http://www.lightspeedmagazine.com/itunes-rss/ Nightmare Magazine » Nightmare Magazine - Horror & Dark Fantasy http://www.nightmare-magazine.com Horror & Dark Fantasy Thu, 23 Apr 2015 14:56:33 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=4.1.3 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=4.1.3 Horror & Dark Fantasy Nightmare Magazine no Horror & Dark Fantasy Nightmare Magazine » Nightmare Magazine - Horror & Dark Fantasy http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/wp-content/plugins/powerpress/rss_default.jpg http://www.nightmare-magazine.com Interview: Richard Chizmar http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-richard-chizmar/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-richard-chizmar/#comments Wed, 22 Apr 2015 10:05:14 +0000 Lisa Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10891 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-richard-chizmar/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Nancy Kilpatrick http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-nancy-kilpatrick/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-nancy-kilpatrick/#comments Wed, 22 Apr 2015 10:02:29 +0000 Sandra Odell http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10871 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-nancy-kilpatrick/feed/ 0 The Age of Sorrow http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-age-of-sorrow/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-age-of-sorrow/#comments Wed, 22 Apr 2015 10:01:30 +0000 Nancy Kilpatrick http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10879 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-age-of-sorrow/feed/ 0 Artist Showcase: Dariusz Zawadzki http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-dariusz-zawadzki/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-dariusz-zawadzki/#comments Wed, 15 Apr 2015 10:05:35 +0000 Marina J. Lostetter http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10884 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-dariusz-zawadzki/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Charles Payseur http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-charles-payseur/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-charles-payseur/#comments Wed, 15 Apr 2015 10:02:27 +0000 Jude Griffin http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10870 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-charles-payseur/feed/ 0 Spring Thaw http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/spring-thaw/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/spring-thaw/#comments Wed, 15 Apr 2015 10:01:27 +0000 Charles Payseur http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10878 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/spring-thaw/feed/ 0 When Lucas walked in and nodded toward the Ice Bus, I thought for a fleeting moment he was finally going to make a move. Not that there was much of a dating scene in the small research station, but sometimes I would walk a short way away from camp and ... When Lucas walked in and nodded toward the Ice Bus, I thought for a fleeting moment he was finally going to make a move. Not that there was much of a dating scene in the small research station, but sometimes I would walk a short way away from camp and lie on my back and watch the stars and imagine that I could feel the Antarctic ice streams moving beneath me. And every time I would wish someone else was there with me, to let the sound of their breathing tether me to the Earth while my mind wandered among the distant lights. “We have to go,” he said, voice official, and I sighed and nodded, got my gear and trundled out through the snow to the six-wheeled vehicle we used to get around. We had been waiting at camp for weeks, taking measurements and hoping for some sign that the Pine Island Glacier was getting ready to move. “A flyover sighted something in the snow,” Lucas said as he climbed in shotgun, “to the west and south of here, only a few miles.” I nodded and got us moving, my skills as a driver the only reason I was here anyway, the only reason Lucas had me along on his research mission, though I had hoped, ever since we met in Florida a year earlier, that it might mean something else as well. We had both been at a convention about the danger of warming polar ice, the prospect that the Keys and the Everglades and much of Florida were facing the very real possibility of erasure. He was there as a speaker, young and polished in his dark suit, and I had been there as the guest of another friend, who introduced us because Lucas had been looking for a driver willing to take on the Antarctic snows. We hadn’t moved very far west or south since setting up camp; the ice was growing dangerous there and we had been advised countless times to keep clear of the more active ice streams. With the warming trends, even gentle disturbances could be catastrophic, and we didn’t want to be the ones that kicked the glacier screaming into the sea. But we were also obligated to track down every sighting from the air, to investigate in case it was someone in trouble, lost by the blinding white of the bottom of the world. • • • • I remember my first winter in the snow, moved up to Wausau, Wisconsin at age seven by my father to find work. I don’t remember much of Florida before that, just the sun and heat and a storm or two, the vague sound of my mother laughing. But Wisconsin was another world, a barren waste, completely white, from the snow to the people, and I, half-Cuban southern boy with something of my mother’s accent, didn’t fit in. My father found work driving tow, everything from cars and trucks to snowmobiles and trailers; in the winter he made good money hauling ice fishing shacks out onto the frozen lakes. I would go with, would sit huddled against my father’s leg in the truck, sure that I could hear the ice cracking beneath us. He would tell me then, “Ice is one of the strongest things in the world. You treat it with respect, and the ice will never let you through.” I remember that it snowed over eighty inches that winter, that I thought the world was ending, that it would never stop snowing, that it was like Noah and the ark, only with snow so that God wouldn’t be lying when He said He’d never try the same thing twice. • • • • “Just a bit further to the west,” Lucas said, checking the coordinates he had been given by the aircraft. I nodded and found a safe path. “You think it has something to do with the thaw?” I asked. For weeks I had been asking small questions, trying to piece together all of Lucas’ thoughts and theories. He was brilliant, driven, had been awarded grant after grant from the IPCC, the British Antarctic Survey, SCAR; the last always made me draw a hand to my shoulder without thinking and then quickly pull it away. “Could be anything,” Lucas said, as usual not wanting to commit to anything that he hadn’t seen, that he hadn’t made his own mind up about. “Might just be some dark ash. Nightmare Magazine no 28:04 The H Word: Dropping the Vial http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-dropping-the-vial/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-dropping-the-vial/#comments Wed, 08 Apr 2015 10:05:12 +0000 Seanan McGuire http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10890 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-dropping-the-vial/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Usman T. Malik http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-usman-t-malik/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-usman-t-malik/#comments Wed, 08 Apr 2015 10:02:25 +0000 Erika Holt http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10869 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-usman-t-malik/feed/ 0 Ishq http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/ishq/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/ishq/#comments Wed, 08 Apr 2015 10:01:26 +0000 Usman T. Malik http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10877 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/ishq/feed/ 0 Editorial, April 2015 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-april-2015/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-april-2015/#comments Wed, 01 Apr 2015 10:05:09 +0000 John Joseph Adams http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10889 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-april-2015/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Desirina Boskovich http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-desirina-boskovich-3/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-desirina-boskovich-3/#comments Wed, 01 Apr 2015 10:02:22 +0000 Erika Holt http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10868 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-desirina-boskovich-3/feed/ 0 The Island http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-island/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-island/#comments Wed, 01 Apr 2015 10:01:23 +0000 Desirina Boskovich http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10876 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-island/feed/ 0 I was five when we moved to the island. Mommy and Daddy knew that the end was near. There were harbingers, omens, and dire events: poisoned apples, collapsing buildings, broken sidewalks, and the ever-present idiot boxes, I was five when we moved to the island. Mommy and Daddy knew that the end was near. There were harbingers, omens, and dire events: poisoned apples, collapsing buildings, broken sidewalks, and the ever-present idiot boxes, a parade of heathens that prayed in tongues. A riot over papayas and saddle shoes broke out in the fifth quarter, and half the city burned. In a far-off desert, our soldiers fought the sand worms; we sent them care packages, stuffed with candy and thick socks. A wicked witch built a palace made from shoes; when they dug her out with the business end of a stiletto heel, they found she’d been orchestrating the fate of the world from behind an emerald curtain. When the curtain fell, it all fell apart; there was nothing left but darkness and ennui. Then a hole tore itself in the ozone, and crazy dust fell through — whomever it touched lost the power of speech. The earth rent her garments, and a jagged satellite of land mass broke off the coast and floated away. I was five when we moved to the island. My sister Thea was three. We loaded our lives into a tiny ship and set sail. We sailed the seven seas; we sailed for forty days and forty nights. We were tossed by strange creatures: eight-legged squid with suction-cup fingers, and city-sized whales with flapping tails. Grinning dolphins swam in our wake, leaping to say hello. Mommy and Daddy sat on the deck and played cards, talking about the life we’d build when we reached land. Thea and I sat at their feet. They told us stories about everything we’d escaped in The Outside World, everything scary that lay far away. Now we’d always be safe. On the forty-first day, the island peeked its head over the calm blue line of the horizon: an uninhabited jewel no more than a couple miles across, covered with sloping hills, lush forests, sandy beaches, strange flowers. A jutting cliff led down to a bed of rocks where the sea foamed and leaped. A fresh water spring trickled from the island’s obsidian heart, turning into a creek that ran toward the sea. We called the island Treasure. We were home. • • • • We dismantled the ship and built a house. We planted crops in the lush glades, and searched the island for things that were good to eat: luscious fruits, speckled mushrooms, hearty nuts, savory turtle’s meat, and smooth seagull’s eggs. Wild sheep roamed the island; we caught them, corralled them, sheared their wool, slaughtered their rams, and drank their mothers’ milk. We slept on beds made from grass. On the radio, we listened to the events of The Outside World: a spreading epidemic that turned its victims pink before they dissolved into dust and floated away. A suicide cult that tattooed its members with sinister symbols in languages we’d inherited from foreign stars. “Turn off the radio,” Mommy said. “Turn off that silliness.” So we did, and she gave us chores. My brother Rock was born. Rock belonged to the island; he’d never known another home. Whether under sunny blue skies or torrential summer rain, he thrived. He grew so fast it was uncanny. From the beginning, he followed Daddy everywhere. Together, they figured out how to catch the biggest fish, how to fell the widest tree, how to build the hottest fire that would keep us warm all night. Thea and I wanted to go on forest expeditions, too. We wanted to capture the wriggling, rainbow-skinned gods that breathed their last on the beach. But Mommy needed us at home. We washed our clothes in the creek and beat them clean on the flat rocks. We sheared the sheep and spun the wool into thread and knitted it into cloth. We cooked fish and turtle legs together in stews that steamed and bubbled all day, seasoned with wild herbs. My brother Leaf was born. He was a weird baby; the island was in his blood. He never laughed and never cried. He only surveyed his family with a placid contentment, as if to say, “I am here, you are here, everything is fine.” He would only eat fruit. As he grew, he tagged along with Rock, Nightmare Magazine no 45:38 Feature Interview: Helen Marshall http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/feature-interview-helen-marshall/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/feature-interview-helen-marshall/#comments Wed, 25 Mar 2015 10:05:30 +0000 Kelly Link http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10768 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/feature-interview-helen-marshall/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Lynda E. Rucker http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lynda-e-rucker-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lynda-e-rucker-2/#comments Wed, 25 Mar 2015 10:02:19 +0000 Erika Holt http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10757 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lynda-e-rucker-2/feed/ 0 The Burned House http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-burned-house/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-burned-house/#comments Wed, 25 Mar 2015 10:01:58 +0000 Lynda E. Rucker http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10775 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-burned-house/feed/ 0 ARTIST SHOWCASE: Robert Emerson http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-robert-emerson/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-robert-emerson/#comments Wed, 18 Mar 2015 10:05:28 +0000 Marina J. Lostetter http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10762 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-robert-emerson/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Caspian Gray http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-caspian-gray-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-caspian-gray-2/#comments Wed, 18 Mar 2015 10:02:17 +0000 Sandra Odell http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10756 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-caspian-gray-2/feed/ 0 An Army of Angels http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/an-army-of-angels/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/an-army-of-angels/#comments Wed, 18 Mar 2015 10:01:56 +0000 Caspian Gray http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10774 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/an-army-of-angels/feed/ 0 “I have something I want to show you,” said Nancy. She stared at Jazmine from Jazmine’s front porch, wet and bedraggled. Nancy was a petite white woman with long hair the way teenage boys had long hair: tangled and perpetually in need of a good shampoo. “I have something I want to show you,” said Nancy. She stared at Jazmine from Jazmine’s front porch, wet and bedraggled. Nancy was a petite white woman with long hair the way teenage boys had long hair: tangled and perpetually in need of a good shampoo. Jazmine sighed and reached out to rest her hand on Nancy’s shoulder, then pulled back. They weren’t sixteen anymore, and that kind of intimacy was as unwelcome as Nancy showing up on her doorstep at eleven p.m., earnest and strange. Jazmine sighed again, louder. “Are you off your medication again?” “No.” Nancy snapped the word out, made it into shrapnel. “Okay, then,” said Jazmine. “Okay. You can come in.” She took a towel out of the guest bathroom and offered it to Nancy, who took off her shoes and placed them neatly next to the door, then stood dripping on the carpet. Jazmine filled her coffee maker with water, then put a few bags of açaí berry tea into the filter basket and turned it on. Nancy half-heartedly tousled her hair with the towel. They stood listening to the burble of the coffee maker and the quiet tap of rain against the window. “Well?” Jazmine asked finally. “What do you want to show me?” “It’s not here.” Nancy looked down at her feet. Jazmine noticed that one of her socks was white, the other neon pink. “You have to come over to my place.” “Really.” Jazmine took two mugs out and put them on the counter. “You walked all the way over here at eleven at night, in the rain, to tell me I need to come over to your place. You couldn’t have called?” “My phone died.” Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know where the charger is. Anyway it’s not that far. And I figured that once I got here you’d drive us back to my place. I know you don’t like the rain as much as I do.” Jazmine tapped her fingernails against the counter. “Nobody likes the rain, Nance,” she said. “Not in the middle of November, when it’s freezing out.” Nancy stared at her, blinking slowly. It was hard for Jazmine to reconcile the Nancy in her living room with the memory of Nancy in high school, the too-cool, too-loud chick full of weird ideas, without ever noticing how weird they were. Even now, Jazmine sometimes missed that girl. “So,” said Nancy. “Are you gonna come with me? I can just walk back if you don’t want to.” For a moment, Jazmine considered letting her do just that. She could drink tea by herself, read a little bit before bed, and congratulate herself on, just this once, not being the good guy. But it was cold out, and Nancy was already soaking wet. “Okay,” she said. “But let’s wait for the tea to finish. I’ll put it in a couple of thermoses. Did you even bring an umbrella?” “I had an umbrella. But I lost it a couple weeks ago, I think at the comic book store. Normally the guys there are real good about making sure I don’t forget things.” “Mh,” said Jazmine. “What titles did you pick up?” She let Nancy yammer about comic books while she poured them tea, got another towel for Nancy to sit on in the passenger seat, and poked around for an extra umbrella. Some of the superhero names she recognized from her own brief foray into geekdom, but much of it was incomprehensible. She would have needed subtitles, or at least footnotes, to follow her friend. Jazmine followed her out to the car, still talking. She was more animated when she discussed comic books, more willing to look people in the eye, or at least enough in the face that it looked like normal eye contact. Nancy quieted on the ride back to her apartment, and fell totally silent in the parking lot. “You know what?” she said suddenly, voice shrill. “Never mind. I don’t have anything to show you. Thanksfortheride.” She opened the door and hopped out while Jazmine was still parking, leaving Jazmine’s umbrella but taking one of the thermoses with her. “Nance?” Jazmine called. “Nance!” Nancy didn’t pause, and Jazmine rolled down her window. “I would’ve just given you a ride!” she yelled. Nightmare Magazine no 41:12 The H Word: Zombies–They’re Not Just for Breakfast Anymore http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-zombies-theyre-not-just-for-breakfast-anymore/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-zombies-theyre-not-just-for-breakfast-anymore/#comments Wed, 11 Mar 2015 10:05:25 +0000 S.G. Browne http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10767 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/the-h-word-zombies-theyre-not-just-for-breakfast-anymore/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Robert Shearman http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-robert-shearman/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-robert-shearman/#comments Wed, 11 Mar 2015 10:02:33 +0000 Kevin McNeil http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10755 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-robert-shearman/feed/ 0 Featherweight http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/featherweight/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/featherweight/#comments Wed, 11 Mar 2015 10:01:54 +0000 Robert Shearman http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10773 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/featherweight/feed/ 0 Editorial, March 2015 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-march-2015/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-march-2015/#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2015 11:05:24 +0000 John Joseph Adams http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10766 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-march-2015/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Chesya Burke http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-chesya-burke-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-chesya-burke-2/#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2015 11:02:12 +0000 Lisa Nohealani Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10754 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-chesya-burke-2/feed/ 0 Please, Momma http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/please-momma/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/please-momma/#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2015 11:01:52 +0000 Chesya Burke http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10772 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/please-momma/feed/ 0 Cars never bounce around the way they make them appear in the movies. No, instead they glide, more like the lull of a boat on stale waters. And they’re just as loud as the boat’s engine, even with the windows rolled up there are always loud swooshing n... 1989 In the car. On the way to see Her. She scares us. They say . . . Why do you always do that? I hate when you do that. Do what? Narrate our story. Where we’re going. What we’re doing. You know I can hear you. I hate it so much. But... Nightmare Magazine no 32:36 Interview: Chuck Palahniuk http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-chuck-palahniuk/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-chuck-palahniuk/#comments Wed, 25 Feb 2015 11:05:10 +0000 Lisa Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10558 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-chuck-palahniuk/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Brian Evenson http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-brian-evenson/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-brian-evenson/#comments Wed, 25 Feb 2015 11:02:02 +0000 Lisa Nohealani Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10546 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-brian-evenson/feed/ 0 Cult http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/cult/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/cult/#comments Wed, 25 Feb 2015 11:01:20 +0000 Brian Evenson http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10566 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/cult/feed/ 0 Artist Showcase: Johnny Dombrowski http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-johnny-dombrowski/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-johnny-dombrowski/#comments Wed, 18 Feb 2015 11:05:02 +0000 Marina J. Lostetter http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10551 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-johnny-dombrowski/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Carmen Maria Machado http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-carmen-maria-machado/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-carmen-maria-machado/#comments Wed, 18 Feb 2015 11:02:00 +0000 Caroline Ratajski http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10545 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-carmen-maria-machado/feed/ 0 Descent http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/descent/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/descent/#comments Wed, 18 Feb 2015 11:01:19 +0000 Carmen Maria Machado http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10565 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/descent/feed/ 0 We gathered for the last time in October, under the pretense of discussing a novel that was currently bobbing along in the zeitgeist like a rubber duck at sea. It was unusually cold for October — the summer season had lasted long and hard and then drop... We gathered for the last time in October, under the pretense of discussing a novel that was currently bobbing along in the zeitgeist like a rubber duck at sea. It was unusually cold for October — the summer season had lasted long and hard and then dropped precipitously in a matter of days. Now we came bundled to Luna’s house, sweaters beneath jackets and dishes in chapped hands and the novel tucked into our armpits. Luna’s house was oddly tall and narrow, set back from the street in a way that seemed appropriate for Luna herself. Reserved. As the sun had already dropped away, the entire house was swallowed in shadow, and could only be identified by a pre-arranged marker — a red balloon tied to a wrought-iron railing, whipping around in the breeze like an angry dog tied to a tree, straining and strangling in its collar. The street, though I knew it to be residential, and full of families, seemed deserted, except for a car door that opened halfway down the block. Diane and I both came to the base of the stone steps at the same time. Approaching, she had appeared to be a tall, slender man, but now I recognized her. She gestured with her casserole dish, which steamed in the gloaming. “After you,” she said, and we mounted the steps into the darkness. • • • • Luna’s girlfriend, whose name I did not know, answered the door. She was rosy-cheeked with good cheer, and the house glowed with contentment behind her. She invited us in. We were the last to arrive; the others were already in their cups, in their chairs, and arguing about the novel’s finale. “It dangles,” Janet was saying. “I can’t abide endings that dangle.” Luna laughed stiffly. Irritation snaked through her low, musical voice like a virus. “You can pick the next book,” she said. She opened the novel, shuffled through the pages as though searching for something, and then shut the back cover. She reached her hand out and her girlfriend placed a glass of red wine into it before heading to the kitchen. The living room was gorgeous, an eclectic blend of dark wood and strange artifacts: religious iconography, taxidermied animals, art deco prints, needlepoint. The whole place looked like a tastefully decorated curio shop. Piano notes drifted hazily from a small set of speakers. A preserved crocodile head, no larger than my hand, rested on a bookshelf. I pressed my finger into the teeth of its open mouth. “Welcome!” Luna said, and I jerked away. Diane and I set our contributions on the table and poured ourselves drinks. The tumbler of bourbon was weighty in my hand, and I sat and scratched their cocker spaniel behind his soft ears as the day’s events blurred. In the kitchen, Diane spoke to Luna’s girlfriend, and I heard snatches of words — “sleep,” “nothing,” and “cold” — through the softness. After a while they joined us, and there we were, in our circle, white ceramic plates balanced on our knees and the novel unopened at our feet. There was Luna, hostess and teacher at a local private girl’s high school; her girlfriend, whose name I had not yet caught but it was now too late to inquire without embarrassment; Diane, whose gamine features contrasted oddly with the wine cooler in her hand; Janet, the youngest of the group at thirty-five, and apparently a neighbor from around the corner; and myself. The cocker spaniel walked into the middle of our circle, worried his paw over an invisible spot on the floor, and then curled up in a ball. Janet picked up her copy of the novel and gestured toward its cover, with its red and black and white, its serif text. “Shall we begin?” she asked. No one answered. We squeaked forks across their plates. Throats rippled with long sips. The wind had that late-autumn quality that, if you closed your eyes, suggested a great, stripped tundra in the furthest reaches of the world, and not a Philadelphia suburb at all. The branches of the trees that surrounded the house rustled and tapped on the windows. Nightmare Magazine no 26:58 The H Word: Dissonance and Horror http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-dissonance-horror/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-dissonance-horror/#comments Wed, 11 Feb 2015 11:05:08 +0000 Helen Marshall http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10557 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-dissonance-horror/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Halli Villegas http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-halli-villegas/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-halli-villegas/#comments Wed, 11 Feb 2015 11:02:58 +0000 Erika Holt http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10544 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-halli-villegas/feed/ 0 Fishfly Season http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/fishfly-season/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/fishfly-season/#comments Wed, 11 Feb 2015 11:01:16 +0000 Halli Villegas http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10564 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/fishfly-season/feed/ 0 Editorial, February 2015 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-february-2015/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-february-2015/#comments Wed, 04 Feb 2015 11:05:05 +0000 John Joseph Adams http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10556 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-february-2015/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Karen Munro http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-karen-munro/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-karen-munro/#comments Wed, 04 Feb 2015 11:02:55 +0000 Sandra Odell http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10543 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-karen-munro/feed/ 0 The Garden http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/garden/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/garden/#comments Wed, 04 Feb 2015 11:01:14 +0000 Karen Munro http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10563 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/garden/feed/ 0 Waiting on the steps at Changdeokgung for my language study group, I watched a girl in a guide’s vest herding American tourists. She had full cheeks and a broad nose, vanishing eyebrows, sad eyes. It was summer, boiling hot. Waiting on the steps at Changdeokgung for my language study group, I watched a girl in a guide’s vest herding American tourists. She had full cheeks and a broad nose, vanishing eyebrows, sad eyes. It was summer, boiling hot. Her skin was sheened with sweat. As I watched, she slipped the wallet from an American man’s back pocket, extracted some bills, and put it back. In chipper English she called to them, “This way! This way please!” Leading them off, she looked at me and smiled. Her name was Sook-Joo. Mine, on loan: Hyo-Sonn. “A good and gentle daughter.” She laughed, and I shrugged. Really, my name was Darlene. “You’re waeguk-saram.” A foreigner. “Hoju-saram,” I corrected her. Australian. We stood in the shade of the palace walls, out of sight of the tourists and teachers. Sook-Joo dug something from her pocket and held it out. A neatly twisted joint. “We’ll be friends,” she said. “Hyo-Sonn and Sook-Joo.” “Darlene,” I corrected her, taking the joint with a smile. • • • • At the end of the year, I sent a letter to my mother, telling her I’d got a visa to teach English. She returned a postcard: “I’ll rent out the room then.” • • • • I was supposed to teach, but most of my time went to Sook-Joo. To long dim days in her tiny apartment with her two shiftless roommates, to boring waits at her dealer’s place, playing video games while she bought pills and pot. To drinking cheap beer and eating crummy udon, to sharing damp cigarettes of scraped-up tobacco ends. I didn’t mind. The first time she pulled up her hair she revealed a bold shaved stripe along the side of her head, and my knees went weak. She wore a black leather jacket, rolled cigarettes in her shirt sleeve, rode a motor scooter through traffic with incautious, un-Korean speed. She worked a dozen little part-time jobs, stole from them, ditched them, started over. She borrowed money from me and there was never any question that she’d pay it back. Sook-Joo loved drugs. Black hashish, Ritalin ground to a powder and mixed with lemon soju, peyote. Aerosols, poppers, esoteric crystalline substances. “What I go through to get this,” she’d say, brandishing a finger of foil or a plastic pill case. “Maybe in Canberra it’s easy, but here, forget it.” With a glint in her eye: “I can find stuff nobody else even knows about.” We liked to get high on the river bank, late at night after the families left and the food stands shut up. I thought nothing of it when, on a cold night in November, Sook-Joo held out a palmful of little brown chips. “Mushrooms?” I asked, doubtful. “They give me stomachache.” “These are special.” She poured the chips into my palm. “They grow in —” Then she said a word I didn’t understand. It sounded a bit like jeong-won, “garden.” I studied the chips. They looked ordinary, even dull. “They grow where?” Sook-Joo smiled, but she wouldn’t say any more. Obediently, I ate a single shred of mushroom. It tasted bad, like the smell of the mildewed newspapers my mother kept inside the storm windows, “to soak up the weather.” Sook-Joo ate a handful and lit a cigarette. We watched the Han slide past. There was a cold mist in the air. Above us, the Wonhyo Bridge rose like a vast stretching animal, reached out into the gray, then disappeared except for the blur of its lamps. “Will you go home?” Sook-Joo asked, startling me. “When your visa ends?” I hadn’t thought about it. But I guessed I’d have to. “Back to Canberra?” I pulled my hand free of hers. I was sweating, and my stomach hurt. “No.” “Then where?” “There are other places.” Sook-Joo plucked at her lip. “No there aren’t.” I thought of my mother’s house, gaunt and faded on our dead-end street. My mother herself, tall and dry, her skin yellowed like old paper around her eyes. Sook-Joo’s parents lived in Icheon, just outside the city. She was an only child, I knew, although I couldn’t remember her ever telling me. She never talked about her parents. Nightmare Magazine no 40:26 Interview: David Cronenberg http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-david-cronenberg/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-david-cronenberg/#comments Wed, 28 Jan 2015 11:05:39 +0000 The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10459 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-david-cronenberg/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Lucy Taylor http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lucy-taylor-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lucy-taylor-2/#comments Wed, 28 Jan 2015 11:02:31 +0000 Sandra Odell http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10441 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-lucy-taylor-2/feed/ 0 Blessed Be the Bound http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/blessed-bound/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/blessed-bound/#comments Wed, 28 Jan 2015 11:01:07 +0000 Lucy Taylor http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10468 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/blessed-bound/feed/ 0 Artist Showcase: Tran Nguyen http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-tran-nguyen-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-tran-nguyen-2/#comments Wed, 21 Jan 2015 11:05:33 +0000 Marina J. Lostetter http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10463 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/artist-showcase-tran-nguyen-2/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Christopher Barzak http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-christopher-barzak/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-christopher-barzak/#comments Wed, 21 Jan 2015 11:02:29 +0000 Lisa Nohealani Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10440 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-christopher-barzak/feed/ 0 The Trampling http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/trampling/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/trampling/#comments Wed, 21 Jan 2015 11:01:02 +0000 Christopher Barzak http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10467 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/trampling/feed/ 0 It starts with a small child — a girl of no more than eight or nine, with stringy blond hair and grease caked under her ragged fingernails — trotting down a street in a not so fashionable district of London. It’s 1886. It’s nearly three in the morning, It starts with a small child — a girl of no more than eight or nine, with stringy blond hair and grease caked under her ragged fingernails — trotting down a street in a not so fashionable district of London. It’s 1886. It’s nearly three in the morning, the night shrouded in fog. She’s barefoot and hungry, and back in the rooms she left just ten minutes ago, her parents have begun making up from the row they’ve just ended, a row that included a vast amount of cursing, thrown cutlery, and fisticuffs, leaving the girl’s mother with a great weal across her cheek and another across her forehead. The girl’s been sent for a doctor, who might stitch up the cuts. Her parents’ making-up will consist mainly of the girl’s father forcing himself into her mother, disregarding the tears in her eyes and the whimpering he mistakes for her pleasure, and in this way he will allow himself to believe that everything that came before that moment has been forgiven. The girl, as mentioned, is hungry. And also somewhat frightened by the goings-on back home, though over the years her fear of her father’s temper and her mother’s sharp tongue has waned. Little by little, the girl has come to see that, though one might easily and consistently be hurt in mind or body by living in the circumstances she’s been born to, one can survive if one keeps her wits about her. So when a fight breaks out, she knows to slip out the door and wait beneath the window ledge with the flowerless flower box sitting upon it, until the shouting and the tussling is finally over. Which is what she’s done. Then her father called her in and said, “Run and get the doctor.” Which is what she’s doing. Even this late at night, there are doctors of a certain type — apothecaries more than anything — that will waken and go to someone’s aid, even though the streets have almost emptied. Even this late at night, too, you can sometimes find a gentleman who may stop to give a barefoot urchin a coin, enough to buy a sweet from the shops in the morning if she can hide it long enough from her parents. And many gentlemen won’t even require her to sing a song or to perform a dance or to allow his hand to caress her for several moments. No, the ideal gentleman will simply press a coin into her hand and will then move along, shaking his head, disturbed by the overwhelming force of pity she’s stirred in him. If she can find an ideal gentleman while running for the doctor, she thinks it could at least mitigate some of the disaster she’s just lived through. To find a doctor, she’s had to go down a street that she’d probably recognize more easily during the day, when people are actually walking about and the shops are open. She’s unsure of whether or not she’s taken a wrong turn, because it feels like it’s taking longer than usual to find the building where the old sawbones who usually sees to her mother’s ailments lives. And despite her belief that there are always kind gentlemen available at any hour, none seem to be appearing now to help her. The moon is high. The gaslights flicker in the white fog like faraway lighthouse beacons. Though the girl doesn’t see any gentlemen appearing in her path, someone is in fact coming toward her. Someone — or something — is approaching from nearly two blocks away, heading in her direction, his footfalls thudding against the cobblestones, his breathing fast and heavy. He is not a gentleman in the least, though. He is more like some kind of elemental force: a dark wind blowing down an alleyway, pushing over carts, spilling apples, shaking windows until they shatter in his wake. He is hurrying away from something at this moment, his arms pumping furiously, as though he’s being chased, and his bloodshot eyes are glistening. When he turns a corner, he sees the little girl just up ahead. She’s standing under the foggy glow of a street lantern, a sole actor illuminated by stage lights. He doesn’t slow down in the least. He goes forward, possibly even faster, Nightmare Magazine no 31:26 The H Word: You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby –The Female Protagonist in Horror http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-youve-come-long-way-baby-female-protagonist-horror/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-youve-come-long-way-baby-female-protagonist-horror/#comments Wed, 14 Jan 2015 11:05:35 +0000 Lisa Morton http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10458 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/h-word-youve-come-long-way-baby-female-protagonist-horror/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Norman Partridge http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-norman-partridge-3/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-norman-partridge-3/#comments Wed, 14 Jan 2015 11:02:26 +0000 Britt Gettys http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10439 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-norman-partridge-3/feed/ 0 The Hollow Man http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/hollow-man/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/hollow-man/#comments Wed, 14 Jan 2015 11:01:00 +0000 Norman Partridge http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10466 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/hollow-man/feed/ 0 Editorial, January 2015 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-january-2015/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-january-2015/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2015 11:05:58 +0000 John Joseph Adams http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10449 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/editorial-january-2015/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Kat Howard http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-kat-howard-2/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-kat-howard-2/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2015 11:02:25 +0000 Kevin McNeil http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10438 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-kat-howard-2/feed/ 0 Returned http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/returned/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/returned/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2015 11:01:15 +0000 Kat Howard http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10446 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/returned/feed/ 0 The shadows press on your skin, prickled velvet that shouldn’t have weight, shouldn’t have texture, shouldn’t feel like you are wearing sandpaper and poison, but they do. You are almost used to it, this new way that things that shouldn’t happen do, The shadows press on your skin, prickled velvet that shouldn’t have weight, shouldn’t have texture, shouldn’t feel like you are wearing sandpaper and poison, but they do. You are almost used to it, this new way that things that shouldn’t happen do, but... Nightmare Magazine no 21:37 Interview: Robert Shearman http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-robert-shearman/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-robert-shearman/#comments Wed, 24 Dec 2014 11:05:39 +0000 Helen Marshall http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10358 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/interview-robert-shearman/feed/ 0 Author Spotlight: Michael Marshall Smith http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-michael-marshall-smith/ http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-michael-marshall-smith/#comments Wed, 24 Dec 2014 11:02:56 +0000 Erika Holt http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/?p=10348 http://www.nightmare-magazine.com/nonfiction/author-spotlight-michael-marshall-smith/feed/ 0