I stare at them through the rain.   Somewhere a siren is wailing. From the streets below, angry words rendered unintelligible by distance are being exchanged. Gunshots follow. Then screaming. Car horns are being honked impatiently. Somewhere a baby is crying. The Hard Mask seems to fit much looser than before. In fact, it doesn't seem to want to stay on at all.

Killer in the Looking Glass

Still he continued: "The wall was necessary. It was necessary, okay? Look, we had to. We had to. People say the money could have been better spent-that it didn't need the spikes, say, or the gangway for the guards, or the mote. But I play into people's fantasies. People may not always think big themselves, but they can still get very excited by those who do. That's why a little hyperbole never hurts. People want to believe that something is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular. In the case of my wall, it is the biggest and the greatest and the most spectacular-I mean, have you seen it? Beautiful. Beautiful. Wouldn't you say, Coup?"Coup looked around as people started to wake up. "Well, I-I guess as far as walls go-it's a monster, that's for sure. Makes for some great shade. About 50-billion dollars' worth."Nobody said anything."I take it you don't agree, " said the President."I'd say your instinct on that is flawless, " said Coup. He looked the man squarely in the face. "As always."Tucker just looked back-his large eyes puffy and purple, his brow furrowed. It was pretty clear that he wasn't used to being challenged-on anything. "What's not coming through anymore, Coup?"Abbie yawned and tried to intervene woozily. "Has anyone eaten anything? I'm starving .""No, no, no. What's not coming through anymore?"Coup pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired with the conversation. "Look, how about we just leave it-""Murderers, Coup. Drug runners. Human traffickers. Bing bing, bong bong, bing bing. You name it. Rapists .""Murderers and rapists .""Well, someone was doing the raping, Coup! I mean, somebody was doing it. Who was doing the raping? Who was doing the raping?""Jesus, I was doing raping, can we drop it, si?" said Johnny from Tuscan, and stood, leaving the group. Tucker and Coup looked at each other as Briggs straightened in his chair."Going to I. D. him, Chief?" said Coup, his eyes still locked with the President. And then something thumped against the window and everyone jumped, and when they all focused on it they saw an enormous tri-clawed hand pressed open-palmed against the glass; a hand which moved downward as they watched so that the tips of its claws scraped like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then it was gone, retreating into the gloom-within which Coup saw a massive shape shift and move forward, even as another massive shape crossed opposite it, so that it was clear to him that whatever had touched the window was not alone.

Heat Wave 4: The Dinosaur Apocalypse Has Begun - Dinosaur Apocalypse, #7

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate" Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue: THE BLUE DANCERSErin Jones DON'T GO DOWN THEREKemal Onor FLIES IN THE DEATH HOUSEPaul Lee IN BETWEENCullen Corkery MAGILLAWess Mongo Jolly PUT IT ONJamie Redact RACHEL: A POST-APOCALYPTIC RAPUNZEL Melissa Rose Rogers TERFARIM THE FRUMIOUSJoe Pan WE ARE ALL GOBLINSA. J. Van Belle BEYOND THE BLACK CURTAINWayne Kyle Spitzer

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 13 | February 2023 - Dark Horses Magazine, #13

Dark horse/'därk '?hôrs/noun1. a candidate or competitor about whom little is known but who unexpectedly wins or succeeds."a dark-horse candidate"Join us for a monthly tour of writers who give as good as they get. From hard science-fiction to stark, melancholic apocalypses; from Lovecraftian horror to zombies and horror comedy; from whimsical interludes to tales of unlikely compassion--whatever it is, if it's weird, it's here. So grab a seat before the starting gun fires, pour yourself a glass of strange wine, and get ready for the running of the dark horses. In this issue:BAGGAGEBrian HoganCROWDIDDLYStephan McquigganETERNALSheldon WoodburyTHE WINE-DARK EARTHWayne Kyle SpitzerKALEIDOSCOPET. K. HowellNIGHT SWIMMINGMatthew FriesTHE SHADOW BOXFrederick PangbourneTHE BAT AND THE CRESCENT MOONBill LinkTHE WOMAN AND THE MAZEDC MalleryTO CATCH A GODDaniel Lidman

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 9 | October 2022 - Dark Horses Magazine, #9

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the dinosaur apocalypse. How did it all begin? That depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather-which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees-it didn't take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn't take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback-which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake-to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded. Welcome to the world of the Flashback, a world in which man's cities have become overgrown jungles and extinct animals wander the ruins. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere, all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to challenge you, for better or for worse. It is a world where frightened commuters will do battle with murderous bikers even as primordial monsters close in, and others will take refuge in an underground theme park only to find their worst enemy is themselves. Where ordinary people-ne'er-do-wells on a cross-country motorcycle trip, a woman on a redeye flight to Hell, a sensitive boy stricken with visions of what's to come--will find themselves in extraordinary situations, and a gunslinger and his telekinetic ankylosaurus will embark on a dangerous quest. A world where travelers will be trapped with an unravelling President of the United States and a band of survivors will face roving packs of monsters and men in post-apocalyptic Seattle; where rioting teenagers will face deadly predators (as well as their own demons) while ransacking the nation's capital; where a Native-American warrior will seek to bury his past--and offer an elegy for all the Earth--in what remains of Las Vegas. In short, it is a world where anything can and will happen. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes.

The Lost Country - The Flashback Cycle, #2

He pauses, looking at the glass tubes, at the embryos floating in fluid. "Are you telling me that . those are all my daughters?"Again she just smiles. "What else? Yes, of course, every single one. Not just clones, mind you, but daughters, each with their own genetic makeup and individual traits-which will in time give rise to language and syntax, to dance and to art, to rhyme and verse and expression in a thousand forms. Indeed, they are, all of them, in a very real sense, our children. An entirely new generation born of both witch and Witch-Doctor, perchance to evolve into something neither of us could have imagined. Think of it, Patrobus! In the end that is all I ask of you; all that I ask in return for your life. Think of it . and sleep."And then he does sleep, and it is good, at least until he awakens near New Salem and finds himself stumbling into it like a ghost; where he is greeted by civilian men and assisted to the Station House, and told by the few Doctors present that everyone else to a man has joined the raiding party, and that it is on its way to rescue him right now. On its way to something called Blair Coven. Where they will kill everything in sight.

A Portrait of the Witch Doctor as a Young Man: A Tale from the Beginning of the Man/Woman War

By the time I'd established a camp in the covered breezeway of the Luxor obelisk-"Cleopatra's Needle" it was called, at least according to a bronze placard on its wall-and bound her hands and feet, the sun had set and a slight rain had started to fall; something I fully welcomed after so much time in the desert. As to whether the girl welcomed it also, who could say. For even though I set her near the opening (as well as the fire) and provided her my own bedroll to sit on, she only continued to glare-probably due to us eating in front of her; for I had decided, though you might think it cruel, that I would starve her into speaking, if necessary. Which, of course, she finally did-speak, that is-although only after a considerable time, saying, hoarsely, yet clearly, assertively, "Is this some kind of torture? I mean, don't you have to feed prisoners before killing them? Isn't that what the Geneva Convention says?" I looked at her through the flames, saying nothing, even as Kesabe snarled. At length I carved a piece of meat from the spit and dropped it on a paper plate, which I carried around to her-but didn't hand over. Instead, I knelt and sliced off a single bite-sized morsel-then held it close to her nose. "Trade, " I said, matter-of-factly. "One bite per something about you. It can be your name. Where you're from. How you've survived ... Just talk."

Dinosaur Carnage - Dinosaur Apocalypse, #11

That's when I really noticed it, the fact that the landscape immediately around the car had changed; that it had-reverted, somehow. I can only describe what I saw, which was that none of the vehicles at the light could have been newer than a '66, and that the light itself looked decidedly retro, decidedly quaint, at least compared to the one only a block away. More, the storefronts alongside had changed, so that a Kinney Shoe Store now stood where a Taco Bell had just been, and a Woolworth had replaced an Indy Food Mart. Likewise, the pedestrians had changed-yoga pants giving way to miniskirts, athletic shoes giving way to go-go boots and winklepickers, short hair giving way to long. And it was as I observed these things that I noticed something else-the Stingray's reflection in the Woolworth's front windows, or rather, the reflection of something which was not the Stingray but which stood-hovered-in its place: a long, translucent, green-black thing, like an enormous wine decanter, only laid on its side, which glowed slightly from within its bulbous body and seemed to warp the very air around it, to bend it, to curl it like burnt paper.

The Devil Drives a '66 (And Other Stories)

The Primordial Garden - The Flashback Cycle, #5

Jonesing for a drive-in theater and a hotrod El Camino?It's the dawn of the 1970s and everything is changing. The war in Vietnam is winding down. So is the Apollo Space Program. The tiny northwestern city of Spokane is about to host a World's Fair. But the Watergate Hearings and the re-entry of Skylab and the eruption of Mount Saint Helens are coming.as are killer bees and Ronald Reagan. Enter 'The Kid, ' a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut-white El Camino. As the car's deep-seated rumbling becomes a catalyst for the Kid's curiosity, his ailing, over-protective mother finds herself fending off questions she doesn't want to answer. But her attempt to redirect him on his birthday only arms him with the tool he needs to penetrate deeper-a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs-and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin-to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous growing, spreading, reaching across time and space to threaten his very world. Using the iconography of 20th century trash Americana-drive-in monster movies, cancelled TV shows, vintage comic books-Spitzer has written an unconventional memoir which recalls J. M. Coetzee's Boyhood and Youth. More than a literal character, 'The Kid' is both the child and the adult. By eschewing the technique of traditional autobiography, Spitzer creates a spherical narrative in which the past lives on in an eternal present while retrospection penetrates the edges. X-Ray Rider is not so much a memoir as it is a retro prequel to a postmodern life-a cinematized "reboot" of what Stephen King calls the "fogged out landscape" of youth. Want to go for a ride?

X-Ray Rider 2: Mileposts on the road to childhood's end - The X-Ray Rider Trilogy, #2

Scarcely a moment had passed before she heard labored breathing and saw another raptor lying on its side between the seats, foaming at the mouth, dying. Something went drip . drip . drip nearby. It was headless man, his body draped over a seat like so much dirty laundry, his blood falling in droplets to the floor. And there, in the middle of the stained carpet, lay a gun. A revolver. A big one. An air marshal, she thought, and reached for the weapon. Yes, there. And there. Gold rings and bullet noses, just visible inside the chamber. But how many? She found the latch and popped open the gun-she was fortunate to know something about revolvers, having spent much of her youth target shooting with her father-and was disappointed to find only two bullets left. It would have to do. Then she crept forward along the carpet . until creeping forward more would expose her to the raptors, and peeked around the edge of a seat slowly.

Tales from the Flashback: "Raptors on a Plane" - Tales from the Flashback, #2

"We've stepped out of a safe line somewhere ..."A screen adaptation of Algernon Blackwood's celebrated story by Wayne Kyle Spitzer

Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" | A Scriptment

"You're gonna smoke it with me, aren't you, Vic?" he asked, following me. I stopped in the living room and kicked off my hiking boots."Huh, Vic? How about it?" He walked around me and plopped himself down on the couch, which was even greasier than the carpet, if that was possible. "It'll be just like old times."A towering, purple bong sat at his feet, ready to go. I sat down in the easy chair across from him, rubbing my temples. It's coming."Sure, " I said, finally. "Just like old times."

Red Marillion

In a world beyond imagination, they would stand by each other no matter what ... After a devastating time-storm called the Flashback eliminates most the population and recolonizes the world with prehistoric flora and fauna, three boys bearing a powerful talisman set out on an impossible quest. An all-new post-apocalyptic adventure for mature young adults set in the same world as Flashback, A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Ank and Williams, A Reign of Thunder and The Lost Country. From Thunder Road:"Jesse! Quint! Long-fuses!" I rolled the 50-pound bag off the Talon. "And remember: Straight for the bikes!" (I was referring, of course, to the special fuses we'd made; which-it was hoped-would provide cover after we left.)"That's a negative, hombre, " shouted Quint. "I'm fresh out of lighter fluid over here." He quickly added: "Jesse! Get over here!""No!" I barked. "Belay that order! Keep up your barrage ..."And I was on my way, bounding for Quint and holding up my lighter, shaking it, impatiently, as he turned and just stared at it-disoriented, shell-shocked. (Some of my rockets had-after ricocheting about wildly-blown up right next to him.)"Take it!" I snapped-even as a ghost-white snout lunged at him through the window, lunged at him and crashed to a halt-snarling, gnashing its teeth; at which Quint spun upon it and clocked it in the nose, hard, and just kept clocking-until it yelped and beat a retreat."Okay, " I said, "go, go, go!" And he took the lighter. And then I could only return to the Talon and snatch it up off the floor, noting its fading color, its waning strength, before swinging it around my head and barking, "There's never going to be a better time. How much more?""Just about, " said Jesse, and continued: "Just-okay! Okay, I'm clear!"I looked at Quint, who was still lighting. "All right, forget it, let 'em go ."He moved the lighter from one fuse to the next. "Hold on, " he said, "just hold on ."At which we could only watch, rocking on our feet, hopping up and down, until he lit the last fuse and jumped down from the bucket. And then we were hustling-double-timing it, as they say-up the stairs and out of the diner, where not a single predator could be seen. Then we were scrambling for our bikes; our pinto horses of plastic and steel; which gleamed like salvation even as the long-fused rockets began to explode and the Nano-As, active but in hiding, began to whimper and howl. That's when I knew it; when I could feel it in my bones. That we'd passed our first test; survived our baptism by fire. That's when I knew that our journey would be complete-as we sat on our bikes with our spears canted at our backs (like the bows of Indian braves, I fancied) and, having returned the Talon to its canister, watched the last of the fireworks as they burst and boomed above. Watched, brooding, as they turned the sky first white then green then blue, and finally, a deep, lingering red, after which, taking a cue from our fellow animals, we began to howl ourselves.

Livres