This story utilizes the “closed door,” claustrophobic approach to storytelling that Lovecraftian narratives have always utilized to great effect. From the opening line, you show us the power of what lies beyond a door, and how that can hold as much, if not more power than the reveal of super-natural terrors. What about the unknown, do you believe, has always been so terrifying for people?

That’s a great question, and I’d like to answer it in two different ways. First, from the perspective of our thoughts. So, there was a study done about twenty years ago that showed the average person had somewhere in the range of 50,000 discrete thoughts per day. Numbers can be dry, but I think this is fascinating, so I hope you stick with me here. Of those 50,000 thoughts, 80% were negative, and 95% were repetitive. So that means, on average, a person has something like 38,000 negative, repetitive thoughts per day. Point being—if we’re left in silence, without something solid to focus our attention on, we’ll fill it with something that’s probably not very pleasant. And unless we’re a Zen Master or a contemplative mystic, we’ll probably have trouble letting those thoughts fall away.

Secondly, I think the unknown is terrifying because the author is letting the reader do part of the work themselves. You know your particular ghosts and demons better than I do. So I just hope to give you some space to let them run wild, to sew flesh on the bones I present.

You don’t see tons of horror stories (or stories in general) set in Wyoming. Are you from there or what drew you to that location for the headquarters of the Red Veil?

I’m not, and haven’t even visited (though I hope to one day). I have friends and family who have been, and have told me of its beauty. I chose Wyoming as a setting to accomplish a couple of things. I wanted a location remote and sparsely populated enough that a group like the Red Veil could believably exist there without being bothered. And I loved the idea of a breathtaking, expansive sky. Something that made you feel your insignificance when you looked up at it, a mix of awe and existential terror.

Follow up: If you’ve spent time in that part of the world (I’m from Montana, myself), have you ever felt any sort of inexplicable presence, power, or aura there similar to those described in the woods of Appalachia?

As above, I haven’t, but I can share something that seems relevant to your question that also touch-es on the unknown. I knew someone, native to the western states who visited Appalachia one summer. He said he hated it, and could never get comfortable here. He said, “It feels like the green is trying to take over.” It was too claustrophobic for him.

For myself, being a native of Appalachia, when I spend time in flatter states, I can never get comfortable because I feel too exposed. There’s no topography to nestle me, no mountains to huddle beneath, protected. I feel like, in the flatlands, whatever horror is out there has a clear shot at me.

Are you a military veteran yourself, or do you have close personal ties to any? If so, how has that experience influenced your speculative fiction and how does speculative fiction influence your journey through the processing of those experiences? If not, what inspired you to center a horror narrative around a veteran protagonist?

I’m not a veteran, and I tried very hard to faithfully research what Sorrel and Luke’s time overseas would have been like (though obviously research doesn’t replace experience). Sorrel being a veteran with combat experience made sense to me for a number of reasons. He would be capable in physical conflicts. He would have seen some things that haunted him. He wouldn’t be inclined to shy away from a fight, but would be aware that winning one fight doesn’t solve every larger problem. Also, there are thematic resonances with those experiences that I’ll leave for the reader to explore.

Have you been around much taxidermy in your lifetime? If so, what is the most impressive piece you’ve ever seen? How about the most disturbing or unsettling (if there is one)? If not, do you find taxidermy to be unsettling and did that factor into its role in your story?

I have! I work in a rural area in East Tennessee and see taxidermy almost every day. I find it to be both beautiful and unsettling. I don’t have an example of one particular piece that struck me, but I have a vivid memory of being in a home where they kept taxidermied hunting trophies in a room that was probably 20’x15.’ The walls were covered by at least two dozen deer heads. Having that many frozen eyes staring at you is pretty unsettling.

What else are you working on right now and where can the good people of the internet realm read more of your tremendous fiction?

I’m primarily working on short fiction and poetry at the present, and kicking around the idea of a Red Veil novel at some point.

As far as recent publications, the wonderful horror podcast Pseudopod celebrated their twentieth anniversary in August, and my original story, “Graves Basin” (also set in Scruggs County) was featured on the August 7 episode. Later that month, Pseudopod also released a great two-part original story by Richard Dansky. Definitely worth checking out.