This is easily one of the most unique stories I’ve had the privilege of reading. Where did the idea for this piece come from?

I love a mystery, and cosmic horror is a place where the mysteries are never fully solved. The persistence of our curiosity about monstrous cosmic indifference, or malice, is part of the thrill. Writing this story, I fixated on Carcosa, on the challenge of making it into a compelling character itself. I wanted to play with the idea of observing it through the eyes of someone who had seen harder hells than that yellow world. Since I’m living in a city with a massive unhoused population, overfilled women’s shelters, and witnessing the current political climate, I was really free to dial up the horror of the unknown, because I was weaving it in with the horrors we presently see play out all around us. Also, I got to take an outrageous liberty in the final line of the story. It was truly satisfying to write this tribute to the Chambers poem.

One of the things I appreciated and enjoyed most about this story was the vivid, violent imagery you used in describing pain. Can you talk about cultivating such a skill with “showing, not telling”?

Honestly, I was trying something completely new with this visceral style of horror. Most of my stories use distancing language to try for a more chilling, disquieting effect. But for this, I read some grisly dark fiction anthologies for inspiration, and practiced some poetry development techniques. Those are the best for helping me evoke a mood and tap into a universal experience. And there was more than a little revisiting of Clive Barker’s works.

The main character, Kayla, goes through some horrible situations. We’re introduced to her as a caring person, wanting to celebrate her husband’s birthday. We leave her at the end of the story in quite a different temperament. Was it difficult to sculpt this character arc? What do you think helped you write such a radical change?

Oh, this character arc was easy. That was the easiest part for me, other than describing the setting. I just went for a villain-origin-story style transformation. Yes, Kayla was trying to be a good person all the way through. But the coping mechanisms that develop through experiences like hers—I mean outside of the yellow world—will turn a person into whatever they need to be to withstand it all. The happy baking hausfrau image in the beginning was a façade of happiness, and there are tells. She was so certain of her husband’s inevitable dissatisfaction, and her persistence in attempting to please him anyway—that’s a kind of madness. She was primed for this journey right from the beginning, being broken and reformed to serve something that tore her apart, be it a marriage, a community, a tainted social services system, or a throne. As for what helped me write the change in her—I’ll say I’ve seen less speculative versions of her plight play out in the real world often enough.

If you could summarize in one or two sentences what you hope readers of Nightmare Magazine see and appreciate in this story, what would it be?

This story is a love letter to one of my favorite subgenres of horror fiction: The Cthulhu mythos. I want the readers to feel intrigued about this new view of some pretty familiar spaces, and to be left with a lingering compassion for their fellow terranauts, whatever form they occupy.

You are a highly achieved prose writer, both with awards and publications. What’s next for you? Do you think you’ll be writing more weird or cosmic fiction in the future?

I am querying a short story collection and finishing up a novella. As for weird fiction, it’s my happy place, and I don’t think I’ll ever fully leave it, even as “the shadows lengthen . . .”