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:"In the Forests of the Night" by Wayne Kyle Spitzer"The Devil's Playground" by Kurt Newton"Death Before Birth" by James Harper"People of the Land" by Alistair Rey"A Whisperer Among the Graves, Prt. 2" by Bill Link

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction | March, 2022 | No. 2 - Dark Horses Magazine, #2

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

"Take the fatal shot, " said Horseshoe. He must have laid down his rifle because I remember him helping to steady my own. "Easy now, you'll own this forever-" I stared the thing in the eye and squeezed the trigger. It threw back its head, rising up. It gasped for breath, spitting more blood. It barked at the sky. Then it fell, head thumping against the deck. Its serpentine neck slumped. The rest of its blood spread over the boards and rolled around our boots and flowed between the planks. I was the first to step forward, looking down at the thing through drifting smoke. Its remaining eye seemed to look right back. I got down on my knees to look closer. The thing exhaled, causing the breathing holes at the top of its head, behind its eyes, to bubble. I waited for it to inhale, staring into its eye-I could see myself there as well as the others, could see the sky and the scattered clouds. The whole world seemed contained in that moist little ball. Then the eye rolled around white-it shrunk, drying, and the thing's neck constricted. And it died. Horseshoe slapped my back, massaged my neck. "How's it feel, little buddy?"But I didn't know what I felt. I could only stare at the eye, now empty.

Seven Tales of Blood and Beauty

First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Dinosaur Apocalypse . How did it all begin? Well, 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 Lost Country. From "Mesozoic Knights": I unsheathed Blood Zephyr and gave her a heft-relishing the touch and feel of her (even if it was steel on steel); appreciating her weight and balance. "No, Black Duncan. It is not possible. The Quest must not be surrendered-not for you or for anyone. You know that." "And again, I ask: Why? Why, when everything a man could possibly want exists right here, now, and in such great plentitude? Bah. This shard and purity nonsense . it's just that-nonsense. Why pursue it?" I watched as Mortigen drew his own blade and paused to admire it, as I had done. "What would you prefer?" I snapped. "To live as prisoners? To wither away in this very cell but for the chance at some sexual gratification?" Black Duncan guffawed. "They're not going to keep us here. Eve told me herself. It's only until they get to know us. Regardless, I think I should tell you, that, that ." He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, as though having made up his mind at last. "That I'm staying. That, indeed, I did lay with my progen-my progen-" "Your progenitrix, " I said, curtly. "His hooker, he means, " quipped Mortigen. Black Duncan shot him a glance-one I wouldn't want directed at me. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. No; she was skilled in the art of love, it's true-but she was no prostitute. None of them are. What happened between us was genuine. It was real." He looked at me almost pleadingly. "Don't you see, Galaren, it was real. It wasn't like Ambergard-or Craxis-or the way we talk-or any of this other faux bullshit we've immersed ourselves in. No. This was nature, this was truth-real nature, not some phantasmagoria dreamed up by-by Them, " He nodded toward the ceiling and the sky. "Like the bees we saw coming in. They are trying to build something here, Galaren; something based on reality, not fantasy. Something authentic. And I'm not simply going to walk away from that. I mean, surely you can understand-" "What I understand is that we're getting out of here, " I said. "And that the test of virtue will be met. And what I suggest just now is that you-" "Your test of virtue, Galaren. Your test. I'm not leaving. I'll help you escape, but I'm not going to-" "Shh, " said Mortigen. "Someone's coming."

The Lost Country, Episode Five: "Mesozoic Knights" - The Lost Country, #5

Dark, nuanced, and sometimes twisted dinosaur stories for adults ... From Terrible Lizards:"Don't thing I haven't noticed it, " she said, slurring slightly, and added, "I see the way you look at me."I uncorked the bottle and filled my glass. "You're a very beautiful woman, " I said-and sat the bottle between us-too hard, I think. "And a talented one. What would you expect?" I watched as she shimmied and did a little pirouette. "And I'm enjoying the conversation-more than you could know. You move beautifully, by the way. Like a cat."And then she attempted to spin again but only stumbled suddenly and fell smack into my arms; at which we just looked at each other, she with her boozy, breezy smile and me with an apparent moral dilemma: i.e., should I make a pass at her, like I wanted to, or should I just put her into bed and tuck her away safe (as though she were a simpleton, perhaps, or even a child) like, say, John-Boy Walton might. A dilemma I answered by taking her head in my hands and kissing her-heatedly, hot-bloodedly, restlessly-what a friend of mine used to call a "come fuck me" kiss; because she was no child. And I was no John-Boy. And then we went to her room and lay together; drunkenly, sloppily, unspectacularly, and after a while, I dreamed: of lightning permeating everything and rain pounding the roof like nails, like hail; of wives and friends and girlfriends and my father-most of whom I hadn't seen in years; of small, predatory dinosaurs, deinonychuses, with dark skin and wet backs-who held vigil around our bed like cultists, like priests, and who trilled, softly, faintly, as though they were meditating. As though they were communing.

Terrible Lizards

As it never had before the Flashback, the supermarket slept, mostly. Although its exterior was covered with creeper vines and mossy growths, its interior remained remarkably unchanged-even its power continued to hum. Still, the long lights that hung suspended over its aisles had largely gone dead; and of those that remained live, many had begun to flicker and fail. No humans walked the once-polished floors of the Ozark Food and Drug Supercenter, nor did they crowd the expansive front lot where they had once competed-sometimes violently-for parking space. And yet, from the markings on the signboards and multitudes of packages to the Christmas music drifting like fog up and down the aisles, their presence remained.

Flashback Dawn

Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same--for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse. 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.* * *"You're a fool, Nick Callahan. A fool. But I suppose you already knew that." I allowed my hand to drop before plunking down in the fir needles and just staring into space. "There was nothing. I saw nothing. It-it was like he didn't even exist." She sat down next to me and exhaled, tiredly. "He's an animal-what did you expect?" She picked up my glove and offered it to me, but I didn't take it. "You said it yourself; it's like they see memories. The eyes. I don't imagine a dog has a particularly long one. Do you?" I sighed. All I knew for certain was that I felt numb and more than a little tired. "I don't know. I don't know what I expected. Or what I was looking for. An incident, maybe. Some kind of clue." She laid her head on my shoulder and stared at nothing, same as me. "What kind? A clue to what?" "That's just it-I don't know. A clue to what might wake him up, I guess. Something I could say. Something that was important to him." "His butt was important to him, " she said. "A source of endless fascination." I had to smile. That's when it happened. That's when he yelped, ever so slightly, and his paw twitched. I looked at Lisa and she looked back. And then my hand was on him and we were running-Puck and I-down cobblestone lanes lined with streetlamps and through pools of foggy light; through tides of rusted Maple leaves, which leapt and swirled as we passed. "What is it?" I heard Lisa say, her voice growing smaller, more distant. "What do you see?" I turned to look at Puck as we ran and saw his tongue loll and his eyes shift-as though he wanted to look behind himself-behind us-but didn't dare. "Fear, " I said. "Confusion." An image entered my mind of a dug passage beneath the rear wall of the T. J. Maxx; of the turkey-like thing crawling through it with Puck hot on its heels. "He escaped from beneath the wall and now he's lost somewhere in the fog. And he's terrified . but of what I don't know. It's almost like-wait a minute. Wait a minute." I looked behind him-having heard something huffing and snorting-and saw a fully-grown therapod dinosaur (colored orange and black, like a Gila monster) bounding after us in the dark, gaining rapidly. "There's something coming-some kind of predator. An allosaur, I think. Whatever it is, it's closing, and I mean fast."

A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, Episode Seven: "'Dog' is a Palindrome" - A Survivor's Guide to the Dinosaur Apocalypse, #7

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:COBB'S CORNERJ. A. HeathTHE COLDEST RIDE IN THE DEAD OF WINTERMike SharlowGONEJosh EureJON CARVER OF BARZOON, YOU MISUNDERSTOODGraham J. DarlingWHITE OF THE EYESWayne Kyle SpitzerLONDON GHOSTSLev RaphaelHE'S STILL IN THE HOUSEPaul O'NeillTHE CUREMichael HarperTRINITY HOME FOR THE GIFTEDMichael VanceYOU SHOULDN'T READ THISAtticus Hogan

Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder No. 5 | November 2023 - Black Sheep Magazine, #5

Williams stared at him for what seemed a long time before finally appearing to relent."Okay, " he said at last, and shrugged. "We'll try to build a raft .""Now you're talking!" said Sammy. He shot a sidelong glance at Sheila. "He's talking now, am I right?"Sheila began to nod and smile in a flood of relief. And then a gunshot rang out and everyone jumped-and when the smoke had cleared Williams was standing with his rifle raised, although he lowered it quickly to prevent further alarm. Sammy, meanwhile, lifted his wildly trembling gun hand and merely looked at it, for Williams had shot the weapon clean from his grasp."I'm sorry, too, " said Williams. "Now here's what I want you to do ."

Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction | March, 2022 | No. 2 - Dark Horses Magazine, #2

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