Kzine Issue 5 Page 10

  ‘Like tomorrow’s lott’ry numbers?’ Mitch slurred.

  ‘It’s not a literal translation,’ Amber said hotly. ‘It’s not like this is offered as a language at school. The way it’s written, it sounds more like…being everything by teachers or elders.’

  ‘Yay, more classes,’ Mitch said, rubbing his face drunkenly. ‘So can you do the magic spell for us?’

  Amber’s eyes flashed. ‘I’m not a damn party magician, so don’t mock me.’

  ‘What? Wait—’

  ‘And furthermore, yes I can do the ritual. If you two will help.’

  My mouth went dry. Mitch fared better, given he’d been drinking far more than either of us.

  ‘Yes!’ he roared, slamming his drink on the floor. ‘Let’s do it! I am ready to embrace the world’s knowledge!’

  ‘Was that it?’

  The three of us sat around the book’s eldritch symbol, feeling more awkward than anything else. Several candles burned in a ring around us, casting a deep shadow across the room and our faces. Mitch absently sucked at the cut on his hand - identical to the ones on ours - and stared at the bloody puddle in the middle of the circle.

  ‘Do we call tech support or something?’ he asked flippantly. Amber muttered something probably insulting and stumbled over to the light switch.

  ‘…1-800-OOOH?’

  I swung a pillow at Mitch’s head; he shot me a pissed look, but got the hint.

  ‘Maybe the book’s fake,’ I suggested, trying to get the mood up. ‘It’s not like there’s an Amazon.com for the occult.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Amber said, doubtful. ‘Let’s just clean up.’

  We picked up in silence for a while, the only noise from the shower when Mitch bailed to go sleep. I suppose it was his way of letting me make my move, but his timing could’ve been better.

  ‘I just—’ Amber began, sighing. ‘It was my first time I ever tried something this serious, ya’ know? I was hoping it be more…’

  ‘Satisfying?’ I suggested.

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘At least you can say your first time was with two guys,’ I joked. Almost immediately I turned red, realizing what I said. ‘I, wow, I, uh…I really…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Amber said with a laugh. ‘I grew up with two brothers; you’ll have to be much worse to make me gasp.’ She reached over and patted me on the cheek fondly. ‘But maybe you should ask me out before thinking about threesomes.’

  The ticking of the kitchen clock had never been louder.

  ‘OK,’ I said, tongue only half working. ‘Ah…so, ah, would you like to get dinner with me this week?’

  ‘Sure.’ She grabbed her coat off a chair and flashed me a smirk. ‘Friday? I’ve got tons of tests I have to study for.’

  ‘Yeah-yeah-yeah, sure that’s great,’ I babbled. Amber giggled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear - I nearly melted then and there - and waved as she opened the door.

  ‘I’ll see you in class and Friday evening. Thanks for an interesting night.’

  ‘You too,’ I said without thinking. ‘I mean, yeah, no problem.’

  I just barely managed to keep from jumping in excitement till after she closed the door. Collapsing on the couch, I felt a happy weariness wash over me; at least something good had come of the night.

  Two weeks passed without hearing from Amber.

  I’d left a few messages here and there, even knocked on her door after the first week. At first I’d thought she was just ducking me, and grew even more annoyed when her friends gave me awkward looks as they passed by. It was only after I managed to talk to one alone (almost getting caught in the elevator doors in the process) that I learned what was going on.

  Apparently Amber had night terrors the next few nights after our movie night. She also grew squirrely, jumping even if someone just stepped into the room, and shunning most of her usual hang-outs. If that wasn’t enough, Mary-Beth (Amber’s cousin and best friend) said she thought Amber might be on something – she showed me a pill bottle, the label claiming it was for anxiety. …And for someone other than Amber.

  That night I pounded on Amber’s front door, determined to get answers. I found myself really wishing Mitch would stop going to the damn bars every night. It would’ve been bad enough confronting Amber without whatever meds she was on; standing on the doorstep all I could think about was her coming out of the shadows and –

  ‘Knock already you wuss!’

  I tripped sideways over the porch’s railing at the voice. I felt someone grab hold and haul me back before I face-planted in the rose bushes.

  ‘Wha-what’s wrong with you?’ Mitch demanded as he held up his arms to ward off my panicky blows. ‘Jesus, I don’t think being a super-creep on her porch and beating me up is goin’ to win Amber’s heart.’

  ‘I thought you were at the bar,’ I said as my heartbeat returned to normal.

  ‘Key word – ‘were’,’ he said, smiling broadly as he flashed air quotes. ‘So is Countess von McCrazy home?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘I-’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, you were too busy being mega-creep to knock. Or-’ Mitch pushed lightly on the door; he nodded and gave me a thumbs up.

  ‘Asshole,’ I muttered.

  ‘You’re just jealous of my awesomeness,’ he said, belching.

  ‘Yeah, you’re a regular superman.’ I pushed past my doofus friend.

  The smell was the first thing to hit me: stale sweat and unwashed dishes permeated the living room. It was unusually thick in the air, almost like you could cut a slice out of it.

  Mitch agreed by turning and spewing all over the steps.

  ‘Oh, hell that’s foul!’ he spat the rest of his dinner on the roses.

  ‘Superman not feeling good?’ I sang. He sank down onto the steps with a glare and ominous burp.

  Breathing through my shirt, I made my way through piles of half-empty take-out containers and cups with …who knows what growing in them.

  ‘Amber!’ I called out, hoping she hadn’t called the cops. ‘It’s me, Scott!’ Kicking rancid debris out of the way, I slowly made my way upstairs, calling out as I went.

  ‘I’m sorry if this is crappy, but—’

  I cut off as a door seemed to ease itself open; creepy, but just my nerves… and that her hallway lights kept flickering for some reason.

  ‘Amber?’ I eased into the room, my hand instinctively reaching out and groping for a light. The bulbs flickered brown and sickly yellow, sending shadows, and roaches, skittering across the floor and under clothes. I swear some of the larger bugs were trying to steal her pillows.

  ‘I began looking on her desk to see if she’d left any clues to her whereabouts. No such luck; mostly there were just bowls filled with brownish-red paint, and pages and pages of weird, disturbing symbols and what looked like writing. Some of the papers were burnt, while others were smeared with something strange. I touched part of one carefully, not wanting to mess up a class project or something.

  It felt slick to the touch – the paper, not the ink – and I felt an overwhelming urge to escape, to throw myself out the window and run off into the night.

  It was such a powerful feeling, like a hundred eyes stared at me through the cracks in the walls. Nothing was there of course, but I couldn’t shake a wave of unease. For some reason the longer I stood there the more I panicked, certain the closet was creaking open when I looked away, that some unspeakable monster lay in wait. I could barely face the door, knowing in my soul a madman was behind the door with a knife.

  Breathing heavily, I managed to let go of the paper; it seemed to almost skitter across the floor, and I swore it hissed at me. As I glanced as the desk again - desperately trying to distract myself from the nebulous horror I felt - a brochure caught my eye. It was for a camping ground just outside the city. One part in particular was circled deeply, almost carving through the paper.

  I grabbed the brochure on impulse and almost tripped dashi
ng out the door. Even flipping on every light I passed did little to calm me till I hit the front steps.

  ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here,’ I said shakily, grabbing Mitch’s collar as I darted by.

  ‘Woah, wait wait wait!’ He kept loping after me as I hurried to my car. ‘Scott: stop!’

  Grinding to a halt at the curb, I tossed him the brochure. ‘Amber’s at the camp grounds.’

  ‘So?’ Mitch looked at me, confused and annoyed. ‘Scotty, if a girl doesn’t talk to you for weeks, they don’t want to talk.’

  ‘It’s something more than that,’ I said. ‘Her friends said she started acting strange a few days after we did that spell.’

  ‘Ritual.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I replied, irritated. ‘But I think it really did have some effect, even if it wasn’t immediate.’

  ‘So she’s learning everything there is to know by skipping class and staying inside?’ Mitch gave me a sarcastic look. ‘Wow, my advisor was way off.’

  ‘Get in the damn car.’

  ‘Make me,’ he said teasingly.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Fine, so I hit you a bit hard.’

  Mitch glared at me as he held a soda can to his eye.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby. The swelling will go down in a bit. Amber should be nearby, so just keep an eye…out.’

  Biting back a smile, I pushed through the bushes growing across the path. We’d gotten to the camp ground in record time, but the circle on Amber’s map was a two-mile hike through the pitch-black woods. Mitch had been sullenly quiet through most of the trip, only breaking it to call me something unflattering after stumbling over a rock or exposed tree root.

  ‘Can’t believe I’m wastin’ my night helpin’ you stalk this chick,’ he complained. ‘Couldn’t you just get a new broad to obsess over? Maybe one that goes crazy near a bar or club?’

  ‘Amber is in trouble, trust me,’ I said, pleading.

  ‘And if she’s not?’ Mitch asked as he slapped aside some branches. ‘If she’s actually down by the waterfall having hot, sweaty-’

  ‘OK,’ I said testily.

  ‘With some popped-collar, Axe body spray wearin’, frat boy-’

  ‘OK!’

  ‘Gruntin’ and groanin’-’

  ‘OK, I get it!’ I sputtered as a tree branch swung low to slap at my face. ‘I’ll buy you a bottle of somethin’ when we get back if you just shut. Up.’

  Mitch mimed zipping his mouth before slipping into blessed silence. The next few minutes of hiking went by quickly, the only noises our tired breathing after a half-dozen hills. After the umpteenth ridge, my earlier confidence began to wane. Maybe I’d just been freaking out, just a bit.

  ‘You owe me top-shelf,’ Mitch gasped, leaning against a boulder.

  ‘Whine, whine, whine,’ I shot back. ‘Look, we’re—there it is!’ I pointed through a grouping of trees as a huge waterfall. Almost twenty feet high, it was one of the camping ground’s main attractions, falling into a shallow river. The stone walls of the gorge gave it an imposing presence; discarded beer bottles and cigarette butts diluted it somewhat.

  ‘Ugh. Domestic,’ Mitch said, making a face at the bottles. ‘So, I usually drink tequila,’ he began, when it became obvious we were well and truly alone. ‘But I’ve heard good things about bourbon. And hey, if we head back now, I promise not to bankrupt you too badly. Let’s go Romeo.’ He turned to leave, jauntily hopping from rock to rock across a shallow stretch of water.

  Faint voices made the both of us turn towards the waterfall. We looked at each other, silently asking if the noises were real. Another round of chatter echoing off through the water assured us we weren’t imagining things.

  ‘Guess you’ll have to wait on that bourbon,’ I said smugly, walking towards the voices.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Exasperated, Mitch grabbed my arm to try and pull me away. ‘It’s probably just some stupid kids getting high or somethin’.’

  ‘I want to check it out,’ I said stubbornly.

  ‘Fine.’ He held up his hands, walking backwards. ‘But I’m tired of this crap. You want to go psycho-creeper on some random kids, be my guest.’ He turned to leave, angrily striding off into the forest.

  Crestfallen, I looked back at the waterfall.

  Mitch wasn’t as heavy as he looked, but dragging him behind the cascading water was still a pain in the ass; I nearly dropped his unconscious body on the rocks a few times.

  He came to minutes after I finished securing the chains. His eyes were fogged with confusion and pain as he tried to focus on my face. When he realized he was bound and gagged, his confusion turned to panic. I tried to comfort him as he tugged frantically on the chains, bleating helplessly.

  ‘It—it’s OK,’ I said soothingly, stroking his cheek. ‘It’s OK buddy. It’ll all be over soon.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry; it’s all set,’ I said as I double-checked the chains.

  Amber strode up behind me, the black dress she wore heavy with blood and screams. As she draped an arm across my shoulders, I nipped playfully, delighting in the feel of her flesh between my teeth. She laughed as her own blood flowed out, dripping into my mouth like honey. She laughed, her voice like shining starlight and sweet, razor-sharp kisses in my ears.

  Mitch had begun to scream and pull in earnest against his bonds at Amber’s appearance. I knew he wouldn’t escape though; the skins and empty faces lying about the cave were proof enough.

  ‘Is it time?’ I asked, trembling in excitement. Gouged sockets crinkled as she smiled and nodded, blood running freely down her cheeks. As I stood I heard Them speak, clearer than the first time, at Amber’s house. Their voices caressed my body, and I swooned as terrible, beautiful truths were whispered into me. My skin peeled away at their touch while they danced through my entire being.

  I tasted the horror of those who came before on Amber’s hands as she put out my eyes, savoring them as she popped them in her mouth. For the first time I saw everything so clearly; it was beautiful beyond words. Even those in between the shadows, in the corner of my eyes (awful, terrible things) were glorious, stretching in and out of the cavern, aching to walk in our world again.

  Amber caressed my face and licked the blood off like wine. Adrift in ecstasy, I knew what to do to show Mitch this beauty.

  We fell upon him, Old Things That Walk Between and man alike, gorging on his howls, sucking the sweet, maddening flesh off him. We took all of him until only the husk was left, shaking and retching on the floor as They explored every part of him.

  Come morning, we were done. Fat and happy in their flesh, our teachers rose with us. I smiled as the sun bled through water, painting the cave a bright, bloody red.

  What a glorious day it would be.

  EDITORIAL

  by Graeme Hurry

  So what the hell does an editor do anyway?

  I have often been asked this question by disgruntled authors, usually when I have had to decline their story. Strangely enough the role has many variants, from the publishing editor reading submissions and working with the author to bash a manuscript into shape, to the hands-off selector of stories for an anthology or magazine. I fall into the latter camp. The aim is to choose stories which meet certain criteria which aims to make the stories consistent across the acceptable genres. So hopefully if a reader likes one issue they will also like the others. I also feel it appropriate to give a brief amount of feedback especially for stories which are not right for Kzine. According to feedback I get this is rare, however, if there is no reasoning behind a rejection how can the writer better meet my criteria next time?

  I aim to accept stories with minimum problems, then I just suggest changes to the author, on the basis I know I am not always right, the author has the final say, but each editor works a different way.

  The editor sets the tone of a magazine, and so good stories which are often not acceptable for one magazine are a
superb fit for another. I also don’t think any editor can authoritatively say what stories are good or bad, they can only home in on ones they like, and everyone is different. I am almost certain I would not have accepted Lovecraft as his writing style is not always to my taste but for many his imagination and style work together superbly.

  So, I may not have answered the question I set at the top, but hopefully I have given an example of what I do for Kzine. In addition I hope I am also helping new authors with their writing and getting them in to print in a small way.

  CONTRIBUTOR NOTES

  Paul Miller lives near Dallas, Texas with his beautiful wife and three small children and writes in what little free time he can find. His work has appeared in Every Day Fiction and The Red Asylum. Check him out at paulmillerfiction.wordpress.com

  M. Bennardo has had stories in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Redstone Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Shimmer, and others. He is editor of the Machine of Death series of anthologies. The second volume of the series will be available from Grand Central Publishing in July 2013. He lives in Cleveland, Ohio, but people anywhere can find him online at www.mbennardo.com

  Joe Jablonski writes out of Charlotte, NC. His work has been published in a variety of markets including Short-Story.me Genre Fiction, Eschatology, and Obsolescent.Info. You can check him out on his blog at: jablonskijoe.blogspot.com.

  Donald McCarthy has had stories published in The Fringe Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, Cover of Darkness Magazine, Daily Love, Spinetinglers Magazine and Eunoia Review. He has also published non-fiction in Drunk Monkeys Punchnel’s Magazine, The Progressive Populist, Commentarista and is a contributing Writer to Patch.com

  Michael Haynes has had stories accepted by Intergalactic Medicine Show, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Daily Science Fiction and others. He was an Associate Editor for the Unidentified Funny Objects anthology and guest-edited the ‘Love Beyond Death’ flash fiction portion of the October 2012 issue from Kazka Press. He can be found online at http://michaelhaynes.info/ .

  Stephen Heuser is the author of Strange Tenants. After years of crossing the world keeping our realm safe from the otherworld threats, the master wordsmith has decided to finally write down his stories, and those who have traveled with him. When not recounting tales of his exploits to wide-eyed listeners, he works as a baker where he rains down jokes on his coworkers so utterly terrible they have to be good.