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:NIGHT VISIONBrad PetitPINK ON PINKMary Jo RabeREQUIEM FOR A GOBLINLamont A. TurnerTHE FIFTH STAGE OF GRIEFCedrick MayTHE MARINERJennifer WalkerTHE MEN WITH GREEN FACESChristian RileyTHIS IS NOT MY BUTTERFLYJoseph HirschTONS-AWAYJudith PancoastTRIBUTESWilliam CurnowBURNWayne Kyle Spitzer

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 12 - Dark Horses Magazine, #12

The race is on to get out of post-apocalypse New York in an all-new Flashback thriller. 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, 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. From The Ghosts in Their Boroughs:She loosed her hair and shook her head, allowing the locks to spill down her shoulder-and I zoomed in on them to get a focus."Do I look any different?" she hollered."Yeah . you shine."Which she did, like a candelabra, as the lights reflected off her hair, her skin, her beaded jacket. As the music played and she reached for the brass ring-and got it. As she circled and laughed and gripped the pole and the camera went click, click, click. That's when I saw them; or thought I did. The shapes. Gathered beyond the farthest poles (I'd zoomed up on the opposite side whilst waiting for her to come back around); gathered like outsized crows. That's when I focused through and saw their eyes; their awful, red, vertically slit eyes, before dropping the camera and unslinging my rifle-pointing it directly at them . and finding them gone. That's when I realized that I was starting to lose it-to slip, as the writer Hugo Eagleton once said. That the terror and uncertainty of what had happened-the sky, the missing people, the remaining people who seemed intent on burning the city down-had affected me more than I realized. Sylvia, for her part, only looked at me like I was insane. And I would have agreed with her; had I not looked behind her and saw them again. Had I not seen with my own eyes their black bodies and crimson snouts as they weaved between horses and slowly closed the gap; as they stalked her like panthers and the carousel went around, the music like a carnival, the horses rising and falling. As they closed to within about twelve feet of her and I fired-causing them to stop and to crouch and to look around-only to inch forward again as I resumed shooting (missing, it seemed, every time). Until there was an ear-piercing pulse which I recognized as coming from Madsen's sound cannon (he'd demonstrated it for us before we set out) and the animals scattered-even as Sylvia crouched and covered (from the excruciating noise) and I did the same; paralyzed, debilitated.

The Ghosts in Their Boroughs

Roadkill ... A funny thing happened to Roger and Savanna Aldiss on the Interstate--they hit a dinosaur. But that's nothing compared to what awaits them down the road. For something is at work to reverse time itself, something which makes the clouds boil, glowing with strange lights, and ancient trees to appear out of nowhere. Something against which Roger, Savanna, a motorcycle gang, and a handful of others will make their final stand. Prehistory lives as ferocious dinosaurs run amok! Science-fiction and horror fans (and especially B-movie lovers) will enjoy this gory, action-packed thriller in the tradition of Roger Corman and George Romero.

Flashback

Elton John once sang, "And all this science, I don't understand. It's just my job five days a week." That's how it is when you're a Crash Diver: you don't need to understand blue holes or how they differ from wormholes and black holes or what a mobius mirror does-only that it must work, every time-because, at the end of the day, that isn't your job. Your job is to be a guinea pig: to be shot into the vortex at near light speed and experience what effect blue hole-assisted mirror travel has on the human body and psyche. Your job is to penetrate to whatever depth they've set the mirror-and, if you're lucky, to enter that mirror and get bounced back. It hasn't always been like this. Before there was Zebra Station-with its luxurious gravity centrifuge and its row of black and yellow delta divers hanging like bats from the launch jib-there was Blue One, a sparsely-manned outpost which had sent the first human souls into the maw of the blue hole, men who had come back white-haired and emaciated, debilitated-mentally and physically-mad. The Crash Diver Program changed all that. From now on only specially-trained pilots would be sent into the Hole, pilots who had the benefit of the first men's experiences as well as spacecraft designed specifically for the task. A lot was learned in a very short time-one of these things was that men who entered the vortex experienced a series of hallucinations, or Dive Visions, in which they briefly felt they had become someone or something else: a soldier in the Holy Roman Army, say, or a person of the opposite sex. Some even purported to have become animals or alien lifeforms-it was the latter which had apparently driven the men of Blue One clinically insane.

Crash Dive

After breaking their sworn oaths in a fit of forbidden passion, a sacrificial bride (Shekalane) and her fearsome escort (the ferryman Dravidian) find themselves alone and on the run in the subterranean river-world of Ursathrax."Do you know what it is?" he said at last. She studied it, nodding slowly. "I think so. It's a doorway, of sorts. It's what awaits on the other side of death."Dravidian nodded. "It is what Montair speaks of. Not death-but transition. For what winks out in one place winks on in another, always." He stared at the fountain, his eyes seeming to dream. "If I were to step through that door ..." He turned to face her. "Would you come with me?"She looked at him longingly-at his fearsome mask-but hesitated. She trusted him, and yet, was this not how death would come? As a whispering seduction?"I don't know yet, " she said. There was a soft hiss as he depressed the pad at his temple and swung the mask around to his back, then moved his lips to within a few centimeters of her own and paused, breathing slowly, seeming to draw her own breaths from her. "But you would consider it .""But, Dravidian, where would we go? How would we survive?"He cupped her face in his hands. And though he was too close for her to see his face clearly, his beautiful eyes with their golden irises and Stygian pupils drew her in inexorably, like black holes with golden linings, if such a thing were even possible, and she whispered, "I would step through it ..."He took her in his arms and drew her slowly against him. "And would you find the strength within yourself to persevere even when the world turns its cold face against us?""Yes, " she rasped."Then run with me, Shekalane. To the end of Ursathrax and beyond ." And he gently but firmly locked his lips with her own.

Dead World: A Heroic Dark Fantasy Epic in the Horror/Macabre Tradition

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

"Ha! The flu. You should see 'em: pale and black-eyed as serpents, just lying there in the Rio Grande like zombies." She leaned toward him over the bar again and he caught a whiff of her fragrance, and there was a stirring in his groin he hadn't felt since, well, since he couldn't remember."What do you mean, like zombies?""I mean like zombies, like men who are dead but still walking, or lying there staring at the ceiling. See, something attacked us only a few weeks after the Flashback . something . new. At first everyone just assumed it was a rogue raptor, because it didn't have a pack-that was the first thing. But then it started talking, like a parrot, I suppose, saying things like 'Pig' and 'Eggsucker, '" She laughed her contagious laugh. "Can you imagine? A raptor calling you names as it attacked you? Deputies Creebald and Teller put up one hell of a fight, you can be sure, and they did eventually kill it, with Rimshaw's help, but all of them were wounded in the fight, and the deputies worst of all. After that, things started changing around here. At first it was just Creebald and Teller acting strangely, abusing their power, you might say, telling me not to forget to paint on my mole, or insisting Doc Allen wear that ridiculous little vest. But then Marshal Rimshaw started getting into the act, as well, and before any of us knew it we were living in a kind of police state. Decker was the only one who didn't pile on, which is funny, because he was the only one not wounded in the fight with the raptor. It all came to a head when Deputy Teller had his way with one of the saloon girls-Molly, was her name-after which there was a full-blown shootout between the Marshal and his deputies-not Decker, he tried to maintain the peace-and the rest of the town." She unscrewed the cap from a bottle of beer and took a swig, then concealed it behind the bar. "You didn't see that. Anyway, the town didn't fair so well, and now there's a row of graves out by Serpent's Butte." She paused, locking her beautiful brown eyes up in his own. "They were good men, Williams. The best I've ever known. And now they're just as dead as that raptor." She snapped the bar towel in her hands and then wiped the counter. "And that's why we all talk and dress this way." She indicated his empty glass. "You want another?""Sure, " he said. She pulled one from the wall and unscrewed its cap, sat it down in front of him. At last she said, "So what about you? What's your story? And how did you come to be travelling with an armored dinosaur?"

Tales from the Flashback: "The Ank Williams Story" - Tales from the Flashback, #4

There is a byway between reality and dream. A transit we call Möbius Blvd .Inspired by the enigmatic Möbius strip, a mathematical construct that defies conventional notions of linearity and infinity, Möbius Blvd has no beginning or end but exists in a place where reality and dream have fused . coalesced . merged. With each turn of the page, you'll encounter a unique blend of horror, fantasy, and science-fiction-fiction that will challenge your perceptions and leave you in awe of the infinite possibilities that exist within the written word. Indeed, Möbius Blvd is far more than a magazine; it's an experience. It's an exploration of the infinite, a passage through dimensions where the only constant is storytelling at its most daring, a kaleidoscope of wonder and terror. Join us on this winding, never-ending journey of speculative fiction that will keep you entranced from the first twist to the last loop. Open your mind to the limitless worlds of Möbius Blvd . and discover that the boundary between fiction and reality is as thin as a strip of paper with a twist. In this issue:SETTJon GluckmanWHERE THE TALL CORN GROWSMary Jo RabeDRAG MARKSRutger MiddelburgLAST SUPPERPatrick CrerandFLASHBACK DAWNWayne Kyle SpitzerLONGEVITYVivian DoolittleMESSAGE IN A BOTTLECharmaine ArjoonlalA SPECIAL GAMETroy Ernest HillKILL THE FINNISH WOLFRobb T. WhiteHOLLY WOODS MAGIC: GARDEN GNOME DAYRoss Kimble

Mobius Blvd: Stories from the Byway Between Reality and Dream No. 4 | February 2024 - Mobius Blvd: Stories from the Byway Between Reality and Dream, #4

Welcome to Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder, an extraordinary anthology magazine that transcends the boundaries of science-fiction, fantasy, and horror. Prepare to embark on a thrilling journey through the darkest corners of the human imagination, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the mundane transforms into a realm of unspeakable terror and awe-inspiring wonder. Within these pages, you'll discover a collection of captivating stories carefully curated to transport you to realms beyond the mundane. Each issue presents an array of unique tales crafted by talented visionaries, both established and emerging, who dare to defy conventions and push the boundaries of speculative fiction. Whether you're a seasoned lover of the fantastic or just curious to explore new frontiers, Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder will be your guide through the realms of the extraordinary. Prepare to be enthralled, enchanted, haunted. So put on your dark sunglasses . and unleash your inner Black Sheep. In this issue:WILD TRUTHSeptember Woods GarlandBEAUTY QUEENGeoffrey MarshallDROWNED STONEOliver FostenNIGHTMARE IS A CARNIVEROUS HORSENemo AratorTHE LIMITS OF RESOURCE ALLOCATIONFrancesco LevatoMESOZOIC KNIGHTSWayne Kyle SpitzerMIRACLE OF DEATHDouglas KolackiPLANET CLAIREScotty MilderTHE FIBONACCI HORRORRoddy NavarroVAMPIRE ZENDOJohn Wesick

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction No. 12 - Dark Horses Magazine, #12

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