Nightmare Magazine Issue 8, May 2013 Table of Contents Editorial, May 2013 Centipede Heartbeat—Caspian Gray Houses Under the Sea—Caitlin R. Kiernan Doll Re Me—Tanith Lee Feminine Endings—Neil Gaiman The H Word: “Domestic Horror”—Nathan Ballingrud Artist Gallery: Benjamin König Artist Spotlight: Benjamin König Interview: Steve Niles Author Spotlight: Caspian Gray Author Spotlight: Caitlin R. Kiernan Author Spotlight: Tanith Lee Author Spotlight: Neil Gaiman Coming Attractions © 2013, Nightmare Magazine Cover Art and Artist Gallery images by Benjamin König. Ebook design by Neil Clarke. www.nightmare-magazine.com Editorial, May 2013 John Joseph Adams Welcome to issue eight of Nightmare! This month, we have original fiction from Caspian Gray (“Centipede Heartbeat”) and Tanith Lee (“Doll Re Me”), along with reprints by Caitlín R. Kiernan (“Houses Under the Sea”) and Neil Gaiman (“Feminine Endings”). We’ll also have the latest installment of our column on horror, “The H Word,” plus author spotlights with our authors, a showcase on our cover artist, and a feature interview with acclaimed comics writer Steve Niles. That’s about all I have for you this month, but before I step out of your way and let you get to the fiction, here are a few URLs you might want to check out or keep handy if you’d like to stay apprised of everything new and notable happening with Nightmare: Website: www.nightmare-magazine.com Newsletter: www.nightmare-magazine.com/newsletter RSS feed: www.nightmare-magazine.com/rss-2 Podcast feed: www.nightmare-magazine.com/itunes- rss Twitter: @nightmaremag Facebook: www.facebook.com/NightmareMagazine Subscribe: www.nightmare-magazine.com/subscribe Before I go, just a reminder: Our custom-built Nightmare ebookstore is now up and running. So if you’d like to purchase an ebook issue, or if you’d like to subscribe, please visit nightmare-magazine.com/store. All purchases from the Nightmare store are provided in both epub and mobi format. And don’t worry—all of our other purchasing options are still available, of course; this is just one more way you can buy the magazine or subscribe. You can, for instance, still subscribe via our friends at Weightless Books. Visit nightmare-magazine.com/subscribe to learn more about all of our current and future subscription options Thanks for reading! John Joseph Adams, in addition to serving as publisher and editor of Nightmare (and its sister magazine, Lightspeed), is the bestselling editor of many anthologies, such as The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination, Oz Reimagined, Epic: Legends of Fantasy, Other Worlds Than These, Armored, Under the Moons of Mars: New Adventures on Barsoom, Brave New Worlds, Wastelands, The Living Dead, The Living Dead 2, By Blood We Live, Federations, The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and The Way of the Wizard. He is a six-time finalist for the Hugo Award and the World Fantasy Award. He is also the co-host of Wired.com’s The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy podcast. Find him on Twitter @johnjosephadams. Centipede Heartbeat Caspian Gray Each time Lisa rested her head against Joette’s breasts, she heard the centipedes. In between heartbeats there was the tiny sound of hundreds of chitinous footsteps against bone, of miniature mandibles tearing at organs. Joette refused to admit to it, or maybe she didn’t know. “It’s hot,” Joette announced. Lisa refused to take the hint. She tried to memorize the feel of Joette’s body tangled with her own: prickly shins, downy calves, the warmth of Joette’s stomach, the tight swell of the small breasts on which Lisa was resting her head. “It’s hot,” Joette repeated. Their bed was stripped to only one thin sheet, but the July air, thick with humidity, made it almost too much to bear. Joette pulled away, leaving a gulf of mattress between them. “What are you reading?” Lisa asked. Joette held up her thin paperback just long enough for Lisa to make out a cover dominated by shapes and primary colors. The kind of cover that told her nothing about the book, except that probably it was for people too smart to need that one precious picture to illustrate all the words inside. “Is it good?” asked Lisa. “It’s okay.” Joette paused. “I’m really tired,” she added. “It’s been such a long day.” “Oh.” Lisa bent her body under the sheet. Her knees crept toward Joette’s, one last sally for even the feeblest contact. Joette rolled further away, until the arm holding her book was hanging off the edge of the bed. Lisa retreated. The centipedes were ruining everything. Joette did not mind the idea of centipedes in their home. “They’re good for the house. You know, like spiders. They eat other bugs. We won’t have to worry about silverfish or earwigs.” “We should just call an exterminator,” Lisa replied. “Then we don’t have to worry about any kinds of bugs.” “That’s horrible!” Joette gave her a look of such sincere disgust that Lisa felt embarrassment creep up the back of her neck. “We’re not going to commit genocide against a bunch of little guys who are just here to help us keep our house clean.” Except for the occasional order of chicken vindaloo, Joette was a vegetarian. She opposed genocide on even a bacterial level. “They’re not here to help us,” said Lisa. “They’re here to commit insect cannibalism and poop inside the walls. I don’t think that calling an exterminator would be unreasonable.” Joette did think it would be unreasonable. No exterminator was called. This was Lisa’s first failure to eliminate the enemy. The problem with centipedes was that Lisa did not know how to lure them. She tried, first with bowls of sugar water as if for ants, then with bowls of saltwater, as if for slugs. Centipedes, she discovered slowly, were not that kind of bug. Like most predators, they preferred live prey. On the internet, some people defended house centipedes. Those bodies in many shades of brown, with their feathery legs and long antennae sprouting from either end of the abdomen, had their admirers. To Lisa, they looked more like fugitives from some extraterrestrial coral reef than common household pests. Each flitting movement suggested flight, despite their closeness to the ground. Some people even sold boxes of scutigera coleoptrata to be released in the home, that they might eradicate less innocuous insect populations. In the face of such incredible ignorance and casual evil, Lisa did not know how to explain that all insects were less innocuous than centipedes. The idea of trying and failing to save each hapless eBay customer was overwhelming, especially in the face of the seller’s long pages of positive feedback. So Lisa did what she could, which was to concentrate on the war at home before it was too late. “Yeah,” said the exterminator, peering behind the couch. “We take care of centipedes all the time.” “Mh,” said Lisa. “Well, I’m also worried about preventing them from coming back, once you get rid of them.” “The two main things you can do,” said the man, “are to make sure that your house doesn’t have any other infestations, since those’ll just feed the centipedes. You gotta starve ‘em out.” He pointed at an old spiderweb near the ceiling, then offered her a tenuous smile. “Also, you gotta eliminate damp spots in the house. If any of your pipes leak, or if you’ve got cracks in your foundation, or if you’ve ever had a water main break, it needs to be fixed. Pretty much anything that’ll give ’em moisture. If you can dry your house out, you can clear up your centipede problem. I’d be happy to look around for any trouble spots, but it’ll be easier at night. Centipedes, they like the dark.” Lisa nodded, trying to steer him to the front door. Guilt nibbled at her. Moronta Pest Solutions was the only place in town that offered free estimates, and the man had driven at least twenty minutes to get here. The exterminator ignored her edging him toward the door and headed down into the basement. Lisa followed, clicking on the light. “Wow,” he said. Lisa looked over his shoulder. “You’ve got quite an infestation here.” She could see only the basement. “There.” He pointed to a lumpy shadow cast by a pile of boxes she and Joette had never unpacked. “See right there?” Lisa squinted. There was movement, as if the shadow was alive, testing the edges of the light. “No offense, ma’am, but this place is crawling.” Lisa felt sick. The questions she wanted to ask the exterminator were not questions he could answer. No exterminator would know how to dry out a human body without killing the main occupant. He could only make sure that the centipedes within her didn’t have more sinister confederates hiding under cupboards and between walls, waiting. “I’m so sorry,” said Lisa. “I really have to consult with my husband before I can make you an offer.” The exterminator blinked. “I haven’t given you an estimate yet.” “I’m so sorry,” said Lisa, herding him up the stairs and toward the front door. “If it was that infestation comment,” he said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be rude—” Lisa shut the door behind him. An exterminator was not enough. When Joette came home from work, her red hair plastered to her scalp with sweat, Lisa was waiting by the door to ambush her.