather permitting.” Then, he “I’m in the elevator,” she called, somehow looked at her. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” managing to push her wheelchair off of herself and get “Believe me, so am I.” up into a sitting position. She shook her head. “That was too close a call. I’m She looked up: The tower had vanished. thinking, maybe, I need to find a new interest.” Snowflakes were drifting down the shaft to land coldly He laughed. “You’ll find no objection from me.” upon her cheeks. The elevator shaft had twisted out of Slipping the key out of her pocket, she asked, true, which, she guessed, was what had caused it to halt “Could you return this to the drawer it came from, for rather than crash to the bottom, several floors below. me; bottom on the right” Righting her chair, she pulled herself into it, then Zane laughed again. “I don’t think the office is retrieved the key from the buckled winding mech- there, anymore——you took out half the hotel with that anism. tower.” He looked at her. “I take it that was you.” “Don’t want to get the blame,” she muttered, “We’ll chat about it later.” slipping it into her pocket. “Okay.” He grinned. “I’ll take care of this key.” Zane appeared before her. He picked out a path over to where the floor gave “Thank goodness!” he cried, looking down at her. way to twisted wreckage and dropped it down amongst “I thought you were dead——the tower came crashing the shattered beams. down on the hotel!” As she waited for him to return, Theo looked up to Gently, he lifted her up out of the lift, and then her where the roof had been and gazed at the dark winter’s chair, and helped her back into it. sky and wondered if the entity in the spire had been “I’m not going to carry you down,” he said, the destroyed or had merely fled back to its abode, some- relief in his voice ruining any attempt at sounding stern. where high above them. Then, she shivered, and not just from the cold.

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The Special Collection By MICHAEL DITTMAN

“A local judge frequented the library. One day, for Here, he worked hard to be fair but strong. Partiality reasons unknown, he hanged himself in the stacks. and leniency were signs of weakness in his eyes and, he His body was found and removed. Then, the staff believed, in the eyes of his neighbors. When James, his reported seeing mysterious writing appear. But the son, marched off with the other volunteers to fight the writing wasn’t at the level any human hand could Rebels in the War of Southern Rebellion, the Judge reach. It was up high on the ceiling, near the spot of stood ramrod straight and only nodded as his boy, with the noose. The writing was always the same: ‘Sentio Est Hic.’ Latin for ‘The Judge is Here.’” shining eyes and a joyous grin, passed through the ——Ghost Stories streets in front of cheering townspeople. of the Carnegie Library The Judge would not see James again. Eventually, he came to believe that his boy had been killed and his NTIL THE SEPTEMBER OF HIS FIF- body left unidentified on the battlefield. In the Judge’s tieth year, Judge Pastorius had gone to work darkest nights, he dreamt of the boy, his boy, not yet U each day in the fine stone courthouse of dead, but paralyzed, screaming silently as he was Butler County in the western part of Pennsylvania. dumped into a trench full of corpses, doused with

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HYPNOS kerosene and set ablaze, the sweetish smell of burning smell of opium. Men who didn’t answer him at all or flesh and rendering fat filling the paralyzed man’s nos- who spoke to someone far behind and over his trils until the advancing flames finally licked at his own shoulder. But he could not find any men who had blue uniform. served alongside James under Kirk in the 77th The Judge’s grief blossomed into melancholia and Pennsylvania. began to interfere with his work. He could be seen After another tiresome and failed day, walking back gazing off into the distance during arguments. Gossip from the area of the city that had been decimated by was spread that he had begun to lose his iron grip of the Arsenal explosion in ‘62, he stopped at the Oyster judiciousness and passed lighter judgments on those House for a late lunch. Earlier that day, a veteran with men who had served their country and returned. a beard caked with filth had thrown him bodily from When a charlatan spiritualist came to town and set Reed’s Tavern after the Judge had pressed him for up a commune on the banks of the Conoquenessing details about the man’s service. His back, where he had Creek, Pastorius was slow to act. Although he officially hit the ground, gave a small protest as he lifted his leg joined with the other town fathers in insisting that the to rest on the brass rail and ordered a dozen Blue man move on, neighbors whispered that they had seen Points and a schooner of Baurlein pilsner. The glass the man who told people that he could speak to the sweated in the early autumn heat. A man sitting to his dead entering and leaving the Judge’s house on more right had a plate of empty shells in front of him and a than one afternoon. Shortly after those visits began, short glass of brown liquor. A woman in a dark dress they noted, the Judge began to release the accused with a feathered hat and skin the same color as the indigent into the recognizance of the cultist who called man’s drink slumped by his side. She looked like a himself Sam Mohawk. horse that had fallen asleep on its feet with only its After Mohawk’s commune burnt to the ground in locked knees keeping it upright. The man chewed on a suspicious fire, the Judge’s work suffered more. He a matchstick, then leaned back and sighed. He turned began to miss more days on the bench, begging off with to face the judge. claims of sciatica too painful for him to be able to sit “Be too late soon to eat Blue Points, eh?” for even short periods. Those who called on him at “Sorry?” home saw a man alone, his wife long since passed, “Winter’ll be here soon. Don’t want all that flabby preternaturally aged with deep pools for eyes, stained meat swimming around in the gullet, eh?” cuffs and collars, and a sour unwashed smell about The Judge’s stomach roiled. He took a sip of his him. Eventually, a little more than five years after his beer to quiet it. The man had a scent to him like son’s disappearance, he retired from his work. He burning hair. stayed shut in his fine house on McKean Street seeing “No, I suppose not.” no visitors and handling his business affairs, his The man adjusted in his chair and extended his interests in timber and the new oil fields to the north right hand. “Botis. Moxley Botis.” in Titusville, Pennsylvania, by letter and telegram. The Judge shook a heavily callused hand the size He left his home only to travel to Pittsburgh, where of a catcher’s mitt. he took a room at the Monongahela House for two “My name is Pastorius.” weeks at a time and spent his days haunting the city’s “What line of work are you in Pastorius?” bars and taverns looking for men who had fought “I am, I was a judge.” alongside James. In places with sawdust on the floor “Oh ho! Now there’s a profession. Tell me, Judge and light trickling in from filthy windows which pro- Pastorius,” Moxley leaned in closely. “How many men vided the disorienting feeling of being lost in a deep have you sent to their death?” wood on a foggy day, he spoke to men whole and Pastorius started back in disgust and, at the same broken. Men who were hobbled with the loss of a foot time, the woman beside Moxley gave a low groan. or an arm gone leaving only a pinned-up sleeve. Men “Hahahaha… I don’t think she liked my little joke. whose bodies were complete but whose eyes were sun- Did I upset you, dear?” Moxley patted his companion ken and red-rimmed with breath carrying the acrid

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MICHAEL DITTMAN on the arm. Pastorius couldn’t see her face under the ritrovai per una selva oscura / che la diritta via era hat, but he saw her jerk at Moxley’s touch. smarrita. “Now, I, myself, am in the commodities business,” Inside, the air was cool and the smell of old books Moxley continued. “Buy and sell, trade and futures. comforted him. This library and its design was one of Here on a little business. Yes, of course, it’s always Mr. Carnegie’s new ideas. Unlike the university li- business, isn’t it? Yourself?” Before the Judge could braries of Pastorius’ youth, these stacks were open for speak, Moxley added, “May I buy you another drink, patrons to browse and choose what they wanted. sir?” People of all sorts brushed past the Judge. He heard “No… I uh. No. I’m here in the city. Looking for… the buzz of strange languages and inhaled the smells of That is to say, I’m trying to find…” foreign foods cooked into the patrons’ clothes. The Moxley leaned in with a glint in his eyes. “Are you stacks were lit with skylights and the floors were made looking for a woman then, Judge? Some female of thick forged glass, opalescent and allowing the light companionship? Say no more. I’m sure this little doxy to diffuse. The effect was one where the Judge felt as if could probably round up one of her friends for you to he were underwater, finding his way along the fossils of play with.” The woman groaned again as if she was the seafloor as the light from the world above filtered trying to awake from a deep sleep. “Ohhohoh. Listen its way down to him. He wandered, browsing, for a to that friend! She’s a little minx, isn’t she?” He cupped length of time of which he couldn’t keep track. the woman’s buttock in his enormous hand and gave a A man with a shock of panicked white hair and leering wink. shoulders broad enough to fill the aisle between the “I should go,” the Judge said. He left two quarters shelves approached him and nodded a precise on the bar top and stood to go. greeting. “The library,” said Moxley. His eyes had suddenly “Sir,” the Judge acknowledged the man’s presence. grown hard and his face set. “I wonder, sir,” the man said as he drew near, “What?” “might I help you?” The Judge noticed the man’s eyes Moxley smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. were the blue of a sled dog’s. “Well,” he took a drink of his liquor, “a man who’s “Are you an employee, sir?” looking for something should go to the library. That “Mmmm. yes.” Pastorius noticed an unusual owl’s new one up in Oakland, as I understand it, has a head pin, from which hung a pince-nez, in the lapel of wonderful staff and many resources. Worth a try.” He the man’s dark suit “I am Andras. William Andras.” saluted Pastorius with his glass and turned back to his “Well, sir. This request may seem an odd thing.” companion, stroking her under the chin. Pastorius He looked down, fidgeted with his gloves, took a stared for a moment and saw the woman’s left hand breath and looked the man in the eyes. “You see. I am twitch as if she had a palsy or was trying to shake off here for. That is I was told.” invisible shackles. He paused and breathed deeply to calm his voice That night Pastorius slept fitfully. He woke deep in which had begun to catch in his throat. the belly of the night and found tears streaming down “My son has gone missing. Is missing. Has been his face, but he didn’t know why. In the morning, he missing, for quite some time. And a man, that is, I awoke, washed his face and then chartered a hansom believe he was an ex-soldier, a veteran that is to say, he for the day. Stepping from the cab, he craned his neck said that you here at the library, might have infor- to see the twin towers of the library as they spiraled up mation.” on either side of the building’s domed lecture hall. His “Hmmm… well. That is an unusual request. Where knees ached as he climbed the limestone stairs. Busts have you looked so far?” of Seneca, Shakespeare, and others decorated the al- “Here? Well, to be honest, sir, I have walked these coves. Quotations carved into the lintels seemed to stacks for some time now. I’m not even sure for what swim before his eyes. He was tired and his vision I should be looking.” blurred as he walked closer until the words gelled into focus: Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita / mi

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HYPNOS “Ah, therein lies the difficulty, yes?” Andras had an perusing volumes of poetry and becoming sleepy in the accent of indeterminate origin. “We know what we dull, diffused light. On his way out, he walked past a want, but not where to find it?” group of women sitting unescorted. They chatted in a “I suppose so, yes.” language he didn’t understand and smiled as he “He was a soldier? Have you not spoken to his passed. Were they talking about him, he thought, brothers in arms?” laughing about him? Andras was right. The world was “I have attempted, sir. But they are difficult to find.” changing and not for the better. He smiled as he “No one else then. A Pinkerton? Someone imaged those three queuing up at Gore Hall cir- schooled in the arts of detection? Have you considered culation desk where the librarians decided if you were that perhaps your son does not wish to be found?” suitable for the book that you called for. There was a Pastorius paused for a moment. “I spoke to… a system that made sense. Libraries needed men like man. A spiritualist.” Andras, Pastorius thought, men who could recognize Andras arched an eyebrow. others like themselves, men of breeding. “I know what you must think. But this was a man The next morning, Andras was waiting outside in of real power.” the cool September air. The sky was clear and bright “And he found your son, your…?” and Andras was wearing a different pair of eyeglasses— “James. Yes. In a manner of speaking, but that man —with smoked lenses. is… gone.” “Good morning Judge Pastorius,” Andras greeted “Hmmm…” Andras thwacked his glasses against his him heartily. “Excuse the affectation, one’s eyes get palm. “Well, we do have some special collections. “ used to the dim of the library I’m afraid.” “Special collections?” “Not at all, not at all.” “Yes. Material that is available to certain… well sir, “Shall we then?” may I speak plainly?” Andras opened the door as Pastorius climbed the “Of course.” limestone steps and allowed himself to be shepherded “The stacks are open.” Andras waved his hands to inside. He followed Andras’ broad back through what indicate the shelves surrounding them. “People come seemed to be endless stacks. The light was very dim and go as they please, but,”——he leaned in closer to this morning and the glass walkways had a yellow cast Pastorius—— “resources go missing. Things are not as to them like the teeth of an old dog. They walked and they were. The country, the world, is changing.” turned, wound their way through oak paneled reading “Agreed.” rooms and more stacks before coming to a cast iron “And so, not all resources are available for all circular stair. people.” Andras hooked his head towards a group of “My,” Pastorius said as they reached the railing, “I men who were speaking in low voices, apparently dis- don’t remember any of this. This building must be cussing an article in an article in a newspaper whose huge.” masthead read Magyar Kurir. “Oh, indeed,” said Andras. “Of course, the Special “I understand.” Collection is set at the far reach in order to ensure “And there are costs involved, you understand?” safety and privacy.” He began to make his way down “Certainly.” the stairs. “Come back tomorrow morning then. I will gather As Pastorius followed, his eyes fought to see the the resources for you. We will find your son. Shall we landing at the bottom of the stairs, but there was none say ten?” to be seen. The stairs seemed to coil out forever like a “Yes. Of course. Thank you.” line of hemp leading from the deck of a boat into dark “It’s my pleasure, sir.” water. He had a feeling of vertigo, as if in a dream Andras turned and walked away. Pastorius felt a where one can fall forever only to awake just before lightness rise as if he had been wearing a woolen great- impact. He thought that he saw odd green light, will o coat in the summer heat and had finally been able to wisps, appear, pulse, then vanish along the welds where take it off. He lingered in the stacks for a while longer the balustrades met the handrail. He grasped the

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MICHAEL DITTMAN railing with both hands and stopped. He clenched his an assignation between his son and a Mexican pro- eyes tight and fought the feeling of falling. stitute. He slammed the book shut, stood for a “Are you quite all right, Mr. Pastorius?” moment. He was not sure as to what this book was, but “Yes, yes, quite. It’s only that the stairs. I’m a bit why did it have his son’s name? What sort of joke was dizzy.” this? Did Andras find this prank amusing? The Judge “Well, we’re almost there, sir.” leaned on the table and flipped the book open again, Pastorius opened his eyes, looked down, and to an earlier spot. This page told the story of a young realized there were only two more revolutions to James, stealing from the dry goods; a flip of the page complete on the stairs. Feet firmly on the landing, he revealed the tale of a masturbatory encounter with took a deep breath. The air was old and thick here. another boy during his James’ teen years. The Judge The pleasant vanilla smell of aging books had been flipped to the end of the book. The index had three replaced with a dry hot smell that scratched at the back pages of entries for “Lies” and two dedicated to of his throat. Dust and cobwebs filled the hall. “Fornication.” “Here, sir,” Andras said. His hand was on a knob His face flushed with anger. He stood at the door where Pastorius had not noticed a door before. It and tried the handle. It was locked from the outside. swung open silently. He rapped on the door, his knuckles smarting. “Please, sit.” Andras motioned to a gleaming oak “Andras! Andras, man! Come here this instant. table with a single chair in the middle of the small shelf- What is the meaning of this? Andras!” lined room. Pastorius shrugged off his jacket, placed it There was no sound from the other side. He on the corner rack, and then sat, moving into a place stormed back to the reading table, then turned to the of comfort. other books lining the shelves. He traced his fingers Andras turned, tracing his fingers across the spines, along their blank spines like a man playing a glissando. searching for a title. The heat and closeness of the room seemed to “It’s very close in here, isn’t it?” said Pastorius. increase. His knees grew weak and a vignette apertured “Yes. Unfortunately, light could fade and affect the his vision until all was dark. books, so we have to keep them here in a room without He awoke to a deep cold and sand in his mouth. windows. Ha! Here it is.” He was in a barren place——the remains of a dark forest Andras pulled a thick text from the shelves and slid with brittle, splintered-toothed stumps of cypress trees the book in front of the Judge. “Take your time,” he scattered as if by a flash flood and surrounding a said. “I’ll wait outside; knock if you should need any- muddy flat which may have once been a spring or an thing.” oasis but was now dead. A light came from the sky, but The Judge nodded his thanks. After the door had the source couldn’t be seen. The Judge thought it snicked close after Andras, Pastorius took a deep seemed too bright for moonlight, but not bright breath and examined the leather-bound book. There enough for sunlight. A grey suffused all. He brought was no title and it appeared, from the top, to be made himself to a sitting position and heard voices close by. of a series of previously published signatures that had He rose and began making his way, slowly, cautiously been bound together in an edition. The cover made a towards the voices, wincing at the sound of sand creaking whisper as he opened it to a random page. squeaking against the soles of his shoes. The book’s text was split into two columns. The When he got closer, he crouched behind a large header contained a page number and the name “James stump. Fifteen feet in front of him, with their backs to Pastorius.” The Judge’s heartbeat quickened. After all him, was a group of three. One man was on his hands of this searching, the information had been here all and knees, using a branch to scratch symbols into the along——in a library built by a rich man for the dregs of sand. Behind him sat two creatures. They were man- society. Pearls before swine, the Judge chuckled to sized, but by no means human. They were nude. One himself. was shrunken, almost mummified and completely He sickened as he read. The text on the page was hairless, with a hugely distended belly. Pus dribbled the midpoint of a story that depicted, in graphic detail, from the side of its tiny mouth. The other creature had

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HYPNOS the head of a chestnut horse with a matted mane work to do, don’t we, Meat?” He strode towards the flowing down its spine. While it had human hands, its two. legs ended in hooves. It spoke to the man inscribing “Well now, wait, I have money…” The Judge stood the figure. back as the beast came towards them. “That’s not bad, Meat.” “No, just another…” said James, but the creature The man looked towards the sound of the raspy drew back his hand and slapped the Judge hard across voice and Pastorius saw that it was his son with two the cheek. The judge found himself having fallen out bloody holes where the boy’s blue eyes had once been. of his bed at the Monongahela, soaked in sweat and “James!” Pastorius said. wrapped in his sheets. He was fully clothed, and sand, The young man rose unsteadily to his feet, trapped in his clothes, rubbed against his skin. dropping his stick, “Father?” The two beings didn’t The next morning, he went back to the library. He move. The Judge heard one of them snicker with a wet, raced to the stairs but found only more glass floor. The rasping noise like a butcher slicing his saw into bone. room was gone. He had, he decided, been drugged. The Judge ran to the man and took him in his arms. From his sciatica, he was no stranger to opium dreams. “Oh, my boy. My child. What has happened to That bastard librarian had created that filthy book and you? Where are we?” then drugged him. Perhaps through an unseen smoke Pastorius saw that his son had been inscribing what in the air or on the pages of the book? He was not a looked like a stylized owl into the sand which was man of science, but was sure such things could be flecked with bits of charcoal. done. By God, he would make sure that this Andras “It’s… we’re… it’s hard to say, Dad. I was at Shiloh, was arrested and he would watch him tread across the and then, after a while, I was here. And these two” he Bridge of Sighs himself for such a crime. waved his hand in the direction of the things, “found The Judge stopped a librarian in her re-shelving me. And… they’re well, they’re teaching me. And once efforts. I know, then I can come back. I can come back and “I should like to speak to Andras, please.” be with you again.” Tears of blood poured out the “I’m sorry, sir?” corners of his eyes and stained his filthy shirt. The “One of your workers. Andras. A large fellow. I creatures snickered again. believe he’s in charge of your Special Collection.” “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Every- She paused in thought, her finger flying to her lips, where. My God, you’re hurt. You’re hurt so badly. But her head cocked back as she flipped through the no- don’t worry. We’ll get the finest doctors to fix you and tations in her mind. “No,” she said slowly, “I’m sorry then you’ll have your old room back. Everything will sir, but I don’t recollect a Mr… Andras did you say?” be fine just as it was.” “My God,” Pastorius spat out. “Is there a man I The shrunken creature made a noise and with a could speak to? Someone in charge?” voice like a clogged drain said, “Meat’s with us now.” The woman stiffened and her mouth tightened to a The Judge paused for a moment. fine line. “Of course, sir.” She landed on the last word “Well, then. I could stay here, James. With you. I fully expressing the scorn and anger she felt for men could help you. Help you learn”——he looked at the like this one, men out of their time. “But Mr. Walker shape in the sand——“the figures and whatnot. I could… is unavailable. Would you like to wait?” your eyes, dear God, James what did they do to your “Blast it. Fine, then, just show me the way to the eyes?” The Judge was vomiting out words, his voice Special Collection room. I can’t find the stairs. I must high-pitched as he struggled for breath. An iron band be turned around. This place is a blasted maze.” constricted around his lungs and heart. Cold sweat “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure what room to which pooled in the small of his back. you are referring.” “Papa, no. I wouldn’t want…” “Damned fool!” said The Judge and turned on his The horse creature stood with some difficulty, heel. shook his head, and spoke to his wizened friend. He spent the rest of the afternoon searching for the “Well, Preta, Andras can have his fun, but we have room. When he could find neither the room nor even

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MICHAEL DITTMAN the staircase which had led to it, he went outside and His breathing quickened, and he grabbed the book dismissed his hack. Then, he went back inside, found from the floor and set it on the reading table. He an empty closet and secreted himself. He gave up smeared the back of his hand across the page leaving a trying to find a comfortable position after the first bloody streak and at once words swam to the surface twenty minutes. like trained carp at a pond. The blood was absorbed and the words vanished. Pastorius growled in fru- E WAITED FOR WHAT HE THOUGHT stration and searched his pockets for his jackknife. H must have been a half of an hour after he heard “It will take rather a larger sacrifice than that, don’t the last footstep from outside of the closet. Then, he you think, sir?” eased himself carefully to his feet and turned the Andras stood at the doorway, illuminated by the handle. The library was silent, empty. Pale flat blue-black gaslight. moonlight trickled in from the windows and skylights. “You… you… fiend,” Pastorius managed to spit out. His boot heels echoed as he trod over the glass Andras shrugged and absentmindedly fingered his walkways tracing his way back until… there. Yes, there pince-nez hanging from the owl pin in his lapel. “No the staircase stood again in the moonlight. At its foot, knowledge is wasted. Do you know the number of he found that the door to the Special Collections was people in hell, or even in that place James is, who lived where it had been the first time. With shaking hands, by that credo? Ah well, that’s the difference between he reached out. The knob turned easily, and he knowledge and wisdom I suppose. Knowledge can be stepped inside. as free as a lending library, but wisdom always comes All was how he had left it. The gaslights hissed and with a price.” He sighed. spread flickering shadows. He walked towards the “Say!” he said brightly. “That’s a sturdy belt isn’t shelf with the book that was his key and pulled it down it?” The Judge stared back without responding. “Well, with shaking hands. The pages inside were blank. As you seem like you’re in the middle of something. I’ll were the pages in the next and the next and the next. leave you to it.” The shelves were filled with blank books. He moaned As the Judge climbed unsteadily onto the reading in frustration and brought his fist against the shelves in table, looping one end of his fine belt of Spanish fury, splitting the knuckles. He watched as blood leather around a gas pipe support, he saw the walls of dripped down his hand and then on to one of the pages the Special Collection area begin to shimmer away of a book that he had tossed to the ground in anger. As revealing only the normal stacks of the library. Then, the blood settled on the page, for a moment, letters as the other end tightened around his neck, he saw were displayed, “James Pas…” and then disappeared as even those stacks melt away to reveal a barren the blood was absorbed. wasteland punctuated by sawtooth stumps and clumsy etchings in the sand.

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Angels By JAY CASELBERG

T WAS THE TRADITION, WAS ALWAYS One by one, she climbed the steps, up into the the tradition. Her mother was fussing about in the hallway that led to her old bedroom. The need to sort I kitchen, busy with her preparations, already her things out was no more than an excuse. She hadn’t starting on the feast that would accompany the ex- brought much with her. She never did. And after to- pected ritual of that family dinner, leaving Estella sitting morrow night, she had no plans to extend her stay for at the dining-room table looking across at her father any longer than she had to. Just enough to see her and waiting for the next pause in conversation to be through the ritual. That was all. punctuated by yet another Sangerville observation or Her old room was just the same as it was every year: other words that were simply there to fill the silence neat, ordered, kept as if she had never left it, and full that habitually lay between them. The funny thing was, of memories that crept from the corners to greet her if she didn’t come, didn’t observe that ritual, her world every year. The room would always be there, waiting, would be filled with words. She had tried it once and at least until her parents had gone and whatever even- had heard about it for weeks afterwards. How could tually happened to the house when that time came she be so insensitive? Didn’t she know how much it changed it. She stood for a couple of seconds in the meant to them? doorway, chewing her lip, and then, with a sigh, moved “I’m glad you’re here,” said Bill finally. “I hope over to the bed and opened her pack, laying out the Johnny isn’t too late.” few clothes and toiletries she had brought with her. As There it was——the subtle backhand implication she placed them into the drawers, there was noise that maybe Estella didn’t rate as much as her older downstairs. Apparently, Johnny had arrived. Voices brother. Or maybe she was just imagining it, her expec- and the laughter came muffled from the downstairs tations getting the better of her. rooms. “Oh, don’t worry. He’ll be here soon enough.” Her “Where’s Estella? I saw her car outside,” she mother stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping her heard. The response was lost as she closed a drawer hands on a tea towel, a strand of hair falling down over and moved back to sit on the bed, looking around at her face. She blew it out of the way, gave Estella a brief the familiar wallpaper and the patterned rug that sat in smile, and then disappeared back into the kitchen. the room’s center, the small white desk where she had Her father was watching her, nodding slowly. It hunched, doing her homework as a kid. White lace seemed that he had aged significantly over the last year. curtains shielded the darkness and rain pattering She tracked the lines in his face, the sallowness of his against the windowpane outside. She had been such a skin, the faint cloudiness to his gaze. His eyes were girl growing up, shy, quiet, meek. She shook her head watery, tinged with red, as though not too long ago he at her own memory of herself. How had she turned had been weeping, but she knew that he had not. She out as she had——one failed marriage that had lasted a looked back down into her tea and lifted the mug mere eighteen months, no kids and no real plans to slowly to fill more of the space, taking a sip. have any. It was almost as if her growing up had been “Well,” she said, placing the mug down again. “I merely marking time and despite her escape, here she may as well go up and sort my things out.” was again. As she stood, her father simply looked at her. Well, there was nothing for it. Time to go down and “Right,” she said. greet the brother, to hear about the latest successes of There was something in his face as he watched her his kids, to make enthusiastic noises about his latest leaving the room. She didn’t quite know what it was.

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JAY CASELBERG career move. That was the ritual, and this time of year FTER A VIRTUALLY SLEEPLESS NIGHT, was all about ritual, if nothing else. A Estella stumbled through most of the following day in a semi-daze. She’d managed to doze in the early EETH. PALE SKIN. WINGS FLAPPING. A hours of the morning, but it was hardly sleep. All thro- T rush of decaying air. Eyes without sight but seeing ugh the morning, she heard that single word, echoing right through her. No, not teeth, more like needle- silently. Images of the figure in the darkness haunted sharp fangs. her. In the early afternoon, she managed to catch an Estella started awake, her heart pounding. The hour or so on the couch, but only dozing. The clat- darkness was solid. A dream. It was a dream. tering and noises drifting through from the kitchen They know you, she thought. barely cut through the haze, nor did the continued Who? back and forth between Johnny and her father. Once The remnants of the dream still clawed at her chest, or twice, her father drifted into the living room, looking her throat, ran skittering through her brain, through at her with a concerned look on his face. There was draped curtain of fading sleep, her pulse racing. The something else in his expression, but in her current voice kept whispering, mouthing the words in her state, she had no energy or any real desire to try to fa- memory, hissing through the darkness. thom what it was. As the day staggered towards evening They know you. and the ritual dinner, if anything, the feeling of moving She threw back the covers, her breath still coming through a syrupy haze increased. in short, halting gasps. Calm. She struggled to control Finally, the time arrived for dinner. To Estella, it her breathing, her pulse, and swung her legs out of the seemed as if it had taken a century. The traditional bed, hunching over at the edge, her palms pressed dinner gong rang through the house, her father’s hand down against the bed’s edge. enacting the ritual. Dinner was early, giving time for Taking a single deeper breath, she stood and them to get through most of it before any of the town’s padded over to the window. Everything was quiet in- children might show up for their own seasonal ritual. side, not even the usual creaks and shifts you’d nor- Soon. mally expect to hear in an old house at night. The sweat Together, they took their places at the dining room was starting to cool on her skin and, gradually, her table, sitting quietly as her mother started ferrying the breathing was returning to normal. With one hand, she steaming platters out of the kitchen. The scents of pulled the curtain to one side to look out to the dark- good home cooking swirling into the room with each ness, to the rain slicked field and the few scraggy trees new plate. Once that was done with, her mother took that clustered at the rear of the house. The naked her place at the table and her father filled each of their branches shivered in the intermittent gusts. Her gaze glasses in turn and then, moving back to the head of roved across the bleak landscape and then stopped. the table stood in place, his own glass raised high. Her breath caught again. Someone was out there. The “To the tradition,” he said. “Long may it last.” One barely defined shape stood as a dark smudge, but she by one, he met each of their eyes, Estella’s last. He could tell. A lighter stain in the darkness marked the paused there, his gaze fixed as if observing. face and it was watching her window. Together, they raised their own glasses, repeating Again, the voice whispered inside her. the words. “To the tradition.” They know you. They’re waiting. Estella sipped tentatively, not really committed to Her heart in her throat, she let the curtain fall and the toast. Her father looked at her with a slight frown, rapidly stepped away from the window. then glanced across at her mother, who gave a slight What? nod. She took another backward step, her hand at her Just at that moment, there came a knock at the neck. door. Soon, came the voice. “Geez, they’re a bit early, aren’t they?” said Johnny. Soon… Her father sat heavily letting out a deep breath. Carefully he placed his glass back down. “It’s not kids,”

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HYPNOS he said. He bit his lip, glanced once at Estella, and then HEAD, LOOMING JAGGED AGAINST THE spoke. “It’s time,” he said. “Linda, you’d better let him A sky, the old church, gray stone made white and in.” black with age, the roof collapsed, slates tumbled, Her mother pushed her chair back and with a nod burnt rafters stabbing black against the blackness. Es- and a slight expression of resignation on her face, stood tella had not been up here for years. She barely and quickly left the room. remembered it, but somehow, the memory was there, “Who?” said Johnny. “Who is it?” strong, insistent, just as Old Martin’s hand drawing her Her father lifted a hand to still him. His gaze was forward was. To one side lay the graveyard, headstones fixed on Estella——deep, piercing, his eyes no longer leaning, ancient stone crosses mottled with lichen. A watery, his features firm. “It is time, Estella.” mound, a sunken hollow, pooling water, and a con- At the sound of someone entering the room behind fusion of weeds and grass gone wild. The fence, once her, she turned. Her mother stood in the doorway with solid, had rusted through in places, brown and en- a man next to her. It was Old Martin. crusted with years. All of these sights, these snapshot “What’s he doing here?” said Johnny. images burned now within her vision, in her mind. Old Martin’s gaze fixed Estella, just like her Still old Martin drew her forward. father’s. “There,” he said. “There. Here is the place.” “It is time,” he said. “They know you. They are He stopped gesturing at the empty darkness, the waiting.” The words were simple, the voice muddy, but broken place where people had once congregated. filled with something else. They were the words from It was dark, yet it was not. A pale luminescence her nightmare. It had been Old Martin standing out painted the edges, the lines, with dull light. there in the darkness. She knew it now. Martin urged her forward. Johnny had gone silent. “They know you,” he said, his voice breathy with Old Martin reached out a hand. “Come,” he said. his excitement. “It is now. They wait.” “Estella, you must go with him now.” Her father’s “But what…?” said Estella. voice. “Shhhh,” said Martin. “Shhhhhh.” Her mother stood in the doorway, not moving, not He dropped her hand and stepped back. saying anything. She felt it then, the stirring, the movement in her Without knowing why or how she knew, she under- blood and her bones. Here, now. Here was the door- stood that her father’s words were indisputable. way. No longer was it soon. It was here. It was now. “Come,” said Old Martin. “They are waiting.” She was no longer marking time. Slowly, slowly, Estella pushed back her chair, Estella looked up, her breath stilled and caught. stood, and reached out her hand. Her blood sang in her ears. The angels had come, though you could hardly call them angels.

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Temples of Fire By D. C. MALLERY

LISON WAS THE FIRST TO NOTICE. Zagros Mountains of Iran, and were parked along a Seated in the front row of the parked tour dusty street in front of their hotel. Zahra must have A bus, she saw the driver staring at his right arm, gone to the lobby to fetch room keys for the night. staring in puzzlement, in growing disbelief. His name Alison tried to calm Sami, but he shoved her away was Sami, a likeable young guy from Shiraz who spoke and staggered down the steep steps of the bus to the little English but smiled a lot. He saw something on his street. The road was mostly deserted. Mostly, not com- arm, maybe something moving. Alison had a clear pletely. It was just dumb luck a truck was coming. view. There was nothing there. Dumb dead luck. When the truck struck, the sound of Sami scratched at his arm, then clawed at it, ever it was like a heavy bag of lumpy cement striking con- more frantic. Soon he was raving. No doubt, some on crete. Alison had never seen a man die before. She the bus thought he was shouting in Arabic. It was charged down the steps to the street. Sami’s eyes were Persian. Sami was Zoroastrian, not Muslim. Their tour still open, locked now in lifeless shock. guide, Zahra, had explained that the first day. Where Alison knelt beside him and now saw what Sami was she? They’d just arrived in Amira, a town in the must have seen. Something shifted under the skin of

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HYPNOS his right arm. It was hard to see amid the long shadows group they could go to their rooms, but the police of the late afternoon, but something was swirling be- would want to talk to Alison. She perched on a leather neath the skin. It was churning and billowing like heavy couch beside a smoked glass window looking out on cream stirred up from the bottom of a cup of coffee. the street. She kept a nervous eye on the tour bus and That is, if cream could be as dark as thick blood. Yet the police and the milling crowd, and the ambulance his heart no longer beat. It made no sense. It could not that took away the body. be blood. As she waited, she fussed with her outfit. She fussed Alison noticed that the rest of the small tour group with her luggage piled at her feet. Mostly, she fussed was gathering now, yet not wanting to get too close to with her arm, trying to spot the shifting patterns she the body, maybe out of respect but probably in fear the thought she’d seen before. She finally stopped fid- young man would explode, that he was a suicide geting and looked about the lobby. A young man bomber. Even the truck driver, an older guy with a patiently staffed a reception desk, though there seemed grizzled beard, kept well back. But it was just Sami, little for him to do. Beyond the lobby, flickering gas their driver, the young fellow from Shiraz who smiled lamps illuminated an inner courtyard. Guest rooms a lot. were set above the courtyard with balconies over- The strange churning under his skin faded and was looking the enclosed space. All around: tile floors, tile soon gone. walls, tile everything. And fine dust. No, not gone. With growing horror Alison saw—— This hotel, like others they had stayed at on the or thought she saw——something shifting and swirling tour, was just a few decades old but looked older. The beneath the skin of her own arm. It was fleeting, and it dust that invaded all things in this corner of the world too faded. She glanced toward the sun. It wavered seemed to make even the new look dated. Dust was behind thick smoke that billowed from a rooftop chim- everywhere in Iran. It forever tried to reclaim cities and ney across the street. That must have been it. A trick towns. No wonder, Alison thought, that so many who of light and shadow. A trick of the mind. The others lived here felt a strong connection to the past, to the still stood well back, and the truck driver was now on ancient world, to religions from before the Birth of his cellphone, and no one was doing anything. Alison Christ. The people were forever connected to history, kept a couple of extra scarves with her for use as a hijab to the long march of time. The dust help keep them when in public. She pulled a clean white one from her connected. She liked that. hip pack and placed it over Sami’s slack face, may he The other reason the hotels often looked older rest in peace. than they were was more mundane. No matter how As the tinny wail of a siren rose in the distance, modern the building was, no matter how much marble locals from the neighborhood gathered, dozens, in- tile was used in the construction——and marble was cluding children. One caught her eye, a scruffy little plentiful here——there were always thin cracks, in the boy, face caked in dust, eyes transfixed, eyes haunted. floor, in the walls, in the ceilings. Alison wondered if it Maybe he’d never seen death either. was from the many quakes and temblors. She knew Zahra, the tour guide, finally returned from the what her ex-husband Karl would say. He’d tell her the hotel lobby with a handful of keys. She stared at the buildings were built too fast. You have to let a foun- body and began calling for Sami, not realizing it was his dation settle, he’d say, otherwise the tile will crack and face hidden beneath the scarf or maybe just not fissure. wanting to believe it. Alison rose and gave her a hug. Marriages could be like that too, she mused. Hers “He was my cousin,” Zahra whispered to her, had been. Karl was a good man, but they had gotten weeping now. married in haste, and the cracks and fissures of their The room keys spilled from Zahra’s hand and relationship had grown ever wider over the years. So, clattered to the grimy road. divorce finalized, and with their son James safely packed away to college, she had come here. Paris and LISON WAITED ANXIOUSLY IN THE London and Rome could wait. She would visit them A hotel lobby. Zahra had told the others in the tour when she got older, when she no longer had the energy 94

D. C. MALLERY for the more exotic and remote locales of the world. strange swirling on Sami’s skin, beneath it, beneath She was only forty. Well, forty-five, but she could still hers too. She would say nothing of that. They’d think pass for thirty-five. she was on drugs. The police here probably thought all She fussed again with her arm, then stopped, Americans were on drugs. She’d be detained. Before forcing herself not to look at her skin, trying not to taking the trip she’d been warned by friends and family worry about those shifting patterns. Yet they nagged at that the U.S. had no diplomatic relations with Iran. No her with a sense of familiarity. consular services. If she got in trouble, the Swiss Con- “Alison?” Zahra called, startling her. sulate might help. Mostly, though, she’d be on her Alison hadn’t been paying attention. Zahra had led own. So she would say nothing to the authorities of two police officers into the lobby, along with the truck what she’d really seen. driver. The men eyed her with suspicion, as if the ac- The police spoke again to the truck driver and, cident must have been the fault of a foreign tourist. greatly relieved, the man left. The lead officer jotted a Worse, she realized she’d been absentmindedly few notes on a little pad, eyed her scratched-up arm scratching at her right arm. There were red marks again, then left too. there now. “Are we done? Can I go?” Alison asked Zahra, and “Sorry,” Zahra began, “but since you saw it all, they the woman nodded. have questions.” Alison grabbed her luggage and headed for the The older of the two officers asked something in stairs to find her room. Persian, and Zahra quickly translated. Zahra called to her. “We will talk more later. “The truck driver says Sami ran out in front of him. Please.” No time to stop. Is this true?” Alison answered yes, and the driver looked re- S ALISON UNPACKED HER LUGGAGE IN lieved. Then, more Persian from the police. A her room, she thought again of the cavern they’d “What possessed Sami to do that?” Zahra asked. visited that day. They arrived mid-afternoon, a bumpy Alison paused at the question. It was an odd choice ride along a rutted dirt road that had the tour group of words. Possessed. What had possessed the young wondering if the bus could even make it, but Sami got man? She mulled over how best to answer. It was clear them there safely. When they reached the dusty that not just the police wanted to know. Zahra wanted parking lot, locals were waiting, not to visit the cavern, to know, she needed to know. but word must have gotten out a tour group was “I think he was stung,” Alison replied. “On his arm, arriving. Merchants hawked souvenirs and warm sodas maybe by a wasp.” in the March afternoon sun. They seemed dis- Zahra translated for the officers, who looked appointed the group was so small. closely now at Alison’s arm. There were no wasp From the parking lot, Alison had taken in the wounds there, no bites. Just long, lazy scratch marks. impressive view of the town of Amira nestled in the The policemen had another question and Zahra valley below. Amid the old town stood mosques and translated once more. minarets and a thousand years of vibrant history. The “They want to know if you saw a snake. I told them rugged Zagros Mountains towered all around. A rough we were at the mountain cavern. There are vipers in trail led up from the valley. Alison felt sorry for the those hills. You see a snake? Sometimes they wriggle locals who had trudged up that steep trail in hopes of into parked vehicles.” finding a bigger tour group with more sales for the Alison shook her head. No snakes, but there was merchants, more handouts for the poor. something about the cavern and the minor quake Zahra and Sami had then led the tour group along they’d felt there that was odd, something she now a wide trail to the cave entrance, with a throng of locals could not quite recall. following. Many were children, scruffy clothes, dusty “You must have seen something,” Zahra hissed, faces, big bright eyes. Alison had dollars and rials to her voice now an accusation. give, and made sure she gave to the poorest of the kids. Alison shook her head but thought again of the The cave itself was unimpressive from the outside

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HYPNOS but authentic and primeval on the inside. It had chemical or biological weapons buried in the cavern separate grottos lit by wall candles. There were no sta- decades ago during the Iran/Iraq war. Such com- lactites, but the stone walls were lined with heavily pounds might cause hallucinations. Maybe some folded rock strata, a testament to the powerful geologic canisters had been stored in the cave and then, to forces at work in these ancient mountains. Zahra had dispose of them, the canisters were dumped in the vent to roust the locals from the inner sanctum so the tour and sealed over with concrete. Problem solved. As group could have enough room. A couple of small kids Alison mulled this over, she again tried not to scratch teased Zahra, darting to and fro, defying her orders, at her arm. The feeling was hard to describe. Although until she and Sami gave up trying to drive the last boy her arm didn’t itch, somehow she itched. out who was especially feisty and defiant. Zahra then There was a quiet knock at the door. She knew it told the group the history of the cave. During the last would be Zahra. The woman would have awkward ice age, cavemen had warmed themselves over a questions. Alison would have awkward answers. And geothermal vent in the cavern. Later, pagans wor- she had questions of her own. She feared what had shipped there, then early Zoroastrians. Geologists been released in the cave. Zahra wouldn’t want to hear believed the vent was dormant by then. At some point any of that. around the fourth century, a fire-altar was mounted Alison let her in. Zahra’s eyes were red from crying. above it. The original was probably forged of fine She was dressed in simple Western clothes. No hijab, copper, with a fire always kept burning in its mouth. no flowing robes. Though even with modern slacks An imitation now sat in its place, cheap and dented and and a blouse, Zahra still wore the requisite Sudre and scratched with graffiti. Alison had peered at the floor Kusti, thin articles of Zoroastrian clothing that were beneath the altar. The geothermal vent was sealed with symbols of purity and faith. She was attractive, quite concrete that seemed no more than a few decades old. striking really, probably thirty, maybe thirty-five. Alison Zahra had gone on to explain that to the Zoroas- realized she had kept her beauty hidden behind trians fire was an agent of purity. She spoke of Atar: modest clothes and bland makeup. Holy Fire, Burning and Unburning, Visible and In- Most of the women Alison had seen in the small visible. Only priests could enter the inner sanctum towns and provinces they visited on the tour wore plain itself where they tended the flame. This particular Fire and shapeless clothes, especially young women, and Temple was abandoned in the sixth century for girls. No doubt, for many it was a mandate of their re- reasons unknown and was no longer considered holy. ligion. For others, a way of hiding a fetching body The tour group had been ready to leave when a tem- beneath a formless outfit, to keep certain men away, blor struck, strong enough to rattle the candles along certain predators. the walls. “They will send Sami’s body to Shiraz tomorrow,” In the flickering flames, Alison had seen some- Zahra told her, dabbing her eyes. thing, vapors she thought, swirling up from beneath the “You want to know what I saw when Sami died,” altar. Faint fumes had mingled with fine dust that sifted Alison replied, getting to the point. down from above. Light from the trembling flames “You saw something you didn’t tell the police played across the cave walls, creating swirling shadows, about, right?” Zahra asked. oddly mesmerizing ones, she recalled. They looked “Hard to describe. After he died, I saw strange similar to the swirling patterns seen later on Sami’s patterns shifting and swirling on his arm. It looked like arm, then on her own. That was why the patterns had it was beneath the skin of his arm. Something I can’t seemed so familiar, she now realized. She had also explain.” smelled something in the cave. Not foul, not sulfur. “Afternoon shadows, no doubt, but is there Something else, an odor for which she had no word. something else you’re not telling me?” Just as abruptly, the shaking had then stopped, and Alison would say nothing of the same patterns they all returned to the bus. she’d seen roiling beneath her own skin. Her arms Alison wondered now, as she sorted her belongings were covered now by the long sleeves of a blouse, her in her room, whether those vapors came from old own scratch marks hidden. She thought again of the

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D. C. MALLERY cavern. “In the cave, after that quake, you saw it too. HREE OF THE FOUR COUPLES ON THE Those vapors. Those fumes. They came from beneath T tour were already seated at a long table in the the fire pit. You smelled it too. You must have.” hotel’s dining room when Alison arrived. Zahra was “A dead animal,” Zahra answered curtly. “Some- not there yet. The table offered a nice view of the thing crawled in there long ago and died beneath the courtyard of the hotel, the sputtering gas lamps, the pit. The quake released the foul stench. That is all.” many Persian rugs. Only a few other tables in the Yet the odor was not foul, Alison recalled. It was dining area were occupied. Some businessmen, a almost sweet. “What if someone stored chemical couple of families. Judging from the dining room and weapons in that cave? Or biological ones. What if it the quiet lobby, there seemed to be few guests staying was something like that?” in the hotel. Every town they’d visited on the tour had Zahra gave her an incredulous look. “Biological good-sized tourist hotels, built back when it looked as weapons? Chemicals?” though tourism might surge following the end of the “Yes, left over from the war. The one with Iraq.” Gulf War. The first Gulf War, that is. That surge never Zahra sighed heavily. “Good grief, Alison. That was came and most of the hotels, and the restaurants they ages ago, and we used no such weapons. That was dined in, were sadly rather deserted. Oh well. Alison Saddam. Why would any be here? We are far from had come to this part of Iran to get off the beaten track. the front.” The town of Amira was definitely off-track. Alison nodded. “Of course.” She let it drop but When the tour group had first met in Shiraz, the wasn’t convinced. group was smaller than she had expected. The com- “Say nothing of that nonsense to anyone,” Zahra pany brochure bragged of small group travel. Alison told her. “Not even others in our group. They cannot had thought that was a marketing ploy. Yet it was just hold their tongues. If the authorities hear such rumors, her and the four couples. All retired and in their late they will detain us. They will think the silliness of bio- fifties or sixties. All living in Great Britain. The tour logical weapons in the cave might be true. They will company was British, after all. Over the first few days quarantine us.” of their tour, Alison had gotten to know each of the Alison blanched. “Of course. As you say, the couples fairly well. notion there were any weapons in the cave is silly. I see “So what do you think, Alison?” One of the that now.” Yet something drove Sami mad. Something husbands, Aarón Delgado, asked as she joined them at caused the strange churning beneath the skin of his the table. He and his wife Èlia were originally from arm. Something caused her to see the same roiling Spain but lived now near Oxford. “Are we stranded? within her own flesh. With the driver dead, how will we leave tomorrow?” Alison sought to politely change the subject. “So “I’ll drive the coach if it comes to that,” Terry what will the funeral be like?” Thorpe offered. “I drove a lorry for thirty years. I can Zahra gave her a sharp look. “Normal. Dignified.” handle a tour bus.” Thorpe was a tall and thin man “Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” with fine features. Alison had been surprised to learn “I know,” Zahra softened. “In the past, the Zoroas- he’d been a truck driver for he surely didn’t look like trians did not bury their dead but left them in the one. wilderness to be consumed by vultures. Buzzards. The His wife Amy, a former pension administrator with Ritual of Excarnation.” Zahra could not hide her dis- bright and unruly red hair, rolled her eyes. “I’m sure dain. “I don’t subscribe to that nonsense. Nor any Zahra will arrange something.” nonsense.” She glanced at a bedside clock and hurried Alison glanced about to make sure Zahra was not to the door. “Dinner soon. Tell no one of what was approaching, then leaned into the others. “Forget the spoken here.” coach, let’s talk about the cave. Have you been itching Alison nodded. She would tell the others nothing, and scratching since then? What did you see there? but she’d find out what they had seen, what they had What did you smell?” smelled, what they remembered from the cave. The others looked at one another, puzzled. Alison pressed them. “Have you seen anything

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HYPNOS odd, anything——” and impish smile, the boy took the bills, a couple “We’ll have a new driver,” Zahra declared loudly dollars’ worth, and darted away. Zahra gave him a as she approached from behind. “He arrives tomorrow good-natured swat on his rump as he left. afternoon. We won’t be able to leave until then. That Alison unrolled the thin parchment and found will alter our schedule. I’m sorry for that. There’s still words written in calligraphic script. She had learned so much to see.” that, although most Iranians spoke Persian, often “We were just going to visit another cave tomorrow, called Farsi, the written language was similar to Arabic. right?” It was Terry Thorpe again. “The big one yester- Zahra took the scroll and gave it a quick glance in the day, Shapur, that was impressive. Today’s cave, not so dim light. much.” He turned to Alison and said with a big grin: “Let your ruddiness be mine, my paleness be “You asked if there was a smell there. Sure. It smelled yours,” Zahra read, her voice almost musical. “That is like piss.” the literal translation and it is——” Zahra threw a disappointed look at Alison, and she “The song of Chaharshanbe Suri,” Terry Thorpe cringed. interjected with a beaming smile. “I for one found today’s cave well worth the visit,” “Very good!” Zahra exclaimed. Alethia Boothe offered, and her husband Marques “See, you thought I never pay attention. I do,” nodded in agreement. Both were of Jamaican descent Terry replied. with rich skin tones, but they had grown up in the Zahra had told them of the festival on the first day Midlands of England and had barely a hint of island of the tour. A combination of Halloween, Fourth of accent in their refined English diction. July and England’s Bonfire Night all wrapped into one. Two smiling waiters emerged from the kitchen to Kids in disguise banged spoons in pots or bowls at serve dinner. Steaming plates of kebabs and rice and doors to get treats, and there would be plenty of fire- hearty stews, served with generous sides of ghormeh works, but what interested Alison more was the sabzi and fesenjoon and doogh. The aromas of saffron, tradition of leaping over bonfires. turmeric, and pomegranate filled the dining room. “Let your ruddiness be mine, my paleness be The remaining couple, the Hesters from London, yours,” Zahra repeated. “It’s what’s sung as we leap was still missing. over rows of bonfires. A ritual of purification. We ask “Any idea where our colleagues are?” Alison asked, the flames to take away paleness and give us warmth nodding to the empty chairs. and energy, to redden pale skin. That is the ‘ruddiness’ “A little pre-dinner tipple, I think,” Èlia Delgado of the line. It is a prayer that we might be protected in replied. “They brought liquor with them. Did you the year ahead from all sickness, from all misfortune.” know that? If you’re a tourist, you can bring some al- “It’s a Zoroastrian festival?” Èlia Delgado asked cohol into the country. Wish I’d known that. I think Zahra. they have a couple drinks each night before dinner. “Originally, yes. It changed much over the years as Good for them.” it became more of a secular holiday. Devout Zoroas- “We cannot wait,” Zahra told the group. “Dinner trians treasure and respect fire far too much to let it will go cold.” burn on dirty ground and jump over it. But many of us With that, the group began to eat, digging into the who do not hold close to the old traditions join in the feast. fun.” With the waiters back in the kitchen, a scruffy boy “So you will lead us?” Amy Thorpe asked. snuck into the dining room. Alison recognized him. “I cannot. I have more calls to make. Difficult He’d been on the street after the accident, face dusty, ones,” Zahra replied, her voice catching. “And I am in clothes ragged. He now approached Alison with small no mood for fun. My heart is broken for Sami.” scrolls, wishing to sell one. Zahra tried to shoo him “I didn’t mean to offend,” Amy Thorpe told her. away. “Worry not. And you won’t need me. Downtown “No, that’s okay. I have rials.” Alison pulled money is not far. That is where most of the festivities will be. from her purse to buy one of the scrolls. With a bright Ladies, remember not to walk alone and always wear

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D. C. MALLERY your head covering. The town is safe, but many here released in that cave, something chemical, something will not tolerate a woman unescorted by a man. So it is nasty, something that caused delusions. best——” Zahra was interrupted by that awful sound, the LISON AND THE OTHERS WAITED IN sound that reminded Alison of a bag of lumpy cement A the lobby as the bodies were taken away. The striking hard concrete. It echoed from the nearby same two policemen came to investigate, and now their courtyard. boss too. A search of the Hester’s room revealed Then a second thump, even louder, even more they’d brought more liquor into the country than sickening. allowed. So maybe both were intoxicated when they went over the balcony. Yet that didn’t explain what HE SIGHT WAS GRUESOME. THE MISSING Alison had seen, the churning. T husband and wife, Claire and Samuel Hester, Zahra and the police then argued over something, were sprawled on the cracked tile of the courtyard. with the officers looking over at Alison and the others Both now dead, they smelled of liquor and blood. and with Zahra finally nodding in reluctant agreement. “Stay back!” Zahra told the others as she hurried to “What was that last bit about,” Alison asked once the bodies. the officers left. Alison joined her anyway. In the dim light of the “Nothing to worry about,” Zahra replied, flickering gas lamps, Alison could see churning pat- unconvincingly. “Well, they said we might not be terns along their arms. It appeared on both of them, allowed to leave town tomorrow, even once our new husband and wife. Before, Alison had thought it driver arrives.” looked like heavy cream swirling up in hot coffee. That “What?” Terry Thorpe asked. was not quite right. It looked more like thick smoke “They say there is much paperwork to process. The boiling up from inside their flesh, seeking a way out. British Embassy in Tehran must be contacted. With As with Sami, the odd patterns soon faded, only to the festival there might be delays. Don’t let it worry be reborn under Alison’s skin. Hers and Zahra’s. Both you. They are just annoyed they must now deal with now had the strange swirling patterns. Alison peered the deaths of foreign tourists. They’ll surely decide to- back at the others in the tour group, and the hotel man- morrow it is better for us to leave town sooner rather ager who now approached, and the other hotel guests than later, before they must do even more paperwork.” who gathered. Some squinted at the dead bodies, The explanation seemed to satisfy the others, eyeing the blood pooling around them. Others looked though Alison feared what would happen if an autopsy up at the balcony the couple had fallen from, but none of Sami and The Hesters found traces of chemical or seemed to see what she and Zahra saw. biological agents from the cave. As Alison stepped aside for the hotel manager, the “And now Chaharshanbe Suri awaits!” Zahra pro- scroll she’d bought fell from a pocket of her skirt. One claimed, her face brightening. She urged the group end became soaked in the Hester’s blood. She looked toward the lobby doors and the night beyond. “Stay for a nearby wastebasket but saw none. She had wanted together! And take great care if you leap over those the scroll as a souvenir, but not now. She would throw bonfires. Let’s have no more accidents this night.” it out once she found a garbage bin. Perhaps she could The Boothes balked. “You are all kidding, I hope,” find another scroll to buy before leaving town. Alethia Boothe said, indignant. “The Hesters have “Poor drunk bastards,” the lorry driver, Terry died. Surely this is not an evening for fun and frivolity.” Thorpe, grumbled aloud. Terry Thorpe snorted. “I’m sorry for the Hesters. Maybe that was true, Alison thought. Maybe the I truly am, but Amy and I have been planning this trip Hesters had slugged down too much liquor in their for a year. We’ll not miss a moment of it.” He glared room, then tumbled off the balcony. Maybe Claire fell at the Boothes. first and her husband Sam tried to catch her, or vice “Now, now,” Zahra cut in. “I’m sure the Hesters versa, and both went over the railing. Or maybe they’d would want you to carry on without missing the festival. been driven mad, like Sami, by whatever had been Keep Calm and Carry On. That’s the English motto,

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HYPNOS isn’t it?” another scroll, or to just give it to him. He darted along “We shall be in our room for the rest of the alleyways that seemed to become ever narrower until evening,” Alethia Boothe declared and strode toward she spotted him ahead in a small courtyard. There was the stairs, with her husband Marques throwing a look a line of hot embers left there from a bonfire that must of apology as he followed her. have been abandoned by others. He trotted and In the distance, like gunshots in the night, a rattle of skipped along the embers, and Alison was surprised fireworks began. they didn’t burn his feet, clad only in sandals. He beck- oned for her to follow. Time seemed to slow, or just LISON AND THE TWO COUPLES——THE no longer matter, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d A Delgados and the Thorpes——merged with a been watching the boy. In a daze, she began walking stream of exuberant locals walking along the road along the same embers. It was exhilarating. toward downtown. No doubt, many folks had come in Those firewalkers she’d seen on TV were real. She from surrounding towns and villages too. Some, espe- too could walk along fiery embers! cially children with faces disguised beneath colorful Suddenly, a looming shape charged out from the chadors, banged spoons inside metal pots. Oc- shadows. She was tackled and thrown to the dusty casionally, they’d dart down a side alley. Alison paused ground. She panicked and thought she was being to watch as they banged their pots by household doors mugged, then realized the man was beating the hem of until handed treats. Farther along the main road, she her long skirt. Fires burned there. Horrified and con- could see smoke rising. More fireworks crackled, fused, she looked back at the line of embers. It was a louder now. The night was alive with energy, and she line of fire. In her daze, she had walked right into the felt her pulse quicken as she tried to catch up with her flames. group. The man finally snuffed out the last of the fires that The closer to downtown, the more crowded and had burned the hem of her skirt. Fortunately, her feet chaotic the streets became. When she reached the and legs were not burned. He pulled her to her feet main square, Alison found many bonfires burning and stared at her as though she were insane. He was in there, some large, some small, most arranged in long his twenties and looked familiar. rows. They reminded her of the rows of burning coals “You jump over the fires. Not walk, jump!” He that firewalkers walked through, ones she’d seen on spotted her scarf on the ground, dusted it off, and TV, except those were just coals and embers. These handed it back to her. “You should have stayed were wood fires with flames rising a foot or two or even together with your group.” higher in the air. Around each, adults and kids were As she wrapped the scarf back around her head and running and leaping over the fires, while singing and neck, she looked more closely at him. chanting the same prayer Zahra had sung earlier. Now “I work at the Continental Hotel,” he told her. “I’m and then, others would toss dry branches into the fires one of the receptionists. Javon.” to keep them burning. Alison took videos and photos Alison realized that was indeed where she’d seen with her smartphone. She then peered around the him. His shift over, he must have come downtown for square but could no longer spot her group amid the the festivities. She now looked around the courtyard. crowds and thick smoke and clattering fireworks. “Where did the boy go?” Abruptly, she felt she was being watched. Looking He shrugged. “I saw no boy here.” around she saw the same scruffy boy who sold her the I wanted to give him this. “She waved the dollar.” scroll. He had the same impish smile as before. She A half dozen older men entered the courtyard. It put her phone away and pushed her way through the looked like they were just passing through until one crowds, yet when she reached him, it was some other spotted something on a side wall. There was a burst of child, this one’s face scrubbed clean. angry shouting among them. One shined a bright flash- Now, she saw the boy heading down a side alley and light along the wall, and Alison could make out graffiti. felt oddly drawn to follow him. As she hurried after Bold red, probably in Arabic script. Javon squinted him she dug a dollar from her skirt pocket to buy over at the words and cringed at what he read.

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D. C. MALLERY He pointed to one word, then another. “Wolf. HEN ALISON RETURNED TO HER HOTEL Death. Offensive words, this holy night.” W room, she pulled off her long skirt with its burnt The older men began gesturing angrily at Alison. hem and tossed it in the trash. As she did, the paper Javon intervened. After some words were exchanged, scroll fell from one of its pockets to the floor, its end he seemed to calm the men. He then turned to Alison. still red with the Hester’s blood, dry now. She was “They say it is written in red lipstick. They think it was shocked to see the scroll. you. I told them it could not be. You do not know our She was sure she’d thrown it out earlier. At least, words.” she had meant to. She picked the scroll up. The in- He looked more closely at her, and his eyes said scription looked different from before. Maybe more maybe he was not so sure she didn’t write the graffiti. words, or fewer, or just different ones. She could have Those words could be easily translated from English sworn the lettering had been white. Now it seemed using a smartphone or guidebook. A crazy tourist who darker, more reddish. She quickly dressed and went to walked through fire might do anything. find Zahra. Downstairs, she found the night manager “It is not wise for a woman to be alone,” he told and asked where Zahra was. He didn’t speak much her. “Nor to wave your foreign money around.” English, but he led her to the stairs and pointed up. She hastily stuffed the dollar back in the pocket of When she didn’t understand, he uttered one heavily her skirt. As she did, she felt her lipstick there. That accented word: “rooftop.” made no sense. It should still be in her purse back in Alison followed the stairs up several flights to a the hotel room. door that opened onto the roof of the hotel. Zahra was “There you are!” It was the Delgados and the smoking a cigarette and staring pensively out over the Thorpes. “Alison!” town, watching as smoke from the bonfires and fire- The two couples ran into the courtyard. “We’ve works drifted under a moonlit sky past mosques and been looking all over for you!” minarets. Alison took in the view in silence for a “What’s going on?” Èlia Delgado asked, eyeing the minute or so before handing Zahra the scroll. She crowd of men, then spotting Alison’s dirty clothes and pointed out the words written there. Zahra shook her the burned hem of her skirt. head as she read it, then looked up at Alison, confused. “I see your friends have found you,” Javon said to “Is this the same scroll from earlier?” Zahra asked. Alison. “I think it best if you return to the hotel. All of Alison nodded. It was definitely the same. It had you.” the same bloodstain. The Delgados and the Thorpes eyed the still “I don’t understand. It now says Tonight the Wolf menacing group of older men and nodded. Javon will Come and the Chosen will Perish.” ushered Alison and the two couples back toward the Alison gasped and recalled the lipstick graffiti. main square, while staying between them and the still Wolf. Death. Her own lipstick. restless crowd of men. “I swear that is not what it said before. It was the “As-salaam alaykum,” Javon said as Alison and the prayer of Chaharshanbe Suri. I swear. The words are others left. “Peace be with you.” different now and…” “What was that all about?” Amy Thorpe asked “What is it? There is more, isn’t there?” Alison Alison once the courtyard was well behind them. She prodded. eyed the burned hem. “What the devil did you do to “The words remind me of a parable I had all but your skirt?” forgotten, one told to me as a child. I haven’t thought “I can explain later,” Alison replied but knew she of it for years. Now I can remember every word as had no explanation to offer. though I’m still sitting on my grandfather’s bony knees. As they headed back to the hotel, Alison discretely The parable was well known in my home province, pulled her lipstick from her pocket to examine it. The red though not much known elsewhere. You have your lipstick was streaked in grime, as though scraped along a story of the wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. We have wall. She tossed it in a garbage can and quickened her step, ours.” eager to return to the safety and sanity of the hotel. Zahra cleared her voice, then spoke from memory.

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HYPNOS “A powerful wolf took too many sheep, devouring T FOUR-THIRTY IN THE MORNING, THE not only their flesh but their souls, so the Gods ban- A Islamic call to prayer began, the Adhan, ished him to the underworld, never to return. But the broadcast from a nearby minaret. Alison loved the mu- wolf was a patient and clever trickster, and it feared no sical sound of it, so exotic, but could they not wait at pain, so it burned itself in the fires of the deep until it least until dawn? As she rose from bed to peer out at was but smoke. As smoke, it seeped slowly back into the town, with her legs illuminated by dim light from our world and found a herd of sheep.” the crescent moon, she spotted patterns shifting on her Zahra paused to eye the smoke that drifted across skin. This time, her legs, both her legs. To see better, the sky as though it were a dark omen. she flipped on a bedside light, but the bulb didn’t work. “Innocent and unknowing, each sheep breathed in She tried another lamp. No good. She found a flash- a little of that wolf. Just a part of him. And that drove light and played the beam along her legs. The patterns each, in turn, to kill themselves. As each died, the soon faded. She then heard quick footsteps in the hall- smoke of the wolf——and the soul that was consumed— way outside her door. The power must have gone out. —were breathed into the remaining sheep, driving It was probably the night manager, maybe headed for them mad too, until there was but one of the herd left. the fuse box. That last sheep was no longer a sheep. It was the wolf.” Alison then smelled the tang of burnt meat. She She handed the scroll back to Alison. grabbed a robe and hurried into the hall. “My grandfather said the wolf went on to rule the Flashlight in hand, the night manager pounded on whole of the world. For, you see, the wolf was no wolf. the door of the adjacent room. The Boothes, Alison It was a demon in wolf’s clothing. That was how it recalled. No answer, so he worked to unlock the door. became incarnate.” In the darkness, he fumbled with a set of keys until he Zahra paused as if now remembering more of that found the right one. The door creaked loudly as he childhood story. pushed it open. Alison followed him as he eased his “My grandmother once pulled me aside. She told way into the dark room, the smell worse here. He me the wolf was really a she-wolf. Only men thought it turned his flashlight on and pointed the beam around was a demon. Women understood it was part of the the room. The bed had been slept in but was now un- Divine Feminine. It was no Angel, but no Devil either, occupied. The manager turned his attention to the for women are never that simple. According to her, the bathroom. He gasped at what he saw. Alison pushed last of those sheep, the one who would become the ahead and saw it too. Two bodies. Alethia Boothe, wolf, and rule the world, must be female too. The souls probably awakened by the loud Adhan, had begun a she consumed would join her in that dominion.” bath. Her husband Marques must have dropped a “Is it from Zoroastrian folklore?” Alison asked. hairdryer. He had tried to pull his wife from the water. “Not really. The Avesta does tell a story of Both had been electrocuted, burned badly. Zoroaster and a she-wolf, but it’s a different story. No Zahra arrived and was horrified by the charred mention of a wolf being burned and then returning to bodies. Shaken, she led Alison into the hallway to talk. the world. Nothing like that. Who knows, though? Zahra kept her voice low. “Did you see anything on Stories change from generation to generation as they your skin, like what we saw last night? Your room is are told and retold.” next to their room. Your bed is close to their bath.” Zahra snuffed out her cigarette and eyed the scroll. “It was on my legs this time,” Alison whispered. “Give it to me,” she said brusquely. “Can a chemical weapon cause delusions? Can it drive Alison did as told. Zahra drew a lighter from her people to do crazy things? Can it drive them to kill pocket and lit the scroll on fire. She whispered what themselves?” might have been a prayer and then, in silence, the two “I don’t know, but I know we must leave. We must watched the scroll burn. get far from this place. Maybe far from one another.” “Let us say nothing of this to the others,” Zahra Zahra tried to push past her down the hallway. finally said before heading back to the stairwell. “And Alison grabbed her sleeve. “What do you mean? pray we have no more misfortunes.” Why far from each other?”

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D. C. MALLERY “What if it’s true?” Zahra asked. “What if the wolf stared back at her with blank expressions. The tank has come at last?” must be another delusion, Alison figured, like the boy Alison was too bewildered to reply. Zahra had been walking through the flames, beckoning her. Yet the quite sensible earlier. Now, she seemed to believe an odor seemed so real. old parable, a myth, a wolf-demon who wanted to rule With a gasp, she realized she couldn’t let the man- the whole of the world. No doubt, Alison and the ager turn the power back on. others had seen and done bizarre things, dangerous She spun and raced back toward the electrical things, deadly things, but surely those were from de- alcove, or tried to, her legs oddly slow, as if moving lusions caused by a chemical agent of some sort. through mud. Through the corner of her eye, she saw The night manager spotted them talking in the a shape darting through the darkness of the lobby. She hallway and confronted Zahra. They argued. The man- had no time to find out who it was. When she finally ager then stomped off. Zahra told Alison the man was reached the night manager, she waved frantically for throwing them out. Not later that morning, not after him to stop what he was doing and follow her. He breakfast. Now. The other two couples, the Delgados looked annoyed, but he saw the panic in her eyes and and the Thorpes, emerged from their rooms, no doubt followed. When they reached the courtyard, his eyes awakened by the commotion. went wide. The propane tank was no illusion. It was “Collect your belongings,” Zahra told them. “We real, and it was leaking. Worse, now Aarón Delgado leave. We return to Shiraz. I will drive.” was trying to strike a match. He wasn’t trying to light a When Terry Thorpe looked ready to declare, once stove, he was just staring back at them, his wife beside again, that he could drive the motor coach, Zahra cut him, both seemingly oblivious to their insanity. him off. “You have no license here. But I will appre- When the match lit, Alison and the manager dove ciate whatever help you can give. And someone please for cover. The explosion sounded more like a roaring fetch food for the trip back to Shiraz. It will take whoosh than a bomb. The blast of heat at Alison’s hours.” back was fierce. When the surge of heat died down, The Delgados offered to head downstairs to the she got shakily to her feet and tried to see into the now kitchen to collect provisions for the journey. The burning kitchen. The bright light of the fire hurt her Thorpes hurried back to their rooms to get their eyes, and she had to look away. Yet she didn’t need to suitcases. see inside the kitchen to know the Delgados were Alison needed to get dressed, so she hustled back gone, cinders now. She hoped they had felt no pain. to her room. Several minutes later, when she arrived She turned to the night manager to help him back up. downstairs in the courtyard, bags in hand, she smelled He wasn’t moving. propane. Alison rolled the man on his back and saw a nasty piece of metal——maybe part of the propane tank—— HE POWER WAS STILL OUT, AND SO THE pierced deep into his skull. He was quite dead. She T courtyard and the kitchen beyond were only also saw the swirling and churning pattern again on her dimly lit in the pre-dawn light. On her way to the court- hands and arms. It was faster now, more frantic. She yard, Alison had passed the night manager who was in saw no such swirling on the dead manager. Before she a hallway alcove fussing with circuit breakers, swearing could puzzle over why, the Thorpes arrived from up- under his breath, trying to get the power back on. Now, stairs, running, frantic, dropping their luggage, stunned as Alison set her bags down and peered through the at the sight of the burning kitchen, the fires spreading. dim light of the courtyard into the kitchen, she saw a Zahra arrived too with a look of sheer terror. She tank of propane lying on the floor, leaking fumes. waved for them all to run. The Delgados were gathering food and bottled It was too late. Fire erupted all around. water for the trip, seemingly oblivious to the tank at The hotel must have been heated with gas, Alison their feet. As Alison approached, the odor of propane realized. Pipes ran through the walls, beneath the grew worse, like rotten eggs. She called to the Delgados floors. With the way the building had settled over the and waved them away from the tank, but they just years, the pipes must have bent and buckled, cracks

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HYPNOS had appeared, then bigger ones. Flames from the would become incarnate in the last of them who kitchen had caught the gas. The hotel was now an in- survived. The last woman standing. ferno. The part of the courtyard in which they stood, Incarnate, it would be invulnerable. It was born of terrified, was blocked by a wall of flame. Beyond those fire. It would not burn in it. It would walk through the flames, she saw other hotel guests fleeing the building. flames and out into the world. Impossible, Alison Some saw Alison and the others who were trapped and scolded herself. Surely her frantic mind now read too tried to help but were driven back by the flames, driven much into that old parable. outside. Zahra approached Alison warily. They stood in the Alison frantically looked for another way out and middle of the courtyard, as far as they could from the spotted a door to one side. She threw it open hoping fierce heat of the surrounding fires, the flames closing for an exit. Her heart sank. It was a storage room. in slowly. Boxes of dried food. Cleaning supplies. More propane “Alison, you understand now,” Zahra spoke to her tanks. She spun back to the others. “There must be over the roar of the fire. “You understand the truth of some other way out!” it. I didn’t truly believe until now either. But it has Through far windows, Alison spotted locals from come. You were right, something was unleashed in the the neighborhood who were trying to get into the hotel cave from beneath the ancient fire pit. Not a chemical. to save them, trying to fight through the thick smoke Not biological. It is seeking a way back into the world. and flames with handheld extinguishers. She recog- I fear my grandfather was right, a demon.” nized some: the waiters from last night and the lobby What Zahra said was true, Alison figured, or they receptionist, Javon. Maybe they lived close by, maybe were both crazy. Either way, there was no way out of they had just arrived for their morning shift. All fought the hotel. The flames burned ever closer, ever hotter. valiantly to fight through the flames. It was hopeless, And the itch that was not really an itch wriggled now though, their extinguishers far too small. Fresh bursts along Alison’s arms and legs. Not an itch, but an urge. of fire drove them back, drove them outside, back into An urge to hurl herself into the flames, to purify herself the chaotic night. there. She fought the urge. Terry Thorpe now grabbed his wife Amy and Outside, sirens wailed. Fire trucks would soon pointed to a large rug hung along a nearby wall. If they arrive, but too late to save the two of them. If Zahra could lay the rug down, it might clear a path. They tore was right, by the time firemen doused the flames, the rug from the wall and dragged it across the floor. there’d be only one woman left standing. She would Alison and Zahra moved into help them, but Terry no longer be human. Alison hated that her life would shoved them back. Then, rather than hauling the rug end here, now. Never to see her son again. Never to toward an exit to clear a path to safety, he and his wife see anything. Not The Coliseum. The Eiffel Tower. veered deeper into the flames. Another act of sheer The Great Wall of China. A thousand other places she madness. Another act of self-immolation. had meant to visit. With this journey to Iran, she had Alison and Zahra tried to wade into the fierce heat felt her life was just beginning. It was sure to end soon. in hopes of pulling the Thorpes back. Before they She vowed to end it on her own terms. could reach them, more gas pipes ruptured. Flames “Zahra,” Alison began, speaking slowly, assembling exploded around the couple, turning them into human the plan in her mind. “We have no hope to survive. If torches. In that horrific fire, Alison could see churning what you say is true, we must die together. We must within churning. The flames were frantic, eager, die at the exact same instant so it cannot possess the hungry. She and Zahra were forced to retreat to the last of us. We can stop it. And if that old story is just center of the courtyard. myth and nonsense, well, we might as well die together Alison gasped when she looked at Zahra, her face anyway, and die painlessly.” swirling with chaotic patterns. From the way the wo- Alison remembered the extra propane in the side man stared back at her, her own face must have looked storage room. She ran to fetch the tank. As she did, the same. If there was a she-wolf here, Alison under- she had a grim thought. The demon was said to drive stood, it was nearly done consuming the sheep. It victims to kill themselves, and that was just what she

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D. C. MALLERY was preparing to do. The itch seemed to be leading her the flames swirled, Alison got a better glimpse of his to it, driving her to it. Maybe this was all delusion. The face. She recalled now why that boy had seemed so hotel. The fire. Maybe they were all still in that cave. familiar. It was not just that he’d been on the street after No, the flames were real. She could feel the heat. Sami died, and downtown during the festival. He’d Caves do not burn. This was real. been at the cave too. He’d been in the cave. He was Returning to Zahra, Alison opened the tank, the feisty boy Zahra couldn’t shoo away. He’d been the allowing propane vapors to drift out. only one still in the cave besides the tour group during “We don’t have much time,” she told Zahra. the quake, the only other person to breathe those “When the fumes spread far enough, the propane will unholy vapors. explode. A bomb. A small one, but big enough. We That boy would be the last one standing. won’t feel anything. Our minds will be gone before the The poor kid was sweating now from the heat of pain reaches our brains. We will be gone before the the fire, shrinking away from it. fire consumes us.” Sweltering, he pulled away his cap and some of the Zahra nodded, tears streaming down her face. In ragged clothes he wore. the glow of the fire, she was radiant. Alison wished to In the bright light of the surging flames, Alison kiss her now. That was an itch too, one she didn’t fight, could see his face more clearly. and Zahra didn’t object, her lips soft. As Alison then The boy was a girl. drew away from her, something caught her eye beyond A girl who hid herself in the clothes of a boy, a feisty the flames. girl, a defiant one. Movement there, the same shape she had spotted The last Alison heard was the whoosh of the pro- earlier out of the corner of her eye. pane as it ignited. The last Alison thought was that a The scruffy boy who had sold her the scroll was feisty little she-wolf might soon rule the whole of the peering at them. Far enough away from the propane world. that he would not die from the blast, but the poor kid Good for her. Good for them. would surely be consumed by the fast-growing fire. As

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Hospital Birth By CHRISTINE J. WHITLOCK

N THE MATERNITY HOSPITAL OFFICE A quarter-sized black spider on the floor observed on the fifth floor, a wide-hipped nurse, Hazel, that the young woman had fallen asleep. The black and I with her hair in a honeybun-style, ran up to the beady spider’s eyes rolled. In repose, her face looked counter shrieking, coiled a magazine and whacked a almost angelic. One of its legs twitched. small spider. “That pest control guy did a lousy job. The exterminator standing at the door, heard the The bugs are still running around.” Before the budget ding of the elevator, and saw the door opening. He cuts, the old brick building with its crumbling mortar entered and the elevator door closed. A petit woman had been scheduled for major renovations. with flowers had exited and approached the counter. Sitting in the waiting room of a couch and assorted “I’m looking for Mrs. Williams. I’m her sister.” chairs, two young men jumped at the sound and Melba was heady with the fresh flower scent. “She’s looked at each other in panic. Sweat sprouted like bli- down the hall at room 3A.” sters on their forehead and their hands shook. Hazel The sister tiptoed into the room and saw her sister lowered her tone to a whisper as she leaned over the asleep. She quietly came near her bed to place the counter. “Sorry, gentlemen. Nothing happened to flowers on the bedside table. First, the smell hit her your wives.” until she turned around. A garbage-truck-sized tradesman with a spray Hearing a scream, Hazel ran back into the young cylinder in one hand and a toolbox in the other sto- woman’s room and gasped when she saw all the blood mped down the pea-green-painted hospital corridor and fluid on the floor. Red, running, pooling, mixed toward the elevator. His grimy shirt sported the gaudy with clots and womb detritus. embroidered label “BUG FREE.” With her sister beside her, the young mother woke Rake-skinny nurse, Melba, poked Hazel. “Run but couldn’t see anything because of the sheet and fell after the bug guy.” back to the sweat-drenched pillow. Hazel snorted. “Our supervisor told me I can’t A doctor entered, also drawn by the scream. She bother him with my arachnophobia. The bill was skirted the pools of blood covering the floor, lifted the getting too high.” sheet and saw the deflated belly. There was no baby. At the elevator, a young security guard peered “Nurse, run down to the guard at the elevator to see inside the bug man’s toolbox before the guard pushed who has left the floor in the last ten minutes. The baby the elevator button. is missing. Hurry, hurry!” Melba in vomit-green scrubs chirped, “If they have The doctor looked at the crimson blood splashed to close the department to do a thorough bug spraying, against the cool-green floor tiles. The metallic stench I hope they do it on a weekday. I’m behind with my of blood filled the room. A reddish blood trail lead to gardening.” the small broom closet in the room, its door slightly a- Hazel threw the spider-squashing magazine in the jar. She gingerly stepped around the amniotic trail and trash. “Fat chance.” After she sanitized the counter slowly opened the door. She gasped. with vinegar-water, she sauntered down the corridor. A tiny baby, with a serene face, precious pink, lay In a private delivery room near the office, a pretty, sleeping naked just inside the door but waved its young, doe-eyed woman lay on a bed with her feet in clenched fists. Spiders covered the baby and were stirrups. Hazel poked her head up from under the wiping it clean. In an assembly line, the spiders took sheet. “Mrs. Williams, the epidural still has some time the fluid to numerous webs in the closet that contained to work. Just lay back and rest.” their own babies’ nurseries and fed them.

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Behind the Wall By TYLOR JAMES

WAS ELEVEN WHEN WE MOVED INTO zombie named The Cryptkeeper, when Susan opened the townhouse in east Saint Paul. Susan had just wide the front door, inadvertently scraping my lower I turned thirteen. Dad went out to get a haircut a back. I’d been sitting on the front stoop. few months prior and never returned. Mom liked to “Ouch!” I said. say Dad was too embarrassed by his new hairdo to ever “Oh, sorry!” Her blue eyes beamed with excite- show himself again. It was one of those unfunny jokes ment. “Come on! You gotta see this!” She darted back she made when her feelings were hurt. So, it was just inside. I set aside my comic and went in. The linoleum us three in the old, two-story brownstone house. chessboard entryway squeaked beneath my tennis It was a sweltering August afternoon. Our street was shoes. Mom sat at the kitchen table, drinking from a congested with parked cars. The houses were side-by- highball glass. side with zero space between; a vast change from the She had an assortment of liquor bottles up in the rural setting we’d been accustomed to. cabinet above the oven. I tried a sip from one of the I was reading issue twelve of Tales From the Crypt, bottles once. It made my lips pucker like I’d eaten sour a spooky comic with stories narrated by a haggard old candy and it made my throat burn. I never touched the

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HYPNOS stuff again. Often, I wished Mom would’ve done the silent awe. We now stood in front of a gaping black same. entryway. She smiled, waving lackadaisically as I passed, as if Something dripped in the dark. I could hear it she were in a dream. A beam of sunshine settled upon clearly, as the droplet of water or whatever it was struck her gaunt, freckled cheeks. The glass sweated in her stone. hand. The bottle clinked as she poured another. Susan Drip. stood on the stairwell, beckoning me upstairs. Drip. “Come on!” she said, tromping up to the second Drip. floor. I followed her past my room, past Mom’s, to the Susan grabbed my hand, pulling me into the dark- walk-in closet at the end of the hall. Susan coaxed the ness. overhead bulb into illumination. Barren shelves were “No,” I yelled, reeling backward. “It’s too dark.” coated with grey dust. In the corner was a stack of “Don’t be a scaredy,” she said. “There’s light the moving boxes yet unopened. She went inside, then farther you go in, see? Look where I’m pointing.” leaned against the left-side brick wall. I stood at the The dark hallway stretched onward, like a tube- doorway, one eyebrow raised as high as it could go. shaped dungeon. At the very end, a door with a green “Great,” I said. “You found the closet.” light creeping out at its bottom. “No, idiot.” She laughed. “Don’t you hear it? “What is this place?” I asked. Listen.” “I don’t know,” Susan replied, her eyes still I listened, and heard nothing. I raised both eye- beaming with excitement. “Let’s check it out.” brows now, an expression equivalent to: Have you lost As we walked, the light from the closet behind us your marbles, Susan? grew dim. The hallway walls were constructed of rouge She merely nodded toward the wall. I frowned, at brick, tinged with black slime. The hallway rever- last hearing something. It was faint, like a cry in a berated with our whispers. Mildewed air tickled my thunderstorm. I put my ear to the wall. nostrils. Cobwebs swayed from high corners. I did not Drip. Drip. Drip. feel a draft. Like the ticking of a clock, the drip was dependable “Listen, Suz, let’s go back. Please?” and rhythmic. I straightened. “No.” She remained confident and poised. She “Something’s leaking behind this wall!” held an elegantly crafted brass key, featuring the em- She rolled her eyes. “No, duh.” blem of a human skull. It was grinning. “We better tell Mom about this,” I said, turning “Whoa!” I said. “What’s that?” away. “Skeleton key. The door up ahead is locked, but “No!” Susan said, grabbing my shoulder. “Don’t. this should open it.” She won’t care anyway. She doesn’t care about any- “Where’d you get it?” thing.” “From Mom.” “That’s not true,” I protested. “She just gave it to you?” “You know what is true?” she asked. A secret She shrugged, avoiding my shrewd gaze. burned in the sly tilt of her mouth. “You stole it,” I noted, matter-of-factly. “What?” I asked. “She wasn’t doing anything with it anyway!” “This wall, in fact, is a door.” “Where did you find it? Her room?” I scoffed, placing my hands upon it. The bricks “Of course not,” she scolded. “What do you think were cool beneath my palms. I pushed. Nothing gave. I am, some kind of snoop?” “You’re fooling with me,” I said. “It’s not a door. “Where then?” I prompted. It’s just a wall with a hollow spot behind it and there’s “Mom’s cabinet above the oven.” a pipe that’s damaged or something.” “What were you doing looking in there?” “Oh yeah?” She pushed me aside, then grunted, She said nothing, but I had a good idea as to the using all her force to roll back the clandestine door. I answer. watched her slide the wall to the back of the closet with

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TYLOR JAMES Our footsteps echoed down the passageway. The “No,” Mom replied, shaking her head. “It’s… dripping grew closer. The door loomed before us, its freaky. From now on, you two are to stay out of there. ebony wood paint-chipped and flaking. Susan inserted Got it?” the key into the rust-eaten lock. The lime green glow I nodded. I didn’t want to see what was behind that pulsing beneath the one-inch breach at the door’s bot- door anyway. tom made my flesh crawl. “But, Mom!” Susan protested. “Wait.” I grabbed her hand. “I’ve got a bad feeling “No buts,” she said, and hiccupped. “There’s about this.” probably mold spores and all kinds of hazards in there. “Garrett,” she sighed. “What grade will you be in Go outside guys, all right? It’s a sunny day.” next September?” Mom pushed the sliding barrier back into place, “Fifth,” I replied, with a swell of pride. then clapped her hands of rouge dust. We followed “Well, you’re acting like you’re in first.” her downstairs, where she fixed herself another drink. I deflated like a popped balloon. My fear of what Susan went to her room, slamming the door. My comic lay beyond the door resurfaced, grabbing hold like an was waiting for me on the stoop. I tried to read, yet iron vice. The possibilities were endless. The green became distracted by the sound of the dripping inside glow led me to suspect an infestation of extraterrestrial my head. breeding pods. Or a grotesque, slimy demon from a supernatural dimension. I’ve seen enough movies and T MIDNIGHT, I WAS AWOKEN BY THE comic books to know weird things like that happen. A creaking of floorboards outside my room. “Susan? Garrett?” The voice drifted down the dank Tossing aside my Anakin Skywalker blanket, I tiptoed hall like a tune carried on a breeze. Susan and I spun into the hallway. To my right, Mom’s door was closed. around to face the entrance, where the closet’s yellow To my left, the light of the open closet pooled onto the light waded in. Mom’s silhouette leaned against the floor. wall. The now not-so-secret entryway was opened. I “You kids get out of there!” Her voice was ragged gazed down the long, dark tunnel and felt as if I were with fear now, echoing off the walls and ceiling. Susan looking down the barrel of a gun. My body shivered withdrew the skeleton key, stuffing it into her black with gooseflesh. denim jacket. Drip. “Don’t tell her about the key,” she whispered. Drip. “Promise?” Drip. I blinked. “Okay, I guess.” Amidst the drips, footsteps. “Susan?” I called into “Not ‘I guess.’” She shook my shoulders. “Pro- the dark. “That you?” mise!” My words echoed back. The terror in my voice “All right, all right,” I said. “I promise.” made me feel like a coward. A deep breath strength- “GARRETT! SUSAN!” ened my resolve, and I entered the passageway. The We ran down the long, dark passageway and into glimmering green of the door lay ahead. The soles of the light of the closet. Mom pulled us into a tight hug, my feet burned upon the icy cold cobblestone floor. her face a portrait of fear and confusion. My face Mildew and dirt flooded my nostrils. It was suddenly pressed uncomfortably into her hard ribs. difficult to breathe, as if my lungs were coated with the “I never knew this was here,” she said, her words slime of the walls. somewhat slurring. “How’d you kids find it?” I stood before the door. The glowing was brighter, “I went looking for some clothes,” Susan explained. flaring with lime-hued flashes. The steady drip re- “Thought they might still be in one of the boxes. Then sounded in my ears. My hand settled upon the cold I heard this dripping behind the wall. I leaned on it just brass knob. It turned freely, unlocked. Had Susan enough that it budged. So I just kept pushing it, until come through with the key? Was she inside the room? the hallway appeared. Neat, huh?” Was she in danger? … Was she dead?

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HYPNOS Images of terrible green slime-monsters bom- It made my mind ache. It wasn’t until early morning barded me. They ate my sister while she screamed, her that I fell asleep, pondering the nature of Susan’s blood splattering everywhere. words. “Suffering is in that room,” she’d said. “Pure, But there was only silence. And the drip. horrible suffering.”

ETTING ONTO MY KNEES, I PEERED EEKS PASSED. SUSAN GREW MORE ILL G through the keyhole. The entire room was filled W every day, withering into grotesque emaciation. with verdant mist. And yet, passing before my eyes, Mom drove her to endless doctors’ appointments and shadows. Curling and dipping, as if there were multiple hospital overnights. None of it made any difference. people——or things——inside the room. Susan’s head was jaundiced and shrunken, her skin Then, someone standing directly behind the door, like parchment stretched taut over bones. Mom was its dark frame blocking my vision. My heart pounded. certain it was cancer, although all the tests came back I scuttled backwards like a crab. The door opened. negative. Susan, shrouded in the swirling green. Something It was the final day of August, as autumn winds blew sluiced across the floor behind her. Abruptly pulling against the windowpanes. Susan was dying. Mom and the door shut, she turned the skeleton key with a click, the hospice nurse, an old lady named Gerda, talked in then faced me. Darkness circled her eyes. Her face was the hallway. Susan lie in her bed, grey hair splayed pale and thin and her blonde hair had turned grey. She upon the pillow. She’d become a skeleton. looked like Mom. “I love you, Sis,” I said, failing to stave off the tears. “Susan?” I asked, my chest rising and falling with “I love you.” Her lips, chapped and withered, panic. I expected her to behave robotically, like some mouthed the words more than said them. sort of humanoid or alien imitation. Yet she responded “Susan,” I said. “You’re dying because of what’s in with her usual good-natured warmth. that room, aren’t you? You have to tell exactly what “What are you doing up, dumb-dumb?” you saw. If the doctors know what you’re dying from, “I heard the dripping,” I replied, with a sigh of they might be able to save you.” relief. “What’d you find, Sis? Where’s the dripping She heaved a sigh. Her fetid breath smelled of the come from?” passageway, all moist earth and mildewed brick. Her She gazed despondently down at the cobblestone. eyes, glazed and yellowed, were so old that for a mo- “I saw things moving in there.” I pointed to the ment it seemed impossible this person could be Susan. keyhole. “What’s in there, Susan? Tell me.” And yet, gleaming in the back of her eyes, I recognized She shook her head, smiling a sad, knowing smile, my sister——flickering, fading away, her vitality leaking as if she knew something I was too young or immature out of her, drop by drop. to understand. At last, she said, “Suffering is in that “Garrett.” My name came out in a croak. “Be room, Garrett. Pure, horrible suffering. It’s in the air… careful… the drip.” the green stuff. It shows you things. Awful things you This last came out in one syllable: thedrip. don’t ever wanna see.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, “Susan?” I asked. “Are you all right?” exposing two yellow moons. Her throat clicked. Spo- She shook her head and walked away. I caught a radic breaths escaped her. last glimpse of the pulsing green beneath the door, “Mom!” I shouted, my heart pounding. “Come then followed her back to the closet. quick!” We shut the sliding barrier. Sis returned to her Mom ran into the room, and seeing, threw herself room without further word. I returned to mine and was upon the bed. She grabbed Susan’s shoulders and scarcely able to sleep. I tossed and turned in a night of squeezed. She pleaded, “Susan, honey, please, stay dull repetition. with us. Don’t go. Not yet. Please.” Drip. Drip. Drip. Susan fell slack-jawed and breathless against Mom’s Drip. Drip. Drip. chest. Her eyes remained half-open, like a zombie. Gerda, the nurse, checked for a pulse, then shook her

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TYLOR JAMES head. Mom looked at me wearily with despair in her “How, Mom?” I asked, my voice sounding small. eyes, then collapsed into shoulder-hitching sobs. “He drowned,” she replied, wiping her cheeks of Gerda put her arms around her, murmuring soothing mascara. “H——he was out one night. About a week reassurances. My heart was crushed. I could no longer ago. Your Daddy had too much to drink. People pass stand the dreadful atmosphere, so I left the room. out sometimes, when they’ve drank too much. He was I sat down at the kitchen table, crowded with the on a bridge. He fell over the side, into the river. I’m so detritus of empty bottles. My stomach churned. Dis- sorry, Garrett.” tinctly, I heard it. I shut my eyes and imagined ice cold water rushing I heard it from all the way upstairs, through the into my father’s lungs, the world around him already closet, down the dark passageway, behind that blackened, blotted out with drunkenness. It then oc- damned, ancient door with its green secret smothering curred to me my father had died of two drownings: one its cold body against the wood. from the river, and one from the drink. Drip. Drip. Drip. My world, too, had blackened. A sense of anger and helplessness dampened everything. I thought back OUR DAYS AFTER SUSAN’S FUNERAL, to the sunny day we’d first moved into the house. How F Mom drove me to the new school for my first day I’d simply sat on the stoop and read my comic. I of fifth grade. The September sky was grey, reminding yearned, ached, for that brief, happy moment again. me of Susan’s hair. I scanned the city streets, people- Now, it seemed everything good was eroding before watching. Men my father’s age, dressed in business me. suits, carrying briefcases, going to work. A woman Drip by drip. wearing headphones, walking her dog. We turned onto Cleveland Avenue, where the outcrop of co- OM PICKED ME UP FROM SCHOOL IN mmercial buildings appeared older, much like our M the evening. We drove in silence. Her breath house. My eyes widened at the man standing in front smelled rancid; a cross between plaque build-up and of a narrow alleyway, drinking from a bottle concealed alcohol. As we turned onto our street, she said, by a crinkled, brown paper bag. Our eyes locked “Garrett… I know I haven’t been a perfect mom. I want briefly, then we’d passed him. to do better. I really do. Do you think you can forgive “Mom,” I shouted. “Pull over!” me?” “What? Why?” As soon as she pulled in front of the house, I undid “Dad! I just saw Dad!” my belt, grabbed my backpack, and exited the car. “No, you didn’t, Garrett.” Her eyes focused on the Perhaps it was a heartless thing to do, but at that mo- road ahead. ment, I had nothing to give. I was alone in the universe, My fists clenched, angered by her no-nonsense with no friends, no dad, no sister. And my mother tone. How could she be certain I hadn’t seen my seemed unreal as a mannequin, a token symbol of a father? Doesn’t a boy know his dad when he sees him? parent, but not the real thing. If that’s what she wanted I opened my mouth, about to say as much, then me to forgive, I couldn’t. abruptly closed it. She was crying. SAT ON SUSAN’S BED, AND READ HER “Mom?” I diary. It was quiet in her room, and a bit creepy. “I have to tell you something,” she sniffled. The white wallpaper had yellowed and lifted over the “What’s wrong?” I asked, gently touching her past few weeks, as if it’d absorbed some of Susan’s sick- shoulder. ness. She heaved a sigh. “Your father isn’t with us any- Scrawled in the diary were sad poems about Dad. more, honey. He died.” Poems about Mom and her absent-minded drinking. The air seemed to catch in my lungs, as if I’d been My heart skipped a beat upon reading her last entry, a kicked in the chest. Her white knuckles gripped the poem titled, The Suffering, featuring lines about wheel. My tongue clicked dryly. wicked, green tendrils and a terrible, dripping death.

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HYPNOS Mom called me into the kitchen for dinner. I cloaked in insects and serpents. A few feet further, I pecked at the spaghetti, which had come out of a can. turned around and could no longer see the door thro- Mom drank from a large glass and stared at the ugh the swampy haze. As I breathed, my lungs filled floor. Amidst the silence, the drip began to sound, like with the stuff, making me nauseous. Something slid the tolling of a hideous bell. Drip. Drip. Drip. over my bare feet. When I looked down, it was gone. I asked Mom if she could hear it too. She looked Yet it had left behind a trail of slime, like green jello. at me a long time, her eyes drunken and glazed. They My feet were wet with it. “Mom?” I cried. “Where are frightened me, those eyes. There seemed to be little you?!” left behind them. A low groan emanated across the room. I followed “I’ve always heard it,” she replied. “Even before we the sound, until discovering two silhouettes sitting on moved into this house. Your father did, too.” the ground, their backs against the wall. “Who——who’s there?” I asked. ITHIN THE QUIET OF MY ROOM… THAT My mother’s voice, soothingly familiar, replied, W dreaded sound of liquid falling and hitting “Everything’s okay, honey. Come on over.” stone. It sounded too close for comfort. Groggily, I lumbered out of bed into the hall. GOT DOWN ON MY HAUNCHES, SO AS NOT In front of the open closet, beneath the circum- I to lose her in the swirling green. Once I was close ference of the bulb’s light, a whiskey bottle lay on its enough to make out the features of my mother’s face, side. Because of the hallway’s slanted floorboards, the and of the man sitting next to her——I gasped, clamping alcohol tilted toward the bottle’s mouth, and dripped. a hand over my mouth. A puddle collected around it. Bile rose in my throat. I vomited onto the grimy floor. The man sitting beside her laughed——my PICKED UP THE HALF-EMPTY BOTTLE father’s laugh. I and set it aside. I went into the closet and looked He raised a bottle of Budweiser to his corroded lips down the dark passageway. Mom stood before the and drank deeply. His face was a liquefied potpourri door. The same eerie, emerald light glowed at the of worms, roaches, and tiny, yellow maggots. His eyes edges and the breach. She unlocked it, then walked were gone. Slick, green seaweed hung from the inside. hollows. Scarce patches of moist, decaying flesh clung “Mom,” I shouted. “Wait!” Running down the long to the forehead and cheeks. The rest was ivory bone. passageway, I feared the worst——that the green My heart crammed up into my throat. The flesh suffering thing behind the door would get her too. Just dripped off his withered face and arms, onto the floor. as it had gotten Susan. The thought of another two “Don’t be scared, honey,” Mom grinned, her teeth weeks of prolonged agony and death ripped open my rotten. Slushy molars dribbled down the corner of her heart, made me want to writhe on the floor and lips. “It’s just your Daddy.” scream. Her eyes, sunken and pig-like, beamed with cruelty. My toe caught on a dislodged piece of cobblestone. Worst of all——the flesh of her face beaded, then I fell forward onto my chest. The wind knocked out of dripped off her form like candlewax. Her nose, fore- me. I wheezed, gulping in nothing, until air flooded my head, cheeks, lips, and eyes drooped, and I screamed. lungs. I got onto my feet. My big toenail was ripped They laughed as I scrambled to my feet. The atmo- clean off, revealing a slick, bloody patch of flesh. My sphere clung to every inch of my body, even sticking to foot throbbed with pain, but I had no time to worry my insides. My heart, lungs, and intestines were about this. smothered, grasped by the green tendrils of suffering. The skeleton key stuck out from the lock. I My insides began to melt. Running my hands along- pocketed it, grabbed the doorknob coated with verdi- side the far wall, I followed it until, thank god, I dis- gris, and on the count of three, flung the door open. covered the door. I walked into thick green fog. Dense, moist air crawled and slithered over my body, as if I were

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TYLOR JAMES FRIGID HAND GRIPPED MY ANKLE. live in a modest house in the country, and we are A Susan’s face grinned up at me, her head happy. shrunken to the size of an apple. The scrunched face Some nights, when the wife and I are relaxing on was a ball of wrinkles with yellow eyes; wet and crawling the couch, reading a bedtime story to our sweet Jo- with grubs like the underside of a log. “Thedrip,” she hanna, I feel something stir within my chest. croaked. “Thedripthedripthedrip!” It’s the green tendrils, curling around my heart; like I shrieked, yanking loose from her grasp. I seaweed at the bottom of a river, seeking to consume slammed the door shut behind me and locked it with the things that have fallen. the key. Limping back to the closet, my foot trailed But I have not fallen. And I never intend to. blood. Their abhorrent laughter hadn’t ceased. Nor Neither shall I ever fall prey to the bottle. I want to be had the dripping. there for Johanna, and for Sarah, as long as I live. I rolled shut the secret door, then ran downstairs and called 911. I shuddered so hard, was so out of OMETIMES, LATE AT NIGHT, WHEN MY breath, the receptionist could barely understand what S girls are fast asleep, I hear that dreadful clockwork I was saying. drip-drip-drip. I get out of bed and stand in my daughter’s doorway, gazing upon her sleeping, moon- AVING LOST MY FAMILY, I WAS BOUNCED shadowed face, knowing in my heart that I would never H between foster homes until old enough to live want be without her or her mother. I am overcome independently. I’m a grown man now, with an affec- with a sense of strength and goodness. tionate wife and a beautiful, young daughter. Johanna And the green tendrils of suffering unfurl; has deep, brown eyes, just like her mother, Sarah. We shrinking, fading, dripping… away.

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Precious Cargo By KEVIN P. KEATING

ORKING THE BEACH HAD BEEN the water’s edge. After last night’s torrential downpour, Hawke’s idea. Before school let out for the no one was supposed to be in the water. Early that W summer, he recruited Anson to serve as morning, as a light fog rolled in from the lake, park lookout. He needed someone with street smarts to watch rangers posted signs warning swimmers of dangerous cur- for the undercover cops who patrolled the beach. In their rents and raw sewage spills. Regardless of the weather or navy-blue windbreakers and mirrored sunglasses, the the season, there was always a sign, badly faded, that read police were easy enough to spot. Anson and Hawke “No Lifeguard on Duty. Swim at Your Own Risk.” communicated through a series of whistles and hand Now, as he waded waist-deep into the lake, Anson let gestures, and by the second week of June they'd managed out a gasp. He dipped his head beneath the surface, to accumulate a small treasure trove of designer sun- hoping to spot a platinum wedding band or a wallet glasses, frisbees, portable speakers, binoculars, playing stuffed with credit cards and slimy dollar bills. Instead, he cards, and even a few bags of quality weed carelessly saw the usual assortment of soda bottles, crumpled beer stashed at the bottoms of tote bags. cans, and pink sedimentary rocks polished smooth by At first Hawke seemed satisfied with these innocuous centuries of wind and waves. He wasn’t aware of how far treasure hunts until one evening in July when he observed he’d drifted from Hawke until he lifted his head and saw a married couple snorkeling in the bay and decided it was the distant downtown skyline materialize like a mirage time to “expand operations.” He patiently waited for the above the breakwater. Hawke, treading water behind a couple took a romantic sunset stroll along the beach, and nearby boat, impatiently waved him over. Anson dipped then with the nonchalance of a practiced cat burglar, he his head beneath the waves, but now, as he powered made off with their gear. High-end equipment, as it through the swirling gray silt and seaweed, he saw a small turned out, likely purchased from a professional dive figure rise from the deep. At first, he thought it might be shop. the infamous Lake Erie serpent rumored to lurk along Now, on an unusually cool afternoon in late summer, the steep shale cliffs. According to legend, the serpent as a steady northerly wind kicked up impressive white- had been here long before the first missionaries rowed caps in the open water, the boys sat in the shade of a across the lake and set foot on shore. It had been here weeping willow and watched an armada of pricey pon- before the Iroquois planted their maize and built their toons and bowriders from the marina appear on the sacred mounds. It had been here even before men horizon. The boats motored through the waves into the trekked over the frozen tundra in pursuit of mastodons comparatively tranquil bay and weighed anchor in a tight and giant-horned bison. formation along the crescent of golden sand. The Anson reached out a hand, but the thing, whatever it skippers and their mates, after sunning themselves for an was, darted away beneath his legs. He adjusted his mask hour on deck, cannonballed into the lake and made their and snorkel, hoping to get another glimpse. He looked way to the open-air tiki bar perched on a scenic overlook. left and right and felt the thing brush against the small of Most of them spent the rest of the day listening to a his back. He turned and saw a face hovering in the cloudy calypso band and ordering round after round of banana water. With its glassy green eyes and tendrils of dark hair, daquiris and piña coladas. it seemed to invite him to play a game. It came closer, and Hawke, eager to get to work, stomped across a mine- through its gaping mouth it seemed to speak to him. field of spent cigarette butts and sharp pop tops. He In a panic, Anson rocketed to the surface and found slipped on his fins and mask, pointed to their objective, himself floating near a bowrider named the Deep and plunged into the churning surf. Anson hesitated at Seacret.

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KEVIN P. KEATING Hawke, waiting for him at the stern, scowled. “What hooked a yellow walleye or largemouth bass. On the the hell’s wrong with you?” beach, under a pastel umbrella, a conscientious mother Anson pulled off his mask and gasped. “I saw some- lathered sunscreen on her toddler while an unenthu- thing.” siastic dad helped his son build a sandcastle. In the picnic “Oh, really? What was it this time? A mermaid?” pavilion, a homeless woman pulled plastic bottles from a “Something valuable.” garbage can swarming with bluebottle flies. “What then?” Anson, sitting at the helm, noticed the keys still in the “A doll.” ignition. Everything was fully automated on new boats “A doll?” like this, or so Hawke claimed, and by simply pressing a Anson let out a long, scratchy wheeze. “An expensive button on the control panel, the skipper could raise the one. Like from the catalogues. They cost a hundred anchor. For one thrilling moment, Anson was tempted to dollars.” fire up the twin engines and push both throttles forward. Hawke sniffed. “A hundred dollars.” He looked north to the mythical coast of Canada and “More than a hundred. Probably got swept away in daydreamed of the Lady Cordelia skipping across the yesterday’s storm.” heaving white waves. He’d never seen the lake from this Hawke slipped off his fins and climbed the ladder at vantage point. It stretched before him vast and empty as the back of the boat. Anson, vaguely ashamed of his co- any ocean. He was used to seeing chain-link fences every- wardice, followed close behind. Hoping to ransack a where he turned, sagging power lines, narrow alleys cooler filled with ice-cold beer and bottles of top shelf crowded with dumpsters, soot-covered walls of brick and tequila, the boys removed their fins and masks and began stone coated with layers of graffiti, entire city blocks a thorough search of the Deep Seacret. In a cupholder poisoned by black clouds of bus exhaust. But out here on they found a can of artificially sweetened iced tea and in the lake, a million miles away from the city streets, there the port console they found a pile of ropes and a pair of was a strange and unsettling silence. But even as Anson worthless water skis. When they were certain there was closed his eyes, listening to the waves lapping against the nothing of value aboard the vessel, they slid back into the hull, he knew this moment of peace wouldn’t last. lake and swam over to the next boat. Draped from bow He was hardly surprised when, a moment later, he to stern with muslin sheets imprinted with smiling heard a heavy thud from below deck followed by a muted Buddhas and elaborate mandalas, the Vallejo looked like scream. Hawke burst gasping from the cabin. He an aquatic temple for transcendental meditation. They brushed wet hair from his pale blue eyes and scrambled marveled at the chimes and votive candles and the small to collect his snorkeling gear. brass gong with a bamboo mallet. Hawke, frustrated by “Get down here!” he hissed. “We have to get off this their lack of success, hoisted a cast iron teapot over his boat. Listen——!” head and ceremoniously tossed it over the side. Before he could say more, a great bald head emerged The Lady Cordelia proved far more promising. from the cabin. Like a drunk giant aroused from its cave, Anchored near the breakwall further from shore, the a man in baggy cargo shorts and an unbuttoned floral shirt thirty-six-foot cabin cruiser bobbed up and down in the shambled on deck. After slurring a few incomprehensible rolling waves. The boys pulled themselves onto the swim syllables, he leaned heavily against the starboard gunwale, platform and dropped their gear at the stern. The vessel reached for a bottle of spiced rum wedged between two wasn’t exactly in shipshape. Cigarette butts and cigar ash dock bumpers, and using his teeth pulled the cork from swirled around the white upholstery. Half-empty liquor the bottle. By then Hawke had strapped on his mask and bottles rolled back and forth across the dirty deck. While had already made his clumsy way to the swimming plat- Hawke searched the cabin below, Anson climbed the form. ladder to the flybridge where he kept watch for anyone “You there!” The man flattened a mosquito sucking who might be doggy paddling back to the boat. On the at a snake tattooed to his sunburned arm. “Must be here fishing pier, two middle-aged men sat on five-gallon from the marina, right? You taking me back already? Is buckets and passed a brown paper bag back and forth. it cocktail hour at the club?” He tilted back his shining From time to time they checked their lines to see if they’d head and poured the rum down his throat. He wiped his

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HYPNOS mouth with the back of one huge hairy hand and after “Where is my daughter?” he spat, making his way to letting out a thunderous belch said, “The hell you going? the ladder. “I’ll fucking knock your teeth in, do you Hey, aren’t you Monty Hawke’s son?” understand me?” Hawke, with the snorkel stuffed in his mouth, looked He managed to climb four rungs before he lost his over his shoulder and gave a muted cry of alarm. He footing and crashed to the deck. He lay flat on his back, belly-flopped into the lake and beat a diagonal path back his right leg twitching, drool dribbling thickly down his un- to the beach. shaven jaw. Anson looked down from his perch and then, The man tossed the empty bottle aside and fell hard against his better judgement, descended to the deck. He against the gunwale. He slid to the deck, his eyelids inched forward and cautiously touched the man’s heaving fluttering, his prodigious belly protruding from his shirt. chest. When the man didn’t stir, he stepped into the On the flybridge Anson remained perfectly still and gloomy cabin. Inside, he found a small galley stocked watched the man crawl on hands and knees. with boxes of cereal, a loaf of bread, a bag of crackers, a “Need someone to take me back. Trouble otherwise. jar of peanut butter, sticky packets of strawberry jam. He Big trouble. Oh, yes, mommy will get angry. Mommy will crept forward until he reached the v-berth. call her lawyer again.” “Hello?” he called. “Anybody here?” Suddenly the man sat upright. His smile faded, and It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark- for just an instant his bloodshot eyes seemed to become ness, but eventually he saw a princess sleeping bag in the sharp and focused. corner and dozens of stuffed animals scattered on the “Wait a minute,” he muttered. He scratched the gray narrow shelves. The place smelled of scented soap and a scruff on his chin. “Wait just a goddamn minute…” hint of mildew. The pink elephants and chimpanzees He looked around the deck and struggled to his feet, watched him as he pushed aside a pile of pillows. Under nearly falling overboard in the process. He careened into the cushions, he found a seashell bracelet, a storybook the cabin door, rubbed his bruised forehead, and dis- about a lost puppy, a magic wand that glowed in the dark. appeared inside. Anson, seeing an opportunity to escape, Anson walked back on deck. was about to slide down the ladder when the man let out The man did not stir. Despite the beer bottle digging a blood-curdling scream. Even Hawke, who was fifty into the small of his back, he was now snoring soundly. yards away, turned his head in alarm. Feeling a bit nauseous, no doubt from seasickness, The man staggered from the cabin and stood swaying Anson sank onto a folding seat and pulled on his fins. wildly at the stern. Above the gentle splash of waves, he could hear the sharp “Where is she!” he shouted across the water. “Where cry of gulls wheeling above the waste treatment plant at is Cordelia?” the end of the strand. On humid days like this, un- His lower lip trembling, the man pressed his powerful predictable lightning storms sprang up with alarming hands against his temples and began to whimper like a speed, and he fully expected to see a dark line of clouds child. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “What have you forming on the horizon. Instead, blinded by bright done with her? What have you done with my little girl?” summer light, he could barely make out Hawke’s sil- He spun around, panting, raging. Saliva bubbled from houette as he crawled like a wounded crab above the the corners of his mouth. Snot dripped from his flaring waterline and collapsed gasping in the sand. nostrils. Slowly, he lifted his head until his eyes locked Anson stepped onto the swimming platform and onto Anson's. lowered his mask. He took a few deep breaths, looked a “You…” final time at the man, and then with a small shudder Anson, pinned to the pilot’s seat, raised his eyebrows jumped into the lake. A powerful current tugged at his and offered him a weak smile. legs, but as he swam hard toward the beach, he dared not The man, never taking his eyes from Anson, reached open his eyes. down and picked up a beer bottle.

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A Drop of Blood By D. L. HENDERSON

ILL FAGAN, TOM BURNS, AND I “It was. It was bizarre. We had spent the past two were sitting in a Mexican restaurant on days canoeing on the Elk River. That night, we pitched W Cherry Street on a Friday afternoon. For our tent on a sandbar at the base of a limestone bluff. some reason, which I’ve forgotten, we were talking It was an awful place to camp. The bluff was riddled about ghosts. with caves. All night long, we heard bats squeaking in “I didn’t actually see anything,” Fagan said. “I want the darkness.” to stress that point. I heard something. That’s all.” Tom Burns, an old friend of mine from college, I chuckled. Like me, Fagan was a skeptic. He would seemed somewhat annoyed by Fagan’s story. He never admit that he had seen a ghost. sipped his beer sullenly, his brown eyes staring out the “And what did you hear?” I asked. “A banshee? A window at the shops below. siren?” “That’s not really much of a ghost story, is it?” he “I heard two men arguing,” Fagan said, leaning back murmured, wiping the moisture from his moustache in his chair. “That’s it.” with the back of his hand. “How curious.”

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HYPNOS “I haven’t finished yet, have I?” Fagan shot back. “You really believe they were ghosts?” I asked, “You see, this sandbar was about sixty feet long and leaning forward. “That you heard the spirits of the about, oh, fifteen feet wide. Maybe less. It was just a dead?” strip of sand, an island in the middle of the river. On But Fagan refused to take the bait. the north end, near the water, was a cairn, a pile of “I didn’t say that, did I? I said I heard something stones about three or four feet tall. once, something I couldn’t quite explain.” “We set up camp on the other end of the sandbar. “You probably heard two men in a boat or a canoe, We built a fire. We had some liquor with us——some or perhaps they were on the shore behind some trees rum. We drank a bit. But neither one of us was drunk. or weeds or bushes. You didn’t see them in the dark- We went to sleep around midnight.” ness.” Fagan paused for a moment, as if he were searching “The moon was almost full. I could see perfectly for the right words. Most people, when they met Will well.” for the first time, assumed that he was a carefree, “It’s a good story,” Tom said. “It really is, Will, but easygoing sort of person. He had a handsome, boyish it’s just a story. Things like that happen all the time. face and a charming personality, which led people to You hear voices you can’t explain. You hear people assume he liked pleasure, but in reality, he liked to be moving around, but you don’t see anything.” precise. Fagan was too good natured to take Tom’s criticism “I slept for no more than twenty or thirty minutes. I personally. know because, when I woke up, the moon hadn’t “I agree. I told you what I heard——nothing more, moved. I heard someone talking——in a low voice. I nothing less. I heard two voices arguing on that don’t know if you’ve ever heard voices where there sandbar. I’m absolutely certain the voices were coming shouldn’t be voices, but it unnerves you. There was from the north end and not somewhere else. I was someone else on the island. scared. I didn’t see anything. That’s it. That’s every- “I got up——the campfire was still burning——and I thing. I don’t believe in ghosts myself, but… there it is.” started walking towards the cairn. The sandbar was Tom nodded. He seemed pacified. bare, you see. There were a few bushes——sort of like “What about you?” Fagan asked. He lit a cigarette miniature willows——but there was nowhere to hide. and, leaning his head back, blew the smoke towards “I didn’t get very far. You can laugh if you want, but the ceiling. “Have you ever seen a ghost?” I couldn’t move. The voices were getting louder. The Tom didn’t say anything. I had never seemed him stronger of the two began to shout. I could see the cairn so serious. in the moonlight. That’s where the voices were coming “Tell us about it, Tom,” I said encouragingly. “What from. But there was no one there. happened?” “I crawled back into my sleeping bag. I was shaking, Tom looked at Will. Then he looked at me, his as if I had fallen into an icy stream. Then I heard a small, piercing eyes searching ours. sound, a sort of heavy, wet ‘thump.’ Everything grew “I don’t have a story,” he said finally, “but I’ll tell still——except for the bats. I lay there till morning, you about something that happened to me when I was listening to them and the sounds of the river. I never ten.” did go back to sleep.” Fagan and I glanced at each other. I wasn’t sure what Tom shook his head. He seemed disgusted. to make of Tom’s odd manner. “Let me guess,” he said. “When the sun rose, you Tom took another sip of his beer and, waiting until started digging, and you found a skeleton beneath the the waitress was out of earshot, began. cairn.” “My father was an engineer. When I was ten, Fagan smiled, his boyish face beaming in the after- McDonnell Douglas bought the company where he noon sun. worked, and he was transferred to St. Louis. He “We left as soon as it was light.” bought a house in a small town about an hour and a half away from the city.

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D. L. HENDERSON “It was a pleasant place——shady streets, big houses “He didn’t let us open the red ones, though. No, the with front porches and tall trees, lots of kids my own ones we broke open were always blue on the inside or age. We lived two blocks away from the park, where I sometimes yellow. But I saw him, just once, open one played baseball and, when I got older, tennis. I liked it of the crimson ones. It was small, not much bigger than there.” a duck’s egg, but it arrived in a large crate filled with Tom grew quiet. He seemed reluctant to continue. straw. He tried to open it with a tack hammer he kept “I don’t know why my father moved so far away for just that purpose, but it wouldn’t crack. It wouldn’t from the city. He didn’t mind the drive, I guess. But split. The outside was too… leathery. Finally, he hid the my mother didn’t like it. The town had a library and a thing beneath his desk——he knew that I was watching drive-in movie theater and a few stores, but that was him——and broke it open with his own huge hands. about it. Afterwards, I saw him stash the dirty thing in a desk “There was also… a museum——of sorts. It was only drawer and then hurry to the bathroom. He was trying a few blocks from where we lived. It was in an old to hide what had happened, but I saw… I saw that his house——sort of like a plantation. The museum oc- hands were covered in blood.” cupied the ground floor; the owner and curator, an old Fagan and I looked at each other. Will swallowed. man named Joseph Kerr, lived upstairs. “Tom——” “We went there a day or two after we moved. There “I saw it,” Tom snapped. “I swear to God that’s what wasn’t really much to see. There was a stuffed cro- I saw.” codile——I remember that——and some exotic birds. “Perhaps he cut his hands on the geode,” I said There were a lot of bones, some old guns, and a hang- reasonably. “That could easily happen. I imagine those man’s hood, which the curator let me try on. crystals are sharp.” “Mostly, though, I remember the geodes. The Tom glared at me. curator owned an enormous number of them. And “That’s not what happened, David.” they were of all sizes. Most were about the size of my “But how do you know?” fist, but he had several that were as big as a watermelon. Tom started to answer, but then our waitress arrived The insides were mostly blue or purple, but he had a with the bill. Three years would pass before I would couple that he kept on his desk——these were his hear the rest of the story. favorites——that were crimson on the inside. They looked like… like they were filled with blood.” FTER MY WIFE AND I DIVORCED, I “That sounds grotesque,” Fagan said, a look of A moved into a three-room cottage in Blue Springs disdain on his face. “Why would anyone collect such a across the street from the old high school. One eve- thing?” ning, about a week before Christmas, Tom came by to The expression on Tom’s face was unreadable. cheer me up. We spent the evening talking about the “He didn’t just collect them,” he said slowly. “He past——and our plans for the future. He had recently, I talked to them. He would ask them questions. He soon learned, been diagnosed with cancer and needed would tease them. He would… whisper things to them. cheering up more than I did. And yet, despite my best Once, when I was there by myself, I heard him call one efforts, the conversation continued to veer into the of the rocks ‘Donny,’ as if that were its name. morbid. Finally, a little after midnight, Tom told me “You can imagine what the local kids thought of the story that had been on his mind ever since he had him. He was like a monster——short, bald-headed, arrived. immensely strong. He had these big flat teeth——like a “In May,” he said, picking up the poker and stirring horse——that he would use to crack pecans. the logs inside the firebox, “just before the end of the “Of course, we couldn’t stay away. We would go to semester, a boy went missing. He was a year or two the museum after school. Kerr seemed to like to have older than I was. I don’t remember his name. Every- us around. He would let us play with the guns, some of one in town searched for him. Everyone. My father which were from the Revolution, and crack open any and I spent hours combing the woods and orchards new geodes he had received through the mail. along the Okeewemee River. It was… It was actually

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HYPNOS kind of exciting. The whole town, you see, took part. shifted. A thick cloud of greasy black smoke wafted The police were there, of course, but they weren’t over the neighborhood. I’ll never forget the way it really needed, and no one paid them much attention. smelled. He was more careful after that.” Neighborhoods and churches and local businesses or- “So you think he kidnapped that boy… and cre- ganized themselves into search parties and divided up mated his body in the kiln?” the town and the surrounding fields into manageable Tom looked up. His face was pale, strained. sections. We all thought we would find him in a barn “Not exactly.” or an abandoned farmhouse. I don’t know why we “Then what happened?” I asked, growing excited. thought that, but we did. “Did they find the boy?” “Kerr was the only man I knew who didn’t take part. “No. No, we didn’t. And after a while, we stopped He said he was too old, but there were plenty of looking. Everyone said that he must have drowned. volunteers older than he was. He seemed to find the There was no other explanation. It was a small town, whole enterprise… amusing. Whenever my friends David. It was… out of the way. No one passed through. and I would stop by the museum, which we did pretty There were no strangers, no outsiders. Who would frequently, he would ask us if we had found him yet. I take a boy? And why? It didn’t make any sense. No, could always hear a chuckle at the back of his throat, we thought he had drowned in the river or in one of as if he wanted to laugh. the strip mines outside of town. “I don’t know when exactly——maybe four or five “I don’t know why, but my friends and I couldn’t days after that boy disappeared——but at some point, I stay away from that place. That awful museum of his. began to think that Kerr had killed him. Of course, I That summer we met there every day. Afterwards, we didn’t really believe it. It was a ridiculous idea. But I… would go to the park or ride our bikes to the bridge I wanted to play detective, so I started watching him. and back. That old man would watch us. He would “He had an odd house. I think I’ve said that before. watch us as he babbled to those geodes of his. It had been built before the Civil War, and at one time, “There was… a greediness about him. He scared it had been part of a plantation that stretched all the me, but… I enjoyed it, you know? I enjoyed the sense way to the river. After the war, most of the farmland of danger I felt walking into that place. I didn’t think was sold. I don’t when——or how——Joseph Kerr ac- anything would actually happen. quired the house, but by the time he did, it occupied a “But… in July, a friend of mine, a little blond boy lot of less than five acres. Behind the house, near the named Leslie, disappeared. When my father told me creek, there was a sort of huge oven——or kiln——made what had happened, I knew right away. I didn’t have out of bricks. It was an ugly thing——old and nasty- any doubts. I knew that Joseph Kerr had taken him.” looking. I trusted Tom. I knew him to be dependable, the “Most of the time, Kerr didn’t leave the house, and sort of man on which you could rely, but I couldn’t I never saw him go anywhere near that kiln. But after believe what I was hearing. It was too fantastic. that boy disappeared, he started going down there. We “How could you be sure?” I asked. lived less than three blocks away, and I could see that Tom rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, sick even. thing——whatever it was——from my bedroom window. “You wouldn’t understand. Leslie wasn’t adven- Late at night, he would get up and go down there. I turous. He was smaller than the rest of us——weaker. could see the fire burning in the dark. Then in the He didn’t go places by himself. He wouldn’t… wander morning——before sunrise——he would go down there off. But… he loved that museum. He liked to look at again and put out the fire. If you weren’t looking, you the pistols and rifles and swords and things that Kerr would never notice what he was doing. One morning, had collected. He was obsessed with guns. You know he didn’t get the fire put out in time.” how some boys are.” Tom hesitated. He was staring at the floor in front “But did he go there the day he went missing?” of the fireplace, though his mind was far away. Tom shook his head. He rose and, pouring himself “It was the last day of the spring semester. I was a drink, watched the snow through the window. walking to school with some friends when the wind

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D. L. HENDERSON “I don’t know, David. Maybe he did. He could large room, which was otherwise inaccessible. I didn’t have.” like the idea of going in there, but… I knew I had to. “Maybe he didn’t.” Something——a voice in the back of my mind——kept “Maybe he didn’t,” Tom admitted, taking a sip of pushing me forward. his drink. “Maybe he didn’t. But that old man started “It was an odd room——dark, very dark. It seemed up that kiln again. I saw him, that very night, start a fire to be some sort of library, which was odd because the in its depths. I could see its orange glow. museum had a large library, which faced the street. In “I was… a bold kid, full of sap. And I was braver than any case, there were around two or three hundred I am now. That’s for sure. I wanted to prove what I books, all of them very old, a lamp, a small table, and knew to be true.” a banker’s chair. The rest of the room was filled with My mouth felt dry. “What did you do?” cardboard boxes, stacks of magazines, and antique “What did I do? What did I do? I had to see what furniture, most of which looked broken. was inside, David. I had to see what was inside that “Lying on the table was a single volume. For some kiln——or whatever it was.” reason, I picked it up and began to examine it. It wasn’t “And? What happened? What did you see?” really a book at all. It consisted of twenty or thirty typed Tom put down his drink. pages, which had been stapled together and covered “Nothing. It had an iron door——at least half an inch with a folded piece of cardstock. There was, as far as I thick——and a padlock. A padlock on a brick oven. could tell, no author and no publication date. Its title Strange, don’t you think?” was ‘On the Mineralogy of the Human Body.’” “It’s bizarre. I admit that.” Tom, the sweat visible on his face, was staring in- Tom resumed his seat. His face had grown red with tensely into the dying fire. Aside from the sound of the excitement. wind, which whistled and rattled the windows, the “It was more than bizarre, David! I knew——I knew— cottage was silent. —what he was doing——or I thought I did. “I tried to read it, but… most of it was in a foreign “Kerr, you see, never locked the museum. He language. I was just a kid. I didn’t know what it was. It didn’t need to. He slept upstairs, and he spent——as far used the Roman alphabet——for the most part——but as I could tell——every waking hour at his desk, pouring that’s all I remember. He had underlined… a lot of it. over his catalogs or fingering those damned rocks of “It was just a book, but I didn’t like it. There are… his. unwholesome things in this world, David, and you “But I had a plan. I knew his routine. I knew what know them when you see them.” he was doing. And one night, about two weeks after I started to say something, but Tom, holding his Leslie had disappeared, I snuck into the museum hand up, silenced me. while he was tending to that kiln of his. I didn’t know “There were pictures,” he said, wiping the sweat what, exactly, I was looking for, but I figured I had at from his forehead. “There were drawings, sketches, least ten minutes before he came back. diagrams… showing how to build a kiln——and how to “For some reason, I wanted to look at those geodes use it. But that wasn’t the worst part. There was a of his——the red ones. He let us fool around with the picture——a photograph, David——of someone shoving rest of his collection, but he didn’t let anyone touch a person into one of these ovens. They had… they had those crimson geodes. Well, I did. He had about half rolled the body into a ball so that its knees touched its a dozen of them on his desk. They weren’t that big. I chest. It had been placed inside a… a sort of large think the biggest was about the size of a horse apple. leather bag, but I could see what it was.” The outside was… soft… sort of like a toad. But the Tom licked his lips, his thin face wan and sickly. inside——the inside, David——was wet.” “The book was stained, David, where his oily fingers I stared at him. He was mad. had caressed it. Have you ever seen an old deck of “I started looking around. I knew I didn’t have a lot playing cards? One that someone has used for years? of time. Then I noticed a door beneath the stairs. I It was like that. Dirty. thought at first it led to a closet, but it actually led to a

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HYPNOS “My hands were shaking. I could barely hold the later, they had it torn down. If anything was ever found thing. And then, I heard something.” on the property, I never heard about it.” “A door,” I said, laughing nervously. The con- “What about the geodes? The red ones?” versation had become ludicrous, melodramatic. Tom smiled——a ghastly smile. He reached inside “No,” Tom snapped, “no, goddamn it, it wasn’t a his pocket and pulled out something that, in terms of door. It was… a sort of quiet drip. I looked around, but size and color, resembled a brown egg. I didn’t see anything. Then I looked down at the book. “Oh, they sold pretty quickly. Everyone in town There was… a tiny red drop in the middle of the page. wanted one. I bought this one——years later——from a And on that page was a picture of two men——they were former teacher.” wearing masks, David——taking something small and… On Tom’s palm sat a wrinkled, walnut-like rock—— round out of an oven. a geode that had never been opened. After a moment’s “I looked up. On the ceiling above the table, about hesitation, he handed it to me, and I, my hands trem- where the old man’s bedroom must have been, there bling a little, began to examine it. But I soon saw that was a small red stain, rapidly growing and beginning to there was nothing particularly special about it. drip.” “It’s… it’s just a rock, Tom,” I said, handing it back Tom shook himself and, picking up the poker once to him. “I mean, that’s all it is.” again, began to jab at the remains of the fire. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face “That’s it,” he said after a moment’s pause. “That’s when he heard those words. He swallowed——twice—— my story. I ran out of the house. I didn’t tell anyone as if his throat were dry. Then he shoved the geode what I had seen.” into his pocket and left a few minutes later. By Truthfully, I didn’t know what to say. I almost Memorial Day, he was dead. laughed in his face, but I didn’t. I just sat there, be- wildered. He had to be insane. That was the only OR SOME REASON, HE LEFT THAT GEODE explanation that made sense. F to me. After the funeral was over and Tom was “That’s it?” I asked, stunned. “What happened to buried beside his parents in Blackburn Cemetery, I the old man?” thought about cracking it open. Indeed, I almost did. I Tom sighed. He seemed tired, weary, as if his body had my hammer ready when I noticed something, ached. something almost microscopic that I had overlooked “He died of a heart attack about six months later. that night at the cottage. Growing out of the rock, My parents and I went to the auction. Some collector, growing out of that leathery shell, was a long, thin, wavy some awful man from New York, bought all those blond hair. books. A young couple bought the house. A few years

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August Heat By W. F. HARVEY

HAVE HAD WHAT I BELIEVE TO BE THE I lighted my pipe and proceeded to let my mind wan- most remarkable day in my life, and while the der in the hope that I might chance upon some subject I events are still fresh in my mind, I wish to put for my pencil. them down on paper as clearly as possible. The room, though door and windows were open, Let me say at the outset that my name is James was oppressively hot, and I had just made up my mind Clarence Withencroft. that the coolest and most comfortable place in the I am forty years old, in perfect health, never having neighbourhood would be the deep end of the public known a day’s illness. swimming bath, when the idea came. By profession I am an artist, not a very successful I began to draw. So intent was I on my work that I one, but I earn enough money by my black-and-white left my lunch untouched, only stopping work when the work to satisfy my necessary wants. clock of St. Jude’s struck four. My only near relative, a sister, died five years ago, The final result, for a hurried sketch, was, I felt so that I am independent. I breakfasted this morning sure, the best thing I had done. It showed a criminal in at nine, and after glancing through the morning paper the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced

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HYPNOS sentence. The man was fat——enormously fat. The It was the man I had been drawing, whose portrait flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, lay in my pocket. stumpy neck. He was clean shaven (perhaps I should He sat there, huge and elephantine, the sweat say a few days before he must have been clean shaven) pouring from his scalp, which he wiped with a red silk and almost bald. He stood in the dock, his short, handkerchief. But though the face was the same, the clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front expression was absolutely different. of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed was He greeted me smiling, as if we were old friends, not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute col- and shook my hand. lapse. I apologised for my intrusion. There seemed nothing in the man strong enough “Everything is hot and glary outside,” I said. “This to sustain that mountain of flesh. seems an oasis in the wilderness.” I rolled up the sketch, and without quite knowing “I don’t know about the oasis,” he replied, “but it why, placed it in my pocket. Then with the rare sense certainly is hot, as hot as hell. Take a seat, sir!” of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing well He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which done gives, I left the house. he was at work, and I sat down. I believe that I set out with the idea of calling upon “That’s a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got hold Trenton, for I remember walking along Lytton Street of,” I said. and turning to the right along Gilchrist Road at the He shook his head. “In a way it is,” he answered; bottom of the hill where the men were at work on the “the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, new tram lines. but there’s a big flaw at the back, though I don’t expect From there onwards I have only the vaguest you’d ever notice it. I could never make really a good recollection of where I went. The one thing of which I job of a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in was fully conscious was the awful heat, that came up the summer like this; it wouldn’t mind the blasted heat. from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable But wait till the winter comes. There’s nothing quite wave. I longed for the thunder promised by the great like frost to find out the weak points in stone.” banks of copper-coloured cloud that hung low over the “Then what’s it for?” I asked. western sky. The man burst out laughing. I must have walked five or six miles, when a small “You’d hardly believe me if I was to tell you it’s for boy roused me from my reverie by asking the time. an exhibition, but it’s the truth. Artists have ex- It was twenty minutes to seven. hibitions: so do grocers and butchers; we have them When he left me I began to take stock of my too. All the latest little things in headstones, you know.” bearings. I found myself standing before a gate that led He went on to talk of marbles, which sort best into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where withstood wind and rain, and which were easiest to there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium. work; then of his garden and a new sort of carnation Above the entrance was a board with the inscription—— he had bought. At the end of every other minute he would drop his tools, wipe his shining head, and curse CHS. ATKINSON. MONUMENTAL MASON. the heat. WORKER IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES I said little, for I felt uneasy. There was something unnatural, uncanny, in meeting this man. From the yard itself came a cheery whistle, the I tried at first to persuade myself that I had seen noise of hammer blows, and the cold sound of steel him before, that his face, unknown to me, had found a meeting stone. place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory, A sudden impulse made me enter. but I knew that I was practising little more than a plau- A man was sitting with his back towards me, busy at sible piece of self-deception. work on a slab of curiously veined marble. He turned Mr. Atkinson finished his work, spat on the round as he heard my steps and I stopped short. ground, and got up with a sigh of relief.

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W. F. HARVEY “There! what do you think of that?” he said, with result was unfortunate, for after the sardines and water- an air of evident pride. The inscription which I read cress had been removed, she brought out a Doré for the first time was this—— Bible, and I had to sit and express my admiration for nearly half an hour. SACRED TO THE MEMORY I went outside, and found Atkinson sitting on the OF gravestone smoking. JAMES CLARENCE WITHENCROFT. We resumed the conversation at the point we had BORN JAN. 18TH, 1860. left off. “You must excuse my asking,” I said, “but do HE PASSED AWAY VERY SUDDENLY you know of anything you’ve done for which you could ON AUGUST 20TH, 190— be put on trial?” He shook his head. “I’m not a bankrupt, the “In the midst of life we are in death.” business is prosperous enough. Three years ago I gave turkeys to some of the guardians at Christmas, but For some time I sat in silence. Then a cold shudder that’s all I can think of. And they were small ones, too,” ran down my spine. I asked him where he had seen the he added as an afterthought. name. He got up, fetched a can from the porch, and began “Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere,” replied Mr. At- to water the flowers. “Twice a day regular in the hot kinson. “I wanted some name, and I put down the first weather,” he said, “and then the heat sometimes gets that came into my head. Why do you want the better of the delicate ones. And ferns, good Lord! to know?” they could never stand it. Where do you live?” “It’s a strange coincidence, but it happens to be I told him my address. It would take an hour’s mine.” He gave a long, low whistle. quick walk to get back home. “And the dates?” “It’s like this,” he said. “We’ll look at the matter “I can only answer for one of them, and that’s cor- straight. If you go back home tonight, you take your rect.” chance of accidents. A cart may run over you, and “It’s a rum go!” he said. there’s always banana skins and orange peel, to say But he knew less than I did. I told him of my nothing of fallen ladders.” morning’s work. I took the sketch from my pocket and He spoke of the improbable with an intense showed it to him. As he looked, the expression of his seriousness that would have been laughable six hours face altered until it became more and more like that of before. But I did not laugh. the man I had drawn. “The best thing we can do,” he continued, “is for “And it was only the day before yesterday,” he said, you to stay here till twelve o’clock. We’ll go upstairs “that I told Maria there were no such things as ghosts!” and smoke, it may be cooler inside.” Neither of us had seen a ghost, but I knew what he To my surprise I agreed. meant. “You probably heard my name,” I said. E ARE SITTING NOW IN A LONG, LOW “And you must have seen me somewhere and have W room beneath the eaves. Atkinson has sent his forgotten it! Were you at Clacton-on-Sea last July?” wife to bed. He himself is busy sharpening some tools I had never been to Clacton in my life. We were at a little oilstone, smoking one of my cigars the while. silent for some time. We were both looking at the The air seems charged with thunder. I am writing same thing, the two dates on the gravestone, and one this at a shaky table before the open window. was right. The leg is cracked, and Atkinson, who seems a “Come inside and have some supper,” said Mr. handy man with his tools, is going to mend it as soon Atkinson. as he has finished putting an edge on his chisel. His wife was a cheerful little woman, with the flaky It is after eleven now. I shall be gone in less than an hour. red cheeks of the country-bred. Her husband intro- But the heat is stifling. duced me as a friend of his who was an artist. The It is enough to send a man mad.

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HYPNOS VOLUME 9 CONTRIBUTORS ISSUE 2

THOMAS FREDRIC JONES Born in Pasadena, California, near the end of World War II, Thomas Fredric Jones grew up in Santa Barbara and Corona del Mar. He graduated from UC Berkeley in 1979 with an honors in Intellectual History. Since then, he has been a singer, songwriter, photographer, broker of Central Valley fruit nationally, designer for Neiman Marcus, essayist for three California newspapers, and founder of a poetry journal called The American Aesthetic. His favorite writers are Anthony Trollope, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, and John le Carré. He can be found online at theamericanaesthetic.org and sound cloud.com/t-fredric-jones.

LAWRENCE BUENTELLO Lawrence Buentello first became fascinated by the supernatural in literature while reading Bram Stoker's Dracula on the porch of a ramshackle country house in a hazy Texas twilight when he was twelve years old. His personal experiences with the supernatural have often informed his fiction over the years, including The Narthex of the Damned. Not only does he believe in both science and superstition, he also believes that one day they will be found to be the same phenomenon, kept divided only by the limitations of human perception. Buentello lives in San Antonio, Texas.

PATRICK RUTIGLIANO Patrick was born in the chilly climes of New England. His young imagination was fueled by John Bellairs, vintage horror movies, and comic books. He enjoyed reading from an early age and decided to take up the pen himself after becoming enamored with the works of H.P. Lovecraft (as so many do). Patrick later moved to Indiana where he now resides with his wife and two medically challenged cats. He found work there as a stockman, fry cook, cart monkey, and freelance proofreader. Alas, writing is still the only job that suits him. His most recent book, Wind Chill, is currently available via Crystal Lake Publishing.

HARRIS COVERLEY Harris Coverley started reading weird fiction in primary school, and later began writing it with the intention of becoming a professional author. However, he got waylaid with political philosophy and intellectual history, spending years in universities not even reading fiction of any kind, never mind writing it. However, a chance encounter with Borges in a bookshop rekindled his love of fantastic literature (in both senses of the word “fantastic”), and he soon after started writing again. Since then, he has had over forty stories accepted for publication. He has also had over sixty poems published, and was nominated for the 2020 Rhysling Award (Short Poems category). He lives in Manchester, England, where he currently ponders a return to academia. Despite no formal training in creative writing, he credits any success he has had to the time-tested advice of continuous practice, patience with the process and with yourself, having humility and being honest about your skills (and being willing to improve them), and the constant reading of new and exciting things.

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CONTRIBUTORS CHRIS CORNETTO Chris Cornetto is a physics teacher by day and writer by night. In addition to physics, he has degrees in chemistry, philosophy, and psychology. He likes exploring ethical questions through fantasy settings, and enjoys long walks with small dogs. For his other work, see “Heart of Stone” in Metaphorosis Magazine.

CHRISTIAN MACKLAM Christian Macklam is a Canadian writer and screenwriter. He discovered his love of storytelling at a young age while growing up on the west coast of British Columbia. After graduating from the University of Southern California’s Cinema Studies program, he lived and worked in Los Angeles, producing films for artists such as Elvis Costello, The Chieftains, Ry Cooder, Melody Gardot and Sarah McLachlan. In 2011, he returned to Canada where he continued to work as a writer and script-coordinator. His writing is inspired by the works of H. P. Lovecraft, Jules Verne, Flannery O’Connor, Michael Crichton and Stephen King to name a few. He currently lives in Vancouver, British Columbia where he is working on his first full-length novel.

J. P. SEEWALD J. P. Seewald has taught Creative Writing courses at both the high school and college level (Rutgers University). She has also taught Expository and Technical Writing at the college level and worked as an academic librarian and an educational media specialist. Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, including The Mystery Megapack, Touched by Wonder, and The Call of Lovecraft. In addition, twenty of her books have been published, and her poems, essays, reviews, and articles have appeared in hundreds of varied publications.

TRAVIS D. ROBERSON Travis D. Roberson is a New York based writer originally from Central Florida. His work has appeared in a few places, including The Arcanist and Coffin Bell. In 2018 he was a semi-finalist in the Screencraft Cinematic Short Story Competition, and in 2011 he received the third-place prize in the non-fiction category of the Porter Fleming Literary Competition.

NESTOR DELFINO Nestor Delfino is a science fiction and fantasy author, writing from his home in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he lives with his wife. Now a software developer who works in Toronto, he programmed his first computer game when he was fourteen on a ZX Spectrum minicomputer. He loves to read science fiction with social commentary, preferring stories that are both entertaining and critical of our times. A huge soccer fan, his favorite team is Peñarol. His work has been published by Bards and Sages, Asymmetry, Alban Lake Publishing, and others. He has received four Honorable Mention awards from the Writers of the Future contest.

JULEIGH HOWARD-HOBSON Juleigh Howard-Hobson walks a thin line between the material plane and that other, sometimes unseen, one. Having turned her back on the modern world years ago, she lives in an unapologetically heathen manner, off-grid on a homestead located at the edge of a wild wood in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and, from time to time, the ghostly imprint of a cat who is no longer there. So much ritual and spell work has been performed here that magic drips from the shadowy forest, and a dark delicious inspiration emerges from the ground to wrap itself, tendril-like, around anyone who is receptive to its ethereal call.

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HYPNOS DAVID R. LLOYD David R. Lloyd grew up in the dry hills of a small, quiet Californian town, but has spent his life travelling the world, seeking new experiences and approaching the seemingly mundane with a sense of wonder. He writes stories to transport readers to alternative worlds that feel familiar, yet somehow strange and indistinct. He currently lives alone in an antique brick house in the heart of Washington, D.C.

CHARLES WILKINSON Charles Wilkinson was born in Birmingham, United Kingdom. As a postgraduate he studied at Trinity College, Dublin, alma mater of several writers of supernatural tales, including J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Lord Dunsany and Bram Stoker. There was even a Bram Stoker Room, where you could sit and think dark thoughts. He writes poetry as well as fiction. He now lives on the Welsh Marches, somewhat to the north of the border landscape that helped to inspire the work of Arthur Machen. He is heavily outnumbered by members of the ovine community. His story in this number of Hypnos is dedicated to the memory of Robert Aickman.

RONI RAE STINGER A lifelong lover of nature, Roni Stinger lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, in the city of Vancouver, Wash- ington. She also acquired a love of weird fiction in early childhood while watching horror and science-fiction shows with her five older brothers and sisters. Later she read every creepy book on her family’s bookshelves, including Ray Bradbury, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and Stephen King. She combines her passion for nature and weird fiction in much of her writing. When not crafting strange dark poems and stories, she’s often wandering the forests, beaches, and streets in search of shiny objects and creative sparks. You can find her online at www.ronistinger.com and on twitter @raestinger.

JOHN WATERFALL John Waterfall is a writer living in Manhattan and a graduate of the New School’s creative writing MFA program. A proud father of two cats and one baby girl. His work can be found in Jersey Devil Press, Crack the Spine, The Colored Lens and others.

MICHAEL MAYES Michael Mayes is a teacher of history and a coach in Central Texas. An avid folklorist, he has long been fascinated by the ghostly tales of historical and contemporary Texas as well as mysteries of the natural world. He has authored two books (Patty: A Sasquatch Story and Shadow Cats: The Black Panthers of North America) and is the owner/writer of the Texas Cryptid Hunter blog. Michael can be reached via email at Mikemayes44 @yahoo.com or via his website at Michaelcmayes.com.

D. J. TYRER D. J. Tyrer lives close to the world’s longest pleasure pier, studied History and Welsh History at the University of Wales at Aberystwyth, used to know a modicum of Welsh, worked in education and public relations, enjoys creating and studying conlangs, and is the person behind Southend-on-Sea-based small press Atlantean Publishing. When not editing, D. J. is usually writing, leading to stories and poetry being published in numerous anthologies and magazines around the world, including a past issue of Hypnos.

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CONTRIBUTORS MICHAEL DITTMAN Michael Dittman lives and writes near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, surrounded by the palimpsest of the Appalachian Rust Belt and its ghosts. He's worked at bike shops, in newsrooms, and on top of roofs, but today he can be found more often at the front of a classroom. He is the author of Jack Kerouac; A Biography, Masterpieces of the Beat Generation, and Small Brutal Incidents. His short stories and poetry, as well as his journalism and non-fiction, are widely published. He has been awarded grants from Pennsylvania Partners on the Arts and other foundations. Contact him at Michaeldittman.com.

JAY CASELBERG Jay Caselberg is a writer based in Europe who has spent much of his life travelling the world and watching. As a result, he finds it likely that much of the darkness lying within us shapes our own endings. More often than not, that tends to drift into his fiction and poetry.

D. C. MALLERY D. C. Mallery lives and writes in Southern California. His favorite quote is from William Blake: “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Regrettably, he has neither been down that road nor entered that palace. Someday, he would like to hear colors, see sounds, and taste the flavors of words and numbers. A vast ocean of synesthesia awaits, if he could just find the door. This is his first story in Hypnos Magazine. His debut novel—— Darksight——was published in 2019. His screenplay, Emergence, was awarded second place for Feature Screenplay at 2018 VisionFest. Meanwhile, he can be found on the web at www.dcmallery.com.

CHRISTINE J. WHITLOCK Christine J. Whitlock has been a creator of drawings, paintings, photographs, videos, and stories. She is now concentrating on her flash fiction, scripts, and novels. She has written and directed four indie horror feature films, three of which were on Netflix. With her love of travel presently on hold, she is exploring the Niagara Canada wineries looking for unique locations and techniques for murder for her Wine Crimes mystery series. Too old now to apply for the first Mars habitation flight, she is writing Martian Surrogates to explore what might be found on the fiery red planet. She is also adapting the scripts of her movies to novels. Her popular horror/comedy Vampire Dentist——about a twenty-four-hour dental office for both teeth and fangs——is in the final editing stages. Christine loves to listen to people’s stories and to create emotional experiences.

TYLOR JAMES Tylor James lives in the American Midwest. He writes one short story every week, a practice which brings him joy and keeps him (mostly) sane. He’s been a dreamer and writer of dark things from an early age, having grown up in a century-old haunted farmhouse, and having always had an intrigue with old horror films. Each day he keeps his head up and his heart open in search of new ideas——like a ravenous monster, he is perpetually hungry for them. When not writing, you may find Tylor spending time with his beloved fiancé and daughter, reading a good book, performing in local dive-bars as a singer-songwriter, stargazing, drinking copious amounts of coffee, and/or taking midnight strolls past the graveyard (however, he never whistles). His debut book of short stories, Daydreams of the Damned: Tales of Horror & Oddity, is available for purchase on Amazon.

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HYPNOS KEVIN P. KEATING Kevin P. Keating was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. His father was a labor leader for the Boilermakers Local 744, and Kevin worked off and on in the steel mills for ten years before earning his master's degree and embarking on a career as a university instructor. As a precocious reader, he enjoyed the tales of H.P. Lovecraft, with their dark philosophical overtones, and the popular fiction of writers like Stephen King, Peter Straub, and Richard Matheson. He began writing at a young age, and began publishing his own stories in the 1990s. In 2012 he published his first novel The Natural Order of Things, which became a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prizes. His most recent novel is The Captive Condition. He currently teaches at Baldwin Wallace University near Cleveland.

D. L. HENDERSON Born in Cooweescoowee County in Northeastern Oklahoma, D. L. Henderson has lived his entire life within the confines of the Ozarks. Though an avid reader, he suffered from a variety of physical and cognitive ailments as a child and, as a result, dropped out of school at the age of sixteen. Since then, he has earned degrees in history, English literature, and library science while working in factories, warehouses, offices, libraries, and universities. He now lives near the summit of one of the highest hills in Fayetteville, Arkansas.

W. F. HARVEY A lifelong Quaker, William Fryer Harvey was born in 1885 in West Yorkshire. After attending Oxford, he became a doctor and a writer, his first book, Midnight House, being published in 1910. During World War I, he served as a surgeon in the Royal Navy, in the process earning the Albert Medal for Lifesaving for a rescue that left him with permanent lung damage. As a writer, he achieved renown for his memoir We Were Seven and the short story “The Beast with Five Fingers,” which would be made into a movie in 1946 starring Peter Lorre. Harvey died in 1937 at the age of fifty-two.

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