#possible body horror in img 3

[aresonist]

drawing those goofy skins of his gotta be my fav thing to do

[unto-myself-together]

Of Stories and Songs: Ch 7

A Haunted Mansion fanfic (Disney).

Author notes: So now we have come full circle here.  We've come back to the original short prompt story that I wrote way back when on Tumblr.  Now, since then, I think I've gone over and given this scene very important (but very subtle) changes.  And Solomon Gracey did end up changing from the original person I had him be.   Also this chapter.  Took.  Forever.  To complete.  It doesn't help that it seems to be the longest so far.  Eventually, I did have to just cut it at some point, because it just didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.   Lots more references to Haunted Mansion myth/lore and media.  I think one of the most important is the sailor aspect of it.  The original story idea the Imagineers had was to write sort of a pirate tale, which some say is the reason for the ship weather vane attached to the Disneyland mansion as well as a certain blocked off tunnel.  And so, I did very much plan for/liked the idea putting a more sea-worthy, sailor-y aspect to the story.  It's interesting to note that ships of about this time period (late 19th century) had both engines and auxiliary sails (in case the engines failed, mostly).   It remains to be seen whether sailors in the late 19th century shipping industry had accents, but I thought that, perhaps, since this character has likely seen many sights and was practically raised off of the sea that he'd have some unique way of speaking.   Speaking of which, though, I didn't quite realize that the song from Pirates of the Caribbean 4 was an actual song from way back in the 17th century (guesstimate).  Nobody knows for sure how old it is, because like most folk tunes the origins are unclear.  It was collected by a man in the late 19th century, and published in a book alongside other folk songs and sea shanties.  He didn't create the song, simply collected it.   Finally, I would like to take this time to dedicate this chapter to my friend, Majora.

@majora-the-trekking-hobbit

Reasoning is partially because of a...erm...particular character that shows up here.  But also because of all the support you've given me and this story!  Thank you for always reblogging, and thank you for always taking the time to listen to me and give me advice! I really appreciate it!   Art references used: Staircase:http://www.doombuggies.com/secrets_conservatory.php https://themeparkuniversity.com/disney/disneys-haunted-mansion-man-spiderweb-real-hoax/ https://hauntedmansion.fandom.com/wiki/Endless_Staircase Hattie:https://www.usatoday.com/story/travel/2015/07/15/disneylands-hatbox-ghost-mystery-solved/30216909/ https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS720US720&biw=1293&bih=665&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=yAuDXI2SD-vK5gLxtLPoAw&q=haunted+mansion+hatbox+ghost&oq=haunted+mansion+hatbox+ghost&gs_l=img.3..0j0i5i30l2j0i24l2.43127.44878..44976...0.0..0.210.1061.6j3j1......1....1..gws-wiz-img.......0i8i30j0i30.9t6rb10BpQM#imgrc=zew4FFwUqtcCOM: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatbox_Ghost Cape (because I needed extra help with how to fold it): https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS720US720&biw=1293&bih=665&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=GAyDXLGEDIfZ5gKeoZjgDQ&q=assassin%27s+creed+cape&oq=assassin%27s+creed+cape&gs_l=img.3..0j0i8i30l8j0i24.120121.124788..125000...0.0..0.93.1629.22......1....1..gws-wiz-img.....0..0i67.bP3kELME6yc#imgdii=XUa-qMHbTqdtkM:&imgrc=yAsMXH24fr3GUM: ~~~~ Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, domestic violence, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter). 

~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

~~~

~~~Ch. 7:  The Fearsome Foursome~~~

~

~ My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold, There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold. -1891 collection, Real Sailor-Songs by John Ashton ~

~~~ ~~                     

                     “Good evening, Master Gracey.”

The Ghost Host politely responded.

“Don’t give me that.  You know precisely that my evening cannot possibly be good with you banging about the house.  Must you ruin my reading?” Karen shifted back; the floor beneath her creaked.   Solomon caught sight of her cowering against the wall, and he stared at her dispassionately.   “Who is this?” He scowled, and it made him look all the terrifying because it gave an impression that he held no sympathy for her. “A mortal?  Damn it, man. How many times must I tell you to stop letting mortals inside?! Get her out of here, now!”     “With or without her companion, who seems to have been…mislaid?” 

The man spun round, away from her, and stared at the empty void, the source of the voice, and the air seemed to shift dangerously around him.

“You’ve lost track of one of them? You’ve done that on purpose, haven’t you?!”              “Perish the thought. I’m sure they can be reacquired.               I’ve heard some of the vases in the west end shattering.     Perhaps it’s them lugging their…hmmm shaken physical presence through                                                      the halls….”

Everything fell into an uneasy, unsettling stillness. “The west end…vases…you mean the burial urns?” Somehow, the anger that seethed off of the man was palpable, much like a thick fog permeating the air.  Only it was a weighted sensation and not a physical appearance.   “The burial urns?  Where my mother’s burial urn resides?”  

She could swear she could feel a rumble coming from the house, as if the floorboards had responded to his words. Underneath her palms, the wood began to tremble.   “Breaking the burial urns?! You..You!  Breaking the west end vases!  Oh I’ve no doubt those urns are breaking, but it isn’t the mortal breaking the urns, now is it?!  You vile, disgusting twisted little demon!” The man spat, and if anger had been a liquid she had imagined that it would have come spilling from his mouth straight to the floorboards with the way he spoke.                “Come now. I can’t imagine why you would care…”  

The voice purred in a low tone.                               “It’s just a speck of dust.                                  And after all….                    You never were that well acquainted with her anyways…” 

That was the wrong thing to say that was the wrong thing to say That was the wrong thing to say.   She wanted to scream at the Ghost Host, but she was quite sure he wouldn’t listen because his voice sounded far too pleased with himself.

The shaking had abruptly gone silent.  Solomon Gracey stumbled back a moment, before his clenched, shaking fist mimicked the tremors.  And the rumbling began anew, only this time it was STRONGER. “Care to repeat that statement, sir?”

The various vases and objects that scattered the halls seemed to dance and jump; some of them even floated in midair. Every breath she took became almost painfully heavy, as it had seemed that the air had availed itself of logic and chose to be swept up in some invisible gathering vacuum.                                    “Now, now.                          Think of all the priceless objects you yourself                                      are on the verge of throwing.”   Master Gracey did not appear swayed, and Karen wasn’t willing to stick around any longer.  It was getting far too difficult to breath, and she wasn’t exactly sure she knew what was happening to the hallway.  She lunged for the nearest door, practically tripping through it as it swung open.   And instantly fell into darkness.   Not just fell though; she rolled.   The room before her apparently wasn’t flat or level at all, and the act of falling through the door caused her to tumble down, down down. Until she managed to catch hold of a piece of wood and cotton.   Her legs were dangling, a frightful change in orientation that left her clinging to the wood and cotton by hands alone.

She could hear the door swing close, and a whispering echoed off the halls before the room began to brighten.  Candelabras quite near to her up on a pedestal inexplicably came aflame, and she dared to look behind and below. Staircases. Staircases as far as the eye could see. Going up, going down, going sideways, going upside-down.  Any which way you looked, with no rhyme or reason or even a contextual explanation for why there was a gigantic, chasm-like room full of staircases.   Her eyes grew wide to see it, and grew wider still when she felt the lifesaving wood she clung begin to creak and give way.   She was apparently on a staircase too, albeit a decrepit one that was torn off into a sheer drop.  Her legs flailed as she struggled to get back up, but she could not swing them properly to hoist herself up the sides.  Already, it took all of her strength just to hold on, and with each attempted swing she could hear the wood creaking and tearing further.   “H-Help…”  She weakly cried out towards the door.  Why oh why did the door have to close? She looked all around for another staircase to jump onto, but none of them looked close enough to make it.   The pressure of gravity and the weight it bore down on was numbing her hands.  She again attempted to hoist herself up, but only managed to get the length of her arms to cling to the wood.  A relief to her fingertips, but the muscles of her upper body still screamed at her to release. “Help!  Help me!”  She cried even louder, hoping to attract the attention of either of the two bickering ghosts.  Or any ghost at all.  But only the echoes of her own voice came back to haunt her.   Were they just going to leave her?  Did they care?  Did they even notice she wasn’t in the hallway anymore? She was quite sure that the Ghost Host wouldn’t care, but that man, Solomon, too? The wood bent further underneath her, and the resulting lurch held a tone of finality that she was forced to acknowledge.  

….. This was it, wasn’t it? This was how she died.   She tried to keep her eyes from watering up as she thought about Michael.  He was already dead, wasn’t he?   If he survived that fall, he likely had to deal with a lot of the same stuff she did.  It would be just like that Ghost Host to string her along on a thin thread of hope.   She tried another swing to hoist herself up, but wood bent again in a dangerous direction and she was frightened to continue, even as her arms were getting exhausted.   Her parents.   Her parents didn’t even know she was here.  They were off on vacation visiting relatives in New York and wouldn’t be back until the day after tomorrow.  What would they do when they came back and she wasn’t home? Would they even know where to look for her? Tears streaming down her face, they fell off her chin to the deep chasm below.                             This was how she died, wasn’t it?

The tears were making her eyesight blurry.  The door in front of her, out of reach, taunting her with safety, started to wiggle in her vision.   Bright and murky to her tear smudged eyes.   “Please help….”  Her cry was even weaker now.   The strain of holding up her own weight. Feet dangling below.   The crackling of wood underneath her arms.   

                                         Crack.                                             No. Nothing to lose now, she swung herself again.  The wood bent once more.                                         CRACK.                                          Please! One tip of her foot managed to make contact with the top of the wood she clung to.  She tried to maneuver it so that she could use it as a hook to get the rest of hers--                                          SNAP!            The light of the candles moving further and further….away….                                Tears falling upwards.                              Stomach dropping down.                           Arms wildly reaching around.                                        Something.                                        Anything.                                             .... .                                     …Nothing… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                              Falling Falling Falling.                                 We all Fall down.                           A little teeny tiny speck.                                 In a Giant Well. The girl fell faster than expected.                             Gravity is so funny, isn’t it? Just before her body struck the ground, a flash of light came.                                Funny, funny, Gravity. And the girl was held, suspended and unconscious.  Her tiny mortal frame, still breathing, looked so small against the majesty of the never ending stairs.                      Here it is.  You’ve hit rock bottom, child. And the flash of light coalesced to wrap around the cut of her figure.  

Floating. Glowing. She lay there. Inches from the ground…. ….But it would not be the ground for long. For the light twisted her around; the orientation of the staircases was too lopsided.   Indeed, she was not facing the floor at all.  For she had fallen upwards. She had just avoided the fate of becoming a splat on the ceiling.   Another flash of light, this time pulsating.  With each rhythmic spurt, the light turned into the shape of a spider’s web.   And the girl like a fly in its center.

                         Foolish mortals they say.  Foolish mortals.                                  Why am I here again?                                   What was I doing?                        Foolish mortals.  The sound of the sea.                                Gentle waves, gentle.                                     I smell a rat.                              Wiggling up the stairs.                                       No. Not a rat.                                      A gentleman.                                      Who is that?                                       Good man.                                   Very nice man.                                      I like him.                            Oh, I like him.  He can pass.                                Sheep and shepherds.

A man appeared.  Or rather, a figure materialized.  Out from the wind of the hallway, his head, then his body, then his arms. Bent over, he walked with a cane.  Even in spite of the fact that his legs had yet to appear.

                                   There was a crooked man.                                  He walked with a crooked cane.                                    But everybody loved him.                                     Just and all the same. On his head was a top hat.  In his ghostly smile, a gold tooth. A cane in one hand.  And in the opposite, a box.   He raised the box up like a lantern as he came to the chasm that was filled with the staircases.   And he tapped his cane.  Once.  Twice.   The floating mortal’s body jerked in mid-air, another flash of light scattering and breaking the glow that had held a tentative spider web pattern.  The body fell a few feet to where he was, before stopping again in mid-air right before it hit the ground.   The man leaned forward, as if to inspect the mortal’s face, before letting out a grumble.  In a swoop of his cape, he turned to go back down the hall whence he came from.  And the unconscious body of the mortal floated along behind him akin to being pulled by invisible balloon strings.   Down, down the hall, the unconscious mortal in tow. ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Babbling and gurgling as it trickled along; it was a delight to hear the river and give herself a reprieve from the nightmares of the house.   That’s why she came here…That’s always why. Her voice was carried along with the sounds of the water, just as the leaves were swept up in the current.   She sang low enough that any passerby would have to strain to listen in, but that likely wasn’t even necessary.  The little open space among the density of the trees wasn’t something people were likely to look for to begin with. And her emerald green uniform would surely provide camouflage at any rate.   Her voice was wordless.  It was just tones, going from high to low in whatever fashion pleased her.  And she had loosened her hair so that the blond locks hung around her face like a curtain protecting her from the outside world.  The tears would come to fall behind them. She sung of the pains of the day.  She sung of what she would have to face should she return. She sung to escape. A bit of peace, a bit of paradise, a bit of comfort, a bit of calm. It would not last forever. Singing her life away in that glade. But in that moment, she sang for herself, even if it was just to bemoan the inevitability that she would have to stop. “They’ll take yer offer, you know.” Her voice caught off in a startle, and she turned to see a man beside her. The weathered state of his skin suggested long hours working in the sun and made him look older, but there was a certain youthfulness about his eyes that suggested he was perhaps only a handful of years away from her own age.   He smiled rather good-naturely and openly, even as his back was bent over in an uncomfortable state and he leaned heavily on the gnarled cane in his hand. “Is this spot taken?”  He asked with humor, nodding to the very empty surroundings beside her, “Or would you wish me to leave you be?” “You….are more than welcome to it, sir.  I cannot stop you.” “But you can say ‘no’, miss.  And I’ll honor that and be off with myself.  Though not before I compliment the owner of the very pretty voice that I happened to come upon while looking for a spot meself on the river…”  He had a strange accent about him. 

“You come here often, then, sir?” “Aye.  To fish.” “You’re a fisherman?” “Used to be more than that.  I was a sailor once.  But I’m content to dabble in what fish I can sell now.” “What happened?”  She asked, a glance towards his crooked back. “A storm we happened upon, and one of the riggings broke and snapped me back as I tried to secure our cargo.  Cargo ended up securing me; right on the deck I was pinned.  Neither my leg nor my back have ever been a right straight since.”

“That sounds so awful.  I’m so sorry…” But he waved her apology away. “It’s all right.  My ol’ Captain gives me a stipend now.  For bravery and the loss of my good work, and on the account that I’m young.  Can’t do much anymore, but the fishing helps.  And I can still manage to go out on the water a bit whenever I get lonely for the open sea.  The adventure of it.” His eyes glistened.  “I may not be the richest in the world, but I count my stars every day that I’m alive.  And I’m happy where I’m at, and that’s really all that matters, isn’t it?” “Yes…”  She agreed, solemnly going back to staring at the river.  Before she realized he was still standing.   “Oh! Won’t you sit?  That must be painful.” “Now is that what you want, Miss?  I ask again, because I am not one to intrude upon a lady if she means to have a private moment to herself.  And I didn’t mean to disturb you if that’s really what you came out here for.” Her eyes snapped to his at this.  His chocolate brown eyes softening as she did, and they proved that he was genuine in his statement. People usually didn’t ask her what she wanted.  Raised as a servant all her life, kept in that house all her life, it wasn’t really a concept that she was used to.  It was hard to maintain ‘privacy’ or any semblance of independence when you had to share a room with three other girls, and were at the beck and call of others.   “I want...I want you to join me,” She said. ”Please.  And, perhaps, tell me what you meant before.  That they would accept my offer…who is ‘they’?” “The mermaids, of course,” He said, grinning at her as he carefully settled down with his good leg going first.   “They’ll come to ya, lured by the singing.” “I thought they were only out on the ocean.”  She smiled back at him.  The thought of mermaids never crossed her mind.  She wasn’t even sure if she believed in them, but the man’s smile was infectious.  And his relaxed air about him as he spoke was addicting. “No no, miss.  Sure, they love the open sea air better, but they’re just as likely to be spotted in the rivers.  Anytime you see a glint of scaly tails that looks too big to be a fish…and beautiful hair that’s too impossible to belong to a human….That’s when you’ll know.  Mermaids about in these waters.” “And they’ll come to me to eat me, right?  I’ve heard stories about their appetites.” “Appetites they have in spades, true.  But it’s for sailors like meself or pirates that they’re most brutal.” He patted his chest. “Don’t completely blame them none either; a right lot of us ain’t always the pleasant sort.  But for the young ladies who sit so mournfully, they’ll come to you and say so sweetly ‘Why, what a lovely voice you have!  And how sad you look!  Will you tell us whatever is wrong, that we might fix it?’” Here she gave a smile both sad and amused, because he had clearly noticed her distress and thought to ask about it in a roundabout method with a little story.   “I’m a servant in a household…” She paused, thinking to edit out too many details.  He was a stranger.  “The eldest son of the master has been making things…difficult for me.  He asks for things I do not wish to give. And I cannot garner sympathy from the other servants because they all either lecture me or shun me.  I feel alone.” 

The man was silent.  She looked over at him to see him pensively staring out into the water.  The river bubbled along the banks where they sat. “Well,” He said, flashing her a kind smile. “I suppose the mermaids would say then ‘Come away come away with us!  We’ll take you down to the depths of the sea, and none will be able to reach you!’” She laughed, a noise that was nearly unknown to her at that point.  “But I would drown!” “Not so!  The kiss of the mermaid would give you the lungs of a fish, and you could wander the depths at will!  And they may do more than that, and grant upon you the chance to join among their immortal selves.  To swim freely through the ocean, and have all the reefs as your personal boudoir, and to dance among the dolphins as they leap into the sky!” He accented this note with a hand waving stretching into the heavens. “And then…” he continued. “You needn’t ever come back.  Or, if the thought fancies you, you could return and unleash torment upon the young man of your former master.  He will never know peace after hearing the siren’s song of the mermaids!” As his tale grew more wild and fanciful, she couldn’t help but giggle along to it.  It sounded like the sort of story of her girlhood dreams, all the fairytales she grew up with.  And she couldn’t help herself but to continue playing along.   “Oh but I couldn’t!  If the lovely mermaids would have me, I would be far too busy making friends with the fish and the whales.  And learning about all the ocean life.  Or perhaps simply gazing upon the waves as they crash on the shore.” But her smile faltered, and the solemnity returned a bit.   “Besides which…I don’t think I could stomach taking revenge.  Even if he is a beastly man at times.  I suppose that makes me weak willed, doesn’t it?” “Not at all.  I think that shows a strength of character.  Few others would even hesitate; don’t judge yourself by their standards.” He touched her very gently at the shoulder, so much so that she thought she imagined it at first.  But when she went to turn, it was clear he meant to attract her attention. “Even if you were not to return for the sake of revenge,” He repeatedly tapped his chest with a single finger with a sheepish demeanor, “Won’t you take pity on this poor fisherman, and perhaps return to show him all the best spots to catch his favorite striped bass?” And she laughed again, this time more freely and warmly as he grinned from ear to ear. “Of course, of course sir! And you will never go a day without a full boat or a full stomach!” “Aha!”  He cried, and he held his cane to the sky like he’d proudly pulled Excalibur itself from the waters, “And I shall be wealthy!  Wealthy in fish, that is!” He laughed alongside her, the two of the chuckling more like school children than the young adults they were.  As they sat, leaning on each other for support, by the banks of the river. “…My name is Emily…” she said, as she continued to lean on his shoulder, not caring at all for impropriety in that moment. “May I ask yours, sir?” “Roland is the name, miss.” He said, making no move to push her off nor to take advantage of it.  “Although folks always call me ‘Rolly’…”                                                 “Rolly…” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything ached.  Her head, her arms, her legs.  Her vision was blurry, but it became clearer as she attempted to sit up and gaze her surroundings.   The actual attempt at sitting up, however, failed.   She flopped back onto whatever soft thing she awoke on, a new ache of pain accompanying her back.  Whatever did she do to cause this? Where was she? She remembered a river.   …..No.  That wasn’t her.  That was someone else.   ….That was another memory. And a hazy one, at that; she knew enough to recognize Emily as the one crying, but the man remained a bigger part of a mystery.  He seemed so eerily familiar, yet the image of his appearance could not stay in her attention and blurred out like the remnants of a recently forgotten dream. A more comforting dream than she was willing to admit; though she ached, she felt calm.   Complete calm.  At peace with herself.   But her backtrack through her own memories brought with it a steady uneasiness.  She remembered that she was in a mansion, but she couldn’t remember the last thing she…. The fall!

Karen shot up in place, newly wide eyed, hands grasping around for purchase. She grabbed more soft things, her brain finally starting to wake up enough to register that she was laying on an old, but clean looking, mattress.   A mattress on top of an old brass bedframe, a bundle of blankets piled on top of her explaining the warmth.  Now that those selfsame blankets were removed from her upper half, she got a sense of how truly freezing it was.   The cold was turning the gears in her head.   If there really was life after death, how did you know if you’ve already died? She frantically grabbed at her own wrist, and was rewarded with a strong but quickened pulse.  The remnants of spider bites still layered over her hands.  She painfully pinched one of them to the point where a tiny drop of blood oozed out.  Those were the telltale signs…right? A sigh of relief left her lips, and settled down under the blankets for a moment.  Her aching limbs and even her head were starting to feel a little bit better, as if the little bit of movement eased her body back into remembering how to work.   She wondered what part of the house she was in.  The room was slightly illuminated with a bluish-green glow.  And all around her were piles of…the best way she could describe it was “junk”.  There was junk everywhere.  Old trunks, old books scattered about, chairs, wicker baskets, vases, tableware, small statues and figurines, model boats, and portrait frames without any portraits in them.   Her chest heaved as she took in a deep breath as she nuzzled the pillow.  There were no Ghost Hosts to pester her, no memories currently assailing her, no creepy statues chasing after her, no dark chasms full of staircases to fall into.  The bed, even though it sadly was not her bed, brought with it a sense of complete peace.   She could get used to this.   There was a gentle scratching sound in the room.  She had ignored it until now, but her thoughts had come full circle and began to wonder how she had gotten in this bed. Surely, someone had put her here.   And that, perhaps, they were still in the room with her.   The bed dipped and creaked as she slowly rose.  Her body was mostly better, but her arms still hurt.  The result, no doubt, of hanging on for dear life not too long ago.   The chill in the air forced her to take one of the blankets and wrap it around herself like a cape before she made her way through a tentative path marked through the junk piles.  In a different setting, back in Mr. Vance’s shop, she’d have loved nothing more than to go through all of these old things and admire them.  Perhaps even wonder about their histories.   But now she wondered if touching things was partially to blame for all the memories she’d been seeing.  She wondered if she would not cause herself more grief than it was worth to trudge through mountains of books or a pile of…

….Boxes…. She stopped at the boxes.  Unusually shaped boxes…like luggage. They must have had a specific purpose, since they all looked similar, but she didn’t know quite know enough about travel history to be able to place what they were for.   But one of them… …looked just like the strange fishing tackle that Mr. Mortimer always carried. She heard shifting nearby, she was getting closer to the glow, and she looked around the corner to find… A man with no head. She stumbled back into boxes, partially tripping on the blanket.  In spite of all the creepy things she’d seen so far, this was still a sight she hadn’t been expected.   The headless body was clothed in what looked like a buttoned down sailor’s raincoat, with a high collar cape paired over it.  An overly fancy top hat hovered in midair above the blank space where a head ought to be.  And the whole being was glowing in dull blues and greens.   

Her noisy retreat apparently caught the attention of the headless man, or it would be assumed to be the case, for he stopped wilting a stick of wood and straightened up. “Awake, are we?” The voice caused her to shriek and back away from the boxes she’d just stumbled into.   There was a head in one of them, shining with such a strong, green light that the box itself may as well have been made of a see-through material.  Perhaps it was.   The head chuckled at her reaction, and the whole box toppled over to roll across the floor towards the body.   Denying physics, the box and its contained head roll jumped as it reached its destination, the degree of spin it displayed was just enough so that the handle of the box easily snagged the waiting hand of the body.   Box in hand now, the body took a few steps towards her, the head disappearing from the box only to reappear moments later atop the pair of shoulders.  The ghost giving her an all too familiar gold toothed grin all the while.   Now that the two were reunited, and she had a moment to fully look at him… “…Mr….Mortimer…?” “Aye, young’un.” She did a double take.  Looking from his newly completed self, all green and bluish see through glow, to the box he held.  She recognized it as the very same box he often used as fishing tackle. Her mouth agape, she took in his extremely skeletal, glow-y appearance. “What….you…you can’t be dead!” “Oh?  Am I not?” He said, clearly amused as he made a show of examining his own arms. “We just talked to you this evening!  You…You were alive just this evening!”   “A lot can happen in a few hours, young’un.”  He said, completely stoney-faced. “Did you…did you die since then?  It wasn’t of old age was it?  It can’t be.  You don’t look more than 40—“ “Thank you kindly,” He said, this time with a smile and even greater amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Who killed you then?! What happened?!  It was that Ghost Host, wasn’t it—“ He raised a hand to stop her. “Young’un, it was a joke.  Believe you me, I’ve been dead since long before you were even born.” It took her a few seconds to process those words. “But…..but you were alive…” She said again, softly this time, as she stared off at nothing in particular. “Was I, young’un?  Or did I just look alive?”  

She attempted, again, to think this through.  He still glowed with an unearthly light, and she realized she could count ribs underneath the sheen of the raincoat.  He was like a skeleton.  A talking, walking skeleton in clothing.   “…I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?  Or maybe I’m dead.   I-I’m dead…I…I-I-I really fell to my death off that staircase, and now my body is just lying there, or maybe it’s just gone splat and there’s nothing left but a bunch of c-cracked bones and blood an-“ “--Young’un, you’re not-” He stepped forward, and she stumbled back.   He raised his hand again, but this time it was a gesture of surrender.   “It’s all right, young’un.”  In spite of the skulled visage, she could still see traces of the Mr. Mortimer she knew.  It was there in the way he now looked at her; full of concern and consideration. “It’s all right,” He said again, softer now, “You aren’t dead, and I’m not gonna hurt you.  I’m no different than all the times you’ve seen me before.  You just know a bit more about me, that’s all.” Again, the gears in her head tried to work themselves around this.  All those moments she’d seen him in town.  All the people he’d talked to.   “You’re dead…All this….all this time…?  The.  The people.  In town…” “Been doin’ this for decades now.  Not always here, you see.  Every forty years or so, I’ve had to go the town over to make sure no one got too suspicious that I hadn’t died off yet.  Age myself here and there so I look like I’m gaining years like everyone else.  I fancy I put on a right good show; no one ever questions whether that ol’ fisherman stumbling around is alive.” He gave her a winning grin.   “Although I reckon it’s pretty common to assume anyone and everyone who can stumble around is alive, eh?”  He said. Her mouth went dry as she looked back up at him. “All the…all the times I sat by you while you fishing at the river...a-and you would tell me stories…” His smile disappeared as he nodded solemnly.  “Yes….I was dead all of those times, too.” Her head was spinning.  She felt betrayed, but for reasons beyond her grasp or understanding.  He had felt cold all those times she had been near him.  Cold to the touch, cold in his presence, cold just by looking at him; those inexplicable feelings were beginning to make sense. And something else clicked. “…That was you in the memory…” “That was what now?” “You’re Rolly…Rolly Mortimer…Is that…?  That has to be…Your full name.  And you were by the river.  Emily Slater,” She said, facing him fully, the anxiety replaced with a strange sort of excitement as she regained the energy to stand. 

Flickers of emotion consumed his face, but they settled on furrowed concern. “Emily…How did you come by that name?” She shifted uncomfortably.  “I’ve been seeing strange things.  Ever since I came here. I don’t know.  They’re kinda like funny daydreams.  And bits of info just sort of pop into my head all the time…” His concern wearied off into contemplation.  “Daydreams, you say?  And do they happen a lot whenever you happen to touch something?” She nodded glumly.  “Especially this.” Her hand almost automatically went straight for it; the ring in her jacket pocket. She had to stop herself and overturn her jacket instead.  Guilt tripped her a little as the ring tripped out onto the floor. “Sorry, I just.  I just don’t want to-“ “Touch it.  I know.” Whatever he was thinking, it was certainly emotional.  The profound sense of sorrow in his eyes laid bare the reasons for his slow reluctance to set aside his box and pick the ring up.   “Is it yours, Mr. Mortimer?” He did not say anything immediately, but turned the ring over in his hand admiring its every facet.   “….No, it is not.  It belonged to Emily’s mother, and it was the only thing she had left to remember either of her parents by.” He tenderly put the ring into a hidden compartment in one of the old dressers nearby.  His gaze still entranced enough to stare at the dresser.   “I will have to...I will have to try and return to Emily when I get the opportunity…” That peaked Karen’s interest…and she couldn’t understand why.  It felt like an urge, much like all of the strange emotions and images that had been assaulting her up until this point. “Is Emily here?  In this house?” Mr. Mortimer paused.  “She…is present in the house, yes.  But…” “….Is….there something wrong with her…?” Mr. Mortimer stood staring at the dresser he’d put the ring in.  Silently, he was shaking his head.  Shaking his head and going to fetch a gnarled old cane from nearby that held all the markings of being a wilting project itself.   “It doesn’t matter much, young’un.  We aren’t likely to meet her at this time of night, so you needn’t get your hopes up too much.  Besides, she’s not…” A wince of sorrow. “…She isn’t quite able to have visitors.  She doesn’t respond much to any of us who knew her in life, she’s not likely to respond to a stranger.” “Is she like the ghost that I met that was stuck in the wallpaper?” “…One of the Wanderers…” “Wanderers?” He grumbled.  “Now see here, young’un.  Unlike some people ‘round here, I don’t mind too much the questions.  It’s only natural to be curious.  But that don’t change the fact that you have no business being here in the first place.” He lifted his cane and waved it in the air alongside his scolding.  Never hit her, never touched her, but the way it danced it was clear he was a little peeved about this.  And, for her part, she felt a little guilty.   “I did tell you, didn’t I?  I warned you not to go off and follow Nell home!  And just what did you do, hmm?”  His cane settled down again and he gave her a hard stare. “B-but we didn’t!  At least, not really…” She thought back to Michael, insisting they get out of the rain… that Nell said Tom Sawyer's Road was said to be a faster.... Wait.  We. 

Michael! “We indeed.  I’ll take a gander and assume that both you and young Michael came in here together, am I correct?” Michael!  Her face went hot as she grew very angry at herself.  How did she forget about him?  Why was her head all full of concerns about Emily and not Michael???  

Again, an eerie sensation overtook her, and nausea waved up.  It was like her own thoughts and feelings were slowly being replaced, one after the other. 

“The floorboards.”  Her voice was meek as she tried to clench her stomach against the nausea.  “We were together, but that Ghost Host pulled him underneath the floorboards and I haven’t seen him since.”   She looked over with fearful eyes, “I don’t..I don’t even know how long I’ve been here, how long I’ve been asleep up in this room. You don’t think he’s…” “Doubtful.  That wretch has been tricking mortals into coming inside for ages now, but he doesn’t often kill them.  I think he finds it part of the ‘entertainment’.  But we ought to leave right away, before he comes looking for you.  Especially if you have the ‘gift’.  This place isn’t kind to amateur psychics; there are too many of us for it to be safe…” “Wait.  What do you mean, ‘safe’?  What will….what will happen to me if I stay and be, I don’t know, ‘un-safe’?”

He paused again, as if deciding whether or not to give an explanation. “You said you met a soul who had been stuck in the wallpaper, right?” “Yeah.” “Was there anything you found a bit odd about them?” She thought about it.  “She had pale white eyes and no pupils.  And she thought I was Emily.  At least, at first she did.  After she got a good look at me, her eyes started to look more normal…” When she looked back at Mr. Mortimer, he had cautious hope in his eyes.   “She managed to see you, did she?  See you as you really are…” “What does that mean?” “Poor souls like that, they all have stark white eyes.  Like the pupils had right been stolen from them.  They’re called Wanderers.  Or Wandering Souls.  Or the Lost.  It’s all the same meaning.  They don’t immediately recognize you for a mortal because oftentimes they can’t.  Most of the time, they don’t even realize what year it is….or that they’re even dead.  Stuck in the past, some might say, and certainly not by choice.  And many of them have to relive the same old horrors of their life again…and again….and again…” “That’s….that’s horrible!  Isn’t there any way to help them or something?  Free them?”   Mr. Mortimer shook his head.  “None of us really know how to help them.  We have suspicions…” And here he looked her over with sorrowful eyes. “…But those suspicions have been met with disagreements.  And they don’t always come with permanent solutions either.  Not even the Madame, as all-knowing as she seems to be, knows exactly what to do for them.  Elsewise, I’d think we wouldn’t have any Wanderers at all.” He tapped the side of his head, next to his own eyes. “When they get their pupils back, it usually means they’re starting to see their surroundings as it is.  And we’ve managed this a few times for some of them, but they often just lose them again.  And again….and again....” Karen grew silent.   “The reason I mention them…young’un.  Is because.  If you remain, untrained, in this house where there are so many of us souls…You’ll become Lost as well…” She felt her own eyes grow as wide as saucers. “I’ll be stuck in the wallpaper??!” Mr. Mortimer opened his mouth, but that quickly spiraled into laughter.   “N-No…No…young’un.  You…You still got a body...Bodies can’t go off and melt themselves into walls, ya know…” He settled down into a cough. “But it’s your mind you ought to be concerned about.  If you keep on like this, having everyone’s feelings and thoughts going through your head, you’ll eventually start to think they’re yours.  You’ll start to forget stuff about yourself and start to ‘remember’ stuff about some of the souls here.  And with nearly a thousand of us…well…you’ll be right swallowed up like a boat capsizing out in a storm.” “And I’ll…be someone else?  I’ll forget myself …forever?” He gave her a kind smile and shook his head. “No, not forever.  Mortal psychics have an advantage here; you’ve got a body still.  That alone can help anchor you to the present in ways that we can’t.  Mortals don’t get Lost for long, but that may require that they’re removed from us souls so they can recover…” “But if I’m not!  If I end up trapped here.  A-and I get Lost…” “Now don’t you go and worry about that.  There’s a whole crowd of us here in this one single house; someone would find you and let you out.  It’d be impossible for you to go unnoticed.”

“If I’m found by someone nice, you mean…” Karen said bitterly, thinking back to the Ghost Host. “Most of us are a right sort.  A lot of the nasty fellows are locked up nice and tight; ya shouldn’t come across any of those.” “But what about the Wanderers?” “Wanderers are a right fright to a mortal, I imagine, since it can be hard to understand why they do what they do.  There off in their own little world; can be hard to figure out what they’re planning next and how to react.  But they’re not scary on purpose.  Not vicious.” He went to go and grab his box.

“And they’re mostly harmless.”  He said, “In all the century I’ve been here, never known one of them to kill a mortal.  And never known them to hurt one on purpose either.  Accidental injuries we’ve had, often cause the mortal’s busy scrambling to get away, but never death.  Which is about twenty less than what I can say of the Host.” “The Ghost Host killed twenty people?”  Her mouth felt dry. “That I’m aware of.  Won’t be surprised if he’s killed more and did off with the evidence.”  

“But why do you—“ “Now young’un.  We’ve got to get you home and find poor Michael.  We can’t spend all night talking here.”  Mr. Mortimer motioned for her to follow as he began to hobble his way out of the room, a cane in one hand and his box in the other.  “You’re both gonna need to get home, and the sooner the better.” She willingly followed him into the dark hallway, still burning with questions, but just was desperate to find Michael.   The unearthly glow he gave off lit the way, and illuminated floorboards full of dust and cobwebs.  She was just about to question him some more when the door slammed shut behind her on its own and she visibly jumped some feet into the air.   “Sorry.” He said, looking genuinely guilty. “I’m so used to being free to do that here that I clean forgot you’re probably not.” He just opened up a million other questions related to how ghosts manipulated physical objects, but as they began their trek down the hall she went with something she was most concerned about. “Why do you all let a murderer free like that to torment…erm….m-mortals?  What happens if he decided to go into town??? You’ve been to town, so he should be able to leave too, right?”

“That fellow is only free on the account that he’s one of the four most powerful in the whole house.  Otherwise, I tell you, Young’un, he’d be locked up just as much as the other malicious souls.  But the Madame likes him free, and I can’t be damned to know what goes through that woman’s head sometimes.” His cane clacked against the floorboards with each swing. “And yes, he can go into town.  But he doesn’t like to do so, and I can’t be damned to know what goes through his mind either.” The dark gloomy hallways looked a lot like all the ones she’d seen before; stretched out and going on for miles.  Yet it was remarkable how much friendlier it felt walking beside someone she knew who had their own built in flashlight.  Who was their own built in flashlight.   “Who are the other four?” “The Fearsome Foursome.”  He gave a snort, “There’s the Madame Leota; I believe I’ve mentioned her before.  She’s was a powerful psychic in live, and an even more powerful one in death.  That damnable wretch, the so-called ‘Ghost Host’.  There’s also meself.  And Mr. Solomon Gracey.  Any one of us is a match for the other, or so they say.” “Then…then you could drive off the Ghost Host?  I don’t have to deal with him anymore??”  Safety.  Real safety.   And she felt so much relief, even just thinking of it.  The Ghost Host not even being able to touch her.   “Normally I could… And I would…”

He gave her a sideline look of stern disapproval. “And he is exactly the reason why I didn’t want either of you coming ‘round here…” She winced and gave a half smile as an apology. He continued walking.  “…But I don’t think you have a know-how into how much effort it takes to go into town like I did all this afternoon and evening.  In here, the Madame’s power helps with making us…you know.” He waved his cane hand up and down his form to draw attention to it.

“Look like something.”  He said. “Out there, you’re left to figure yourself out.  Put up a complicated illusion that gets people thinking you’ve got a body like them; solid and everything.  Takes the wind out of you, even after all these years of practice.  May not have a body anymore, but can still tire out; remember that, young’un.  So we best be avoiding him, just in case.” As they reached the length of the hallway, he opened up an old door with a gargoyle statue framing the top of it.  Even in the gloomy darkness, she could see a set of stairs going down.  Giant spider webs stretched from one end of the stairway to the other, and her queasiness returned to see what looked like a pair of eyes staring back at her.                                The house was still watching.

[italicwatches]

Magical Girl Ore - Episode 08

Okay, I guess I need to get this done. It’s Magical Girl Ore, episode 08. Here we GO!

-We begin with Saki preparing to head out…And her mother is in bad shape, not just back troubles, but getting ill…She’s so bad off that all she can provide her daughter for running-late breakfast is a bento box of sandwiches and the like, a downright mundane meal…And then she can barely force herself to move once Saki is gone. But, Sayori has somewhere else she has to be…

-Opening!

-Magical Girl - Meet-and-Greet

-So it’s time for the meet-and-greet of Saki-kun and Sakuyo-kun, who sold 100 million CDs of their first single. Saki-kun is legit kind of terrified of this kind of crowd for her music. Of course, it was helped by the manager’s cunning and dastardly tactics. Every CD comes with one random photo card. The super rare ones, in only 3% of CD packages, include an invitation to this event. Which you still have to pay entry into.

-That’s…Pretty underhanded. But it still worked…They’re holding a solid amount of ground even with Mohiro’s duo, and PRISMA, both here! And then the manager leaves the pair all on their own to go make nice-nice with the other managers. Of course, as panicked as they are, Saki-kun and Sakuyo-kun can’t let their guards down…There’s no way that whoever’s targeting Mohiro isn’t here. An attack is almost inevitable. But when, and from where…???

-Meanwhile, Ko-san comes to see Sayori, lets himself in, and finds her…Missing! And her bed still warm. She just left, but where could she…No…Damn that woman! Indeed, Sayori is on a train, and not doing well by the looks of it…

-Back at the event, where Saki-kun gets a good-luck message from her mom! Also she’s being glared at by Anime Yang, who is very petty. No Funny Name has to try and soothe her, because she is clearly the more mature one of the pair. Also, Mohiro keeps stealing glances at the devilishly handsome Ore-san.

-So of course, the meet-and-greet is going about as well as these things usually go. Lots of incredibly enthusiastic fans, lots of giddy fanning-out moments, and a few people who are a little too enthusiastic. Including a hyper fanboy who has to be dragged away after having admitted to personally buying 10,000 copies of the print run alone. …And he left something white and sticky on Saki-kun’s hand. …Do not question it, do not acknowledge it, wipe hands, wash hands, pretend it never happened. Deny it hard enough and maybe she can forget it entirely.

-Oh and there’s a cute little girl who folded an origami poo for Saki-kun, since she always steps in poo. It’s the honesty of children and their genuine heartfelt emotions…Yeah, even with it being a little shameful, Saki-kun can work with this. This feeling of really mattering to someone, of really making their lives better, it’s…It’s pretty good.

-So who’s next in line? Which sort of important fan is up next—

-IT’S HER MOM

-FUCK EVERYTHING

-WHAT HAPPENED TO BEING UNDER THE WEATHER

-IS THIS A GOD DAMNED PARENT TEACHER CONFERENCE WHY ARE YOU HERE

-She brought a gift! Which has to go in the box with other gifts, for security reasons. Also Sayori wants to see Mohiro and Saki-kun freaks the fuck out…But Sayori also wants to remind her child that she needs to be ready. Mohiro’s definitely going to be targeted on a day like today. And this crowd is going to make things difficult. Be careful, be prepared, and do your duty. The staff try to make her leave, and she just ignores them with her sheer magical power…But as she leaves through the crowd, she collapses, her body utterly drained…

-And a figure finds her…Is it Ko-san? No, it’s Hyoe-san, calling for someone to help her to the infirmary!

-While Mohiro shakes hands with another fan…And it’s a jacked teddy bear demon. Nyon.

-So that’s how the screaming starts as the demons appear to take Mohiro away. This went from bad to worse, as they go to dump him into the portal, and it turns into a war! While Hyoe-san drops Sayori off at the infirmary…

-And her numbers are terrifying. Heart rate of 360, blood pressure at 400, did she say a temperature of 90 C?! That’s not actually physically possible. But still, somehow Sayori manages to stir when things go awry…She has to get the package to Saki….!

-Saki-kun, who’s stuck fighting with her bare hands, and it’s making things a lot more complicated…Without the capacity to definitively kill demons, the best she can do is a terrifying nut shot to the one that tries to grab her away from saving Mohiro…Oh, and they’re stealing other people, too. So that’s extra bad.

-Sayori forces herself to her feet, carrying that package, when Ko-san finally finds her…You damn fool woman! Satori is too lost in the magical girl stories of her own youth. And also she kicks Ko-san into near unconsciousness. Jesus, how much power is in that matronly body.

-While Saki-kun is being surrounded and mobbed…When Sakuyo-kun clears a path to the exit! Everyone MOVE! Saki, worry about Mohiro and finishing the fight!

-Where Mohiro is getting his butt touched as they try to squeeze him into the portal…And Saki-kun is infuriated enough to try and push through this mob! The people cheer her fighting spirit on, throwing things at the demons as they try to get at Saki-kun…And her heart stirs with the love of her fans!

-She is not fighting alone. She is not fighting for only herself. The world’s love is in her and of her, and with that power of a magical girl, she, STRIKES!

-It is a fucking horror show. Don’t let the children see.

-And when it’s over, Saki-kun personally thanks the young girl for being so kind and rooting for her…While the members of PRISMA, and by that I mostly mean Anime Yang, are freaking out. As Saki-kun is left to fiercely yank Mohiro out of this portal, and ends up with him spilled out on top of her and YES THIS IS OKAY. And she accidentally lets slip her emotions and Mohiro…

-Suddenly pulls Saki-kun out of the way of a punch! A punch that gets blocked cold by a figure in pink, holding a gleaming war staff…You, will not, hurt her child.

-Sayori-kun…No, that is too small! Sayori-San? Too unfamiliar.

-…SAYORI-SAMA steps forth, introducing herself as a passing-through magical woman and Saki-kun quietly has a panic and what the fuck are you doing. You are much too old to be doing this! But you were in danger, and she just…It’s what any parent would do. Now, have you figured out who started all of this?

-Saki-kun thought it could be a fan, but nobody was in the right position, and they were just too…Pure. No, it’s got to be someone else…So Sayori-sama asks who’s been here all day. It’s a short list; the other acts, his own manager, and of course…

-Sayori-sama’s body buckles, too worn out from so much battle…And is this the end? She feels as though this could be her last…She’s so, so very proud of you, Saki…! Take this! Her weapon…It will do right by you, and honor you…

-And as Saki-kun takes the staff, Sayori-sama drops…Kokoro takes her up in his arms, spreading his wings…

-While Saki-kun, full of tears and grief, finally realizes. Her enemy, has been in front of her this whole fucking time. He just emerged from the bathroom. Hyoe-san…!

-Credits!

-Aftercredits! Sayori is on the train with Saki and Ko-san, because it turns out she just had a really bad back spasm there. She wasn’t ascending to heaven or anything.

You fought well, Sayori. Rest, and know your legacy will live on. Oh, also, we finally got names for PRISMA in the preview! Anime Yang is Michiru, and No Funny Name is Ruka. They actually get a turn in the spotlight? My god. I guess we’ll see it next time, in episode NINE of Magical Girl Ore! Wait for it!

[festpop]



The most anticipated lineup and festival of the year, Electric Daisy Carnival Las Vegas, just released an insane lineup of artists for the upcoming event in May 2018. For the last 22 years, the lineup of electronic dance music talents exceeds expectations of music lovers each year. Without a doubt, EDC Las Vegas is THE festival to attend to see your favorite artist live in the most extraordinary environment possible. EDC Las Vegas is much more than a festival, it is a culture, a lifestyle and a community.

The dusk to dawn festival will take place on May 18 through 20, 2018 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway. The speedway has hosted EDC Las Vegas since 2011 and is the perfect venue for this event. There is plenty of room for 9 stages to fit presenting world class DJs accommodating all genres of electronic dance music from trap to house and even dubstep. This year, festival goers have endless options of artists to see throughout the weekend. DJs such as Diplo, Martin Garrix, Tchami, Alan Walker, Zhu, Zedd and many more are featured in the lineup that will keep attendees moving their bodies for three days straight.

Dates and Location

Date: May 18-20, 2018

Location: Las Vegas Motor Speedway

7000 N Las Vegas Blvd Las Vegas, NV 89115

This year, Insomniac released the new dates for EDC Las Vegas last September. Usually, the festival took place in the month of June, but due to the risk of high temperatures, Insomniac moved the event to May. Each year, Insomniac and its founder, Pasquale Rotella aim to make the festival better than previous years. With this alternation in dates, it will be more safe for festival goers and gates will be able to open earlier as the weather will be cooler. This means guests can rage earlier!

Lineup

As mentioned earlier, the lineup for EDC Las Vegas was just released yesterday. This festival, hands down is the biggest festival in the United States. Every DJ an EDM lover can imagine plays live at EDC, and it is probably every DJs dream to play at EDC as well. This year, you can expect acts from all genres of EDM. Dash Berlin will return to EDC Las Vegas with a long-awaited classic trance set, while dozens of artists will make their EDC Las Vegas debut this May, from Moksi, GG Magree, Khalid, and Yultron, to Borgeous, Charlotte de Witte, and many more.

In addition to this year’s headliners, EDC Las Vegas will be making history with more than 25 rate b2b performances including Doctor P b2b Flux Pavillion, DJ Stephanie b2b Lady Faith, and 12th Planet b2b Kill The Noise. The Binches and Firebeatz vs. DubVision will also treat festival attendees to world exclusive performances, while NGHTMRE and Slander present Gud Vibrations and Malaa and Tchami’s No Redemption tour makes their way to the EDC Las Vegas stages.

Weekend tickets and Shuttle passes

As in past years, EDC Las Vegas offers a monthly plan for those looking to purchasing tickets. This is a great way to buy tickets because it helps make it more affordable, rather than paying a large sum of money up front.

Find all information about ticket options, descriptions, and prices here.

General Admission – 3 Day GA – $355 + $84 (taxes and fees)

VIP – 3 Day VIP (21+) – $699 + $100 (taxes and fees)

Shuttle Passes 

The shuttles run from the Rio hotel & casino, MGM Festival Grounds, the downtown lot and the mid-strip lot. All tickets are $90 + $16 (taxes and fees). Just like the weekend passes, EDC is offering a payment plan for guestsattending the festival. Purchase tickets here.

Guests of the Hard Rock Hotel, MGM Grand hotel & casino, and The Stratosphere have the option to book departure times for the weekend. Check out the photos below for a map and schedule of the shuttle times. Purchase shuttle passes here.

Camping



For the first time ever, EDC Las Vegas is offering camping. The party never has to stop if you stay at Camp EDC! Camp EDC is a fully immersive world of art, activities, music and community. It is all within walking distance of the festival. Say goodbye to the horror stories of the shuttle bus and hello to waking up at the festival! From yoga, sound heading, and guided meditation classes, to daytime pool parties and a curated guest speaker series, Camp EDC offers a whole new way to connect with your festival family and extend your EDC experience.

EDC Las Vegas 2018 Camping Passes are on sale now.

Campsites at Camp EDC feature air-conditioned ShiftPods or RV spots to park. Roll up in your decked out ride, park for the weekend, and relax. There is no need to stress about traffic in and out. These new additions aren’t the only new plans in store for the EDC camping experience.

As a camper, you will have exclusive access to things that will make your experience go down in history. At the heart of Camp EDC lies the Mesa, a bustling hub of entertainment, activities, and amenities that campers can enjoy and take part in all weekend long. From daytime pool parties and go-kart racing, to a curated guest speaker series and group classes that exercise your mind, body, and spirit, campers can experience a completely new side of EDC. Find all the information you need on the Mesa here.

Still not sure whether camping would be worth it? Well, Insomniac has recently announced that the party will start a little earlier this year with a campers-only Thursday night kick-off party! Campers will be able to see Excision, G Jones, and Habstrakt (with more to be announced) before they play under the electric sky!

You can now easily bundle your festival tickets and Moon Glow tent reservation with the Camp EDC Experience Hopper group package. The offer comes with a festival pass plus Moon Glow camping for $699 per person, including all taxes and fees, when buying with four (4) people. If you and your squad have already purchased your festival passes, no sweat! You can do a group buy on the camping portion for $299 per person when booking with four (4) people.

For all information on camping, head to Camp EDC.

Not the camping type of person? Yet still want the best EDC experience possible from a hotel view? Insomniac has teamed up with numerous hotels to bring you the best rates possible. Stay like a headliner with EDC’s Hotel Recommendations.

Past Years

EDC Las Vegas 2017 was a sweltering edition. It was a year of growth and a year of electronic dance music hitting the mainstream. Artists were so in love with EDC that they made their own recap videos.

The lineup for 2017 brought the vibes while also adding huge surprises throughout the weekend. Drake came out during Metro Boomin’s set and played his hit “Fake Love” at the Bass Pod stage to an animated crowd that belted out every word of the track. Over at the Circuit Grounds, Lil Jon turned up the ratchet with Flosstradamus, and G-Eazy stood atop the DJ table for Jauz’s Cosmic Meadow set on Friday.

In 2016, EDC Las Vegas celebrated its 20th edition in the best way possible. It collectively destroyed the myth of EDM on the outs. EDC 20 proved that dance music isn’t going anywhere. Canadian producer Datsik enjoyed his time on and off the stage at EDC in 2016.

You cannot miss out on EDC Las Vegas 2018 seeing as it can only get better!

FestPop’s Las Vegas Dining Recommendations

Hash House A Go Go

The LINQ Hotel 3535 Las Vegas Blvd

 (More Las Vegas Locations)

♦FestPop’s Pick for Best Breakfast + Best Chicken & Waffles on Planet Earth♦

Featured on Man V. Food, Hash House A Go Go offers imaginative and twisted farm food at breakfast, lunch, and dinner at The LINQ Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.

SkinnyFats

6475 N. Decatur Blvd., 89131 Las Vegas, NV

(More Las Vegas Locations)

♦FestPop’s Pick for Best Lunch for Foodies♦

Launched in June 2013, the counter order concept splits its menu into healthy, or “live happy” choices. Options like bowls, tacos, burgers and sandwiches and monthly specials are given the SkinnyFats twist, often with inventive names, like the “Chickawaffadopolis,” made with “fried chicken tenders piled high over a buttermilk waffle, drizzled in syrup and sprinkled with powdered sugar.” Thank you, Kathryn Alvarez, Manager for a perfect lunch.

Nacho Daddy

Miracle Mile Shops 3663 S Las Vegas Blvd #595 Las Vegas, NV 89109

♦FestPop’s Pick for Best Day Drinking Spot + Best Service + Best Nachos on Planet Earth♦

Nacho Daddy has three locations in the valley, including Summerlin, downtown Las Vegas, and the Miracle Mile Shops at Planet Hollywood. Besides the great food, Nacho Daddy has the best service and managed seamlessly by General Manager Patrick McGraith. Thank you again, Patrick and Aly, for your hospitality.

General Mgr Peter McGraith & Best Waitress Aly

Sushi Roku

Ceasars 3500 S Las Vegas Blvd, Las Vegas, NV 89109

♦FestPop’s Pick for Best Sushi in Las Vegas♦ 

Sushi Roku combines the finest, freshest fish from pristine waters around the globe with the kind of artistry that can only be provided by a mature sushi chef ensuring superlative traditional sushi, together with a splash of California innovation.

Thank you, Emmy Hong, Manager for an amazing dinner and exceptional service.

Hexx Kitchen and Bar 

 Paris Las Vegas 3655 S Las Vegas Blvd, Las Vegas, NV 89109

♦FestPop’s Pick for Best Dinner with Views of the Bellagio Fountains + Only Resturant with an in-house Chocolate Factory♦

Located in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip at Paris Hotel Casino & Resort, HEXX kitchen + bar offers classically approachable cuisine, focusing on fresh, quality-sourced ingredients and Strip-side patio dining with unparalleled views of the Bellagio Fountains. HEXX serves breakfast, lunch and dinner, 24 hours a day, and our food menus are complemented by our unique wine, beer and specialty cocktails. A visit to Las Vegas is not complete without experiencing HEXX. For special events from birthday and bachelorette parties, to anniversary celebrations, to corporate outings, HEXX offers an array of dining options, including a raised dining area and private dining room for larger groups.

EDC Las Vegas 2018

All in all, EDC is it’s own sanctuary. A place where you can be yourself and dance like nobody’s watching. A place to escape reality and feel at one with the music. EDC Las Vegas brings everything you could ever need in a festival except for the most important headliner.

The Most Important Headliner of All is

YOU

FestPop hopes to see all you headliners at EDC 2018! For more information follow the EDC socials:

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

FestPop Staff Writer, Katy Loesch

FestPop Staff Writer, Katherine Bennett

  What You Need To Know About EDC Las Vegas 2018  The most anticipated lineup and festival of the year, Electric Daisy Carnival Las Vegas, just released an insane lineup of artists for the upcoming event in May 2018.

[krystisyaandwine]

Hello, everyone! I’m so excited that it’s First We Were IV release week and even more excited to have the wonderful author Alexandra Sirowy here on the blog today! This is certainly one of my favorite YA thrillers of 2017, so make sure to pick it up when it comes out tomorrow, 07/25!

About the Book

Title: First We Were IV

Author: Alexandra Sirowy

Release Date: July 25, 2017

Pages: 448

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Buy Links: 

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Book Depository

A group of friends start a secret society in this out-of-control thriller from the author of The Telling and The Creeping that examines the all-consuming love of lifelong friendship—and what someone is capable of when they’re afraid of losing it.

Izzie loves nothing more than her three best friends, Viv, Graham, and Harry, and the bond the four of them share. And she’s terrified of their friendship falling apart next year when they go off to college. To bind them together, she decides to create that will belong only to them, a special thing that they’ll always share between the four of them. And so they dream up the Order of IV, a secret society devoted to mischief that rights wrongs and pays back debts. At first, it works like a charm—but when the Order of IV’s escapades get recognition beyond their wildest expectations, other people start wanting in. And soon, what started as a game of friendship is spiraling into something dangerous and beyond their control—and before it’s over, they’ll pay the ultimate sacrifice.

Guest Post – Revenge is the Thing

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FIRST WE WERE IV is about four best friends – Izzie, Viv, Harry, and Graham – who invent a secret society and use it to play pranks on their coastal town. After their first take-down –  a pervy high school VP – they realize that the Order of IV can be an invisible hand for justice. Their secret society’s next target: the mayor and police who allowed the murder of a female teenage runaway go unsolved. Five years ago, it was Izzie and Viv who found her body, mysteriously staged in Viv’s family apple orchard. The discovery left a lasting impression on the four friends. Before it, they were carefree adventures and after, they understood that even their perfect town had monsters.

Fast forward to their senior year of high school and the invention of the Order of IV. The friends become a tempest of pranks and vigilantism, justice quickly taking a backseat to revenge. And as secrets unravel and others want into the Order, events spiral out of control, ultimately costing one of the four friends their life.

Give me a book with a revenge plot or subplot any day. I particularly love tales of teenagers rising-up and getting even, whether it’s with authority, bullies, or a broken world. Here’s a short list of my favorite revenge-y books and descriptions from their publishers.

A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas

Feyre has returned to the Spring Court, determined to gather information on Tamlin’s maneuverings and the invading king threatening to bring Prythian to its knees. But to do so she must play a deadly game of deceit—and one slip may spell doom not only for Feyre, but for her world as well. As war bears down upon them all, Feyre must decide who to trust amongst the dazzling and lethal High Lords—and hunt for allies in unexpected places.

Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1) by Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian

Postcard-perfect Jar Island is home to charming tourist shops, pristine beaches, amazing oceanfront homes-and three girls secrets plotting revenge. KAT is sick and tired of being bullied by her former best friend. LILLIA has always looked out for her little sister, so when she discovers that one of her guy friends has been secretly hooking up with her, she’s going to put a stop to it. MARY is perpetually haunted by a traumatic event from years past, and the boy who’s responsible has yet to get what’s coming to him. None of the girls can act on their revenge fantasies alone without being suspected. But together…anything is possible.

I Am Her Revenge by Meredith Moore

She can be anyone you want her to be. Vivian was raised with one purpose in life: to exact revenge on behalf of her mother. Manipulative and cruel, Mother has deprived Vivian not only of a childhood, but of an original identity. With an endless arsenal of enticing personalities at her disposal, Vivian is a veritable weapon of deception. And she can destroy anyone. When it’s time to strike, she enrolls in a boarding school on the English moors, where she will zero in on her target: sweet and innocent Ben, the son of the man who broke Mother’s heart twenty years ago. With every secret she uncovers, Vivian comes one step closer to learning who she really is. But the more she learns about herself, the more dangerous this cat and mouse game becomes. Because Mother will stop at nothing to make sure the truth dies with her.

Gemina (The Illuminae Files #2) by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff

Hanna is the station captain’s pampered daughter; Nik the reluctant member of a notorious crime family. But while the pair are struggling with the realities of life aboard the galaxy’s most boring space station, little do they know that Kady Grant and the Hypatia are headed right toward Heimdall, carrying news of the Kerenza invasion.

When an elite BeiTech strike team invades the station, Hanna and Nik are thrown together to defend their home. But alien predators are picking off the station residents one by one, and a malfunction in the station’s wormhole means the space-time continuum might be ripped in two before dinner. Soon Hanna and Nik aren’t just fighting for their own survival; the fate of everyone on the Hypatia—and possibly the known universe—is in their hands. But relax. They’ve totally got this. They hope.

What are your favorite revenge stories?

My Review

This is the first book of Sirowy’s that I’ve read, and it will definitely not be the last! This book leads off with a hint of one mystery and then quickly sweeps readers into yet another one. Watching Sirowy weave the two stories together into one seamless plot was fascinating. There’s also some incredible elements of horror sprinkled throughout that absolutely gave me the chills and kept me absolutely glued to these pages.

There’s a fantastic secret society element in this book, which is always captivating. What I love about this secret society though, is that it happens to be a society run by teenagers, who effectively call out the adult citizens of their small town on their corruption and a dark secret hidden in the town’s history.

The characters were very well-developed. Each member of the Order has their own individual personality and quirks, and the way they all interact with one another is authentic and wildly entertaining. This is one of those books that you’re sad to see come to an end, because you don’t want to say goodbye to the characters just yet.

I adore a mystery/thriller set in a small town. The idea that people you think you know everything about are capable of treacherous acts is truly terrifying and definitely increases the suspense in this novel.

The ending of this book is breathtaking and will absolutely take readers by surprise. This is one summer thriller that simply isn’t to be missed.

About the Author

Alexandra Sirowy is the author of the young adult thrillers THE CREEPING, the Bram Stoker Award® Nominated THE TELLING, and the upcoming FIRST WE WERE IV. Alexandra attended a women’s college as an undergrad and received her graduate degree in International Studies. When she isn’t writing, she loves to travel, read, eat, and get into mischief. She lives with her husband in Northern California.

Enter the Giveaway!

1 signed hard cover copy of FIRST WE WERE IV

Fujuifilm instax mini 9 Polaroid camera in smoky white (& film) like the one in the book!

Strand of gold stars

FIRST WE WERE IV swag (temporary tattoos & bookmarks)

Evie Seo Designed Tote Bags

*US entires only. No purchase necessary to enter, giveaway items provided by Alexandra Sirowy.*

Follow the Blog Tour

Thank you so much to the phenomenal Brittany from Brittany’s Book Rambles for hosting this tour! Be sure to check out her blog!

Week 1

July 10:  Bookish Lifestyles – Review + Tote Design July 11:  Brittany’s Book Rambles – Guest Post July 12:  Emily Reads Everything – Review July 13   Biscotto’s Books – Moodboard July 14:  Forever Lost in Literature – Review

Week 2

July 17:  My Friends Are Fiction – Guest Post July 18:  Literary Legionnaire – Review July 19:  The Reader and the Chef – Review July 20:  Novel Novice – Guest Post July 21:  Dark Faerie Tales – Interview

Week 3

July 24:  YA and Wine – Review + Guest Post July 25:  YA Book Central – Spotlight July 26:  Tales of the Ravenous Reader – Review July 27:  A Perfection Called Books – Guest Post

Will you be reading First We Were IV when it comes out tomorrow? What is your favorite revenge novel that you’ve read?

Follow me online for more YA and Wine!  

Revenge is the Thing: Guest Post by FIRST WE WERE IV Author Alexandra Sirowy Hello, everyone! I'm so excited that it's First We Were IV release week and even more excited to have the wonderful author Alexandra Sirowy here on the blog today!

[amazingstories]

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Analog

Apex

Asimov’s

Aurealis

Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Black Static

Clarkesworld

Fantasy & Science Fiction

Forever

Galaxy’s Edge

Interzone

Lightspeed

Perehelion

Strange Horizons

Uncanny

          Current Issues is an occasional feature (mostly monthly) that provides a round up of the content of periodical SF, fantasy and horror.

Periodical logos link directly to that publication’s website. Active links within the body of the text link to the story or article in question (there’s an awful lot of ‘free’ stuff out there).

We will tend to feature the paying markets here, but are more than happy to include additional publications that are offering fiction in our fields; if you would like your publication included here, please contact us directly.

Fiction Wither And Blossom | Oka Ja Kukinto By: Suvi Kauppila I have outlived my parents and my little brother. My memory isn’t what it used to be.

Oka Ja Kukinto | Wither And Blossom By: Suvi Kauppila Olen saatellut lepoon vanhempani ja pikkuveljeni. Muistini ei ole enää entisensä.

Faces and Thoughts | څېرې او اندېښنې By: Abdul wakil Sulamal Translated by: James Caron He had commissioned one of those mansions that people have nowadays, furnished with marble and stone, that he had just moved into two weeks ago.

څېرې او اندېښنې | Faces and Thoughts By: Abdul wakil Sulamal دا چې خداى ( ج) څنګه پرې دا هر څه لورولي وو ، دا اوږده کيسه ده ، خو صاحب چې اوس په کومو شنو او سروکې لوبېده ، هر سړى ورته ګوته په غاښ او هک پک حيران و . نه يې د پيسو شمېر کېده او نه هم د راز راز موټرو ، بنګلو او نورو حسابونو کتابونو … داسې ماڼۍ چې نن سبا دى په کې دېره و او پوره دوه اونۍ د مخه يې نوې رانيولې وه ، کله په خوب کې هم نه وه ليدلې او نه خو هم له ده سره کله داسې تصور

Reprint Shira | שירה By: Lavie Tidhar Nur remembered a paragraph from one of Tirosh’s poems, from the single book he published, two years before the twentieth century came to an end: “The morning rises: another train station…”

שירה | Shira By: Lavie Tidhar נור נזכרה בבית אחד משיר של תירוש, מהספר היחיד שהוא פרסם, שנתיים לפני סוף המאה העשרים: “הבוקר עולה; עוד תחנת רכבת. השמיים בכחול כהה ופנסי הרחוב דולקים; אנשים, כמו תיבות טבועות של אוצרות עתיקים, יושבים במצולותיהם. מוקדם מדי להתחיל בפעולות חילוץ: לשעה קלה, לפני שהשמש תזרח, אנחנו לבד.” היא לא אהבה את הדימוי, לא מצאה בו את המקוריות הדרושה כדי להפוך את השיר למשהו מעבר למשני, אבל עדיין… היא חשבה עליו עכשיו, מכיוון שבדרכו שלו, תירוש תפש, בשיר, מהות מסוימת של מסע. לתחנה היה שם רשמי בו לא נעשה שימוש; עבור תושבי העיר, לפחות, היה לה רק שם אחד, שילוב

Poetry Celestial Nirvana—written by the Curiosity Rover upon landing on Mars | 星球湼槃─為好奇號登陸火星而寫 By: Ko Hua Chen | 陳克華 Translated by: Annie Sheng I traveled eight and a half months to finally pay a visit to / Earth’s brother, separated and scattered a distance away

星球湼槃─為好奇號登陸火星而寫 | Celestial Nirvana–written by the Curiosity Rover upon landing on Mars By: Ko Hua Chen | 陳克華 走了八個半月終於得以拜見

Podcasts

Podcast: Wither And Blossom Art by: Suvi Kauppila Podcast read by: Anaea Lay Translated by: Suvi Kauppila In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Suvi Kauppila’s “Wither And Blossom.”

Podcast: Wither And Blossom – Finnish By: Suvi Kauppila Podcast read by: Suvi Kauppila Translated by: Suvi Kauppila In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Suvi Kauppila’s “Wither And Blossom – Finnish.”

Podcast: Faces and Thoughts By: Abdul wakil Sulamal Podcast read by: Anaea Lay In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Abdul wakil Sulamal’s “Faces and Thoughts.”

Podcast: Faces and Thoughts – Pashto By: Abdul wakil Sulamal Podcast read by: Abdul wakil Sulamal In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Abdul wakil Sulamal’s “Faces and Thoughts.”

Podcast: Shira By: Lavie Tidhar Podcast read by: Anaea Lay Translated by: Lavie Tidhar In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Lavie Tidhar’s “Shira.” The original Hebrew language version of this story was first published on the Israeli SFF Society website, by editor Nir Yaniv. It is also a reprint of the English version, originally published in The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy, edited by Ellen Datlow, 2008.

Reviews

Monday: Orbital Cloud by Taiyo Fujii, translated by Timothy Silver By: Rachel CordascoScience Fiction StoriesThe Worldless by Indrapramit Das Author spotlightDeath Every Seventy-Two Minutes by Adam-Troy Castro Author spotlightCome-from-Aways by Julian Mortimer Smith Author spotlightFantasy StoriesPhantom Pain by Eileen Gunn Author spotlightThe Debt of the Innocent by Rachel Swirsky Author spotlightThe Stone Lover by Marta Randall Author spotlightLa Peau Verte by Caitlín R. KiernanSoccer Fields and Frozen Lakes by Greg Kurzawa Author spotlightNonfictionEditorial, March 2017 by John Joseph AdamsTV Review: March 2017 by Joseph Allen HillBook Reviews: March 2017 by Amal El-Mohtar

Interview: Nnedi Okorafor by Christian A. Coleman

Exclusive Paid Content

NOVELLA: Proving the Rule by Holly Phillips

NOVEL EXCERPT: Orbital Cloud by Taiyo Fujii

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: Holly Phillips by Robyn Lupo March/April 2017 Vol. 41 Nos. 3 & 4

NOVELLA

Tao Zero Damien Broderick

NOVELETTES

Soulmates.com Will McIntosh

Three Can Keep a Secret Bill Johnson & Gregory Frost

Kitty Hawk Alan Smale

The Wisdom of the Group Ian R. MacLeod

SHORT STORIES

Number Thirty-Nine Skink Suzanne Palmer

The Ones Who Know Where They Are Going Sarah Pinsker

Invasion of the Saucer-Men Dale Bailey

Cupido Rich Larson

A Singular Event in the Fourth Dimension Andrea M. Pawley

After the Atrocity Ian Creasey

Goner Gregory Norman Bossert

We Regret the Error Terry Bisson

POETRY

Mount Rushmore Marge Simon

Small Certainties Sara Polsky

Almost Certainly a Time Traveler Jarod K. Anderson

Surreal Axioms Bruce Boston

Note from Olympus Mons Robert Frazier

Rock, Paper, Scissors Robert Borski

DEPARTMENTS

Guest Editorial: Things Change James Patrick Kelly

Reflections: Forty Years! Robert Silverberg

On the Net: Screen Dreams James Patrick Kelly

Next Issue

On Books Peter Heck

The SF Conventional Calendar Erwin S. Strauss

Words from the Editor-in-Chief by Jason Sizemore

“Luminaria” by John Hornor Jacobs (Novelette)

Interview with Author John Hornor Jacobs by Andrea Johnson (March 8th)

“Waste” by Mary Elizabeth Burroughs (Short Story)

“Jesus Christ, Reanimator” by Ken MacLeod (Short Story)

Interview with Cover Artist Caroline Jamhour by Russell Dickerson (March 28th)

Books Worth Your Time by the Apex staff

Words for Thought: Short Fiction Review by A.C. Wise From the Story Vaults: Paperclips and Memories and Things That Won’t Be Missed by Caroline Yaochim

Podcast Fiction

NOVELLAS

Nexus Michael F. Flynn

Plaisir D’Amour John Alfred Taylor

NOVELETTES

Europa’s Survivors

Marianne J. Dyson

Host Eneasz Brodski

The Human Way Tony Ballantyne

SHORT STORIES

Eli’s Coming Catherine Wells

Time Heals James C. Glass

Shakesville Adam-Troy Castro & Alvaro Zinos-Amaro

The Snatchers Edward McDermott

Unbearable Burden Gwendolyn Clare

Grandmaster Jay O’Connell

Alexander’s Theory of Special Relativity Shane Halbach

Concerning the Devastation Wrought by the Nefarious Gray Comma and Its Ilk: A Men in Tie-Dye Adventure Tim McDaniel

Ecuador vs Bug-eyed Monsters Jay Werkheiser

SCIENCE FACT

Sustainability Lab 101: Cuba as a Simulation of Possible Futures Stanley Schmidt

PROBABILITY ZERO

Hidden Intentions Mary E. Lowd

POETRY

Barriers J, Northcutt Jr.

Hypothesis/Assertion Daniel D. Villani

DEPARTMENTS

Guest Editorial: Future-Propfing the Near Future: Design Fiction for Global Education Nickolas Falkner

The Alternate View John G. Cramer

In Times to Come

The Reference Library Don Sakers

Brass Tacks

Upcoming Events Anthony Lewis

ISSUE 126, March 2017

FICTION

Two Ways of Living

by Robert Reed

Real Ghosts

by J.B. Park

Waiting Out the End of the World in Patty’s Place Cafe

by Naomi Kritzer

Crown of Thorns

by Octavia Cade

Goodnight, Melancholy

by Xia Jia, translated by Ken Liu

The Discovered Country

by Ian R. MacLeod

At the Cross-Time Jaunter’s Ball

by Alexander Jablokov

NON-FICTION

SF Short Fiction Markets in China: An Overview of 2016

by Feng Zhang

Howling at the Lunar Landscape: A Conversation with Ian McDonald

by Chris Urie

Another Word: Reading For Pleasure

by Cat Rambo

Editor’s Desk: Recognizing 2016

by Neil Clarke

PODCASTS

Two Ways of Living

by Robert Reed, read by Kate Baker

Real Ghosts

by J.B. Park, read by Kate Baker

Waiting Out the End of the World in Patty’s Place Cafe

by Naomi Kritzer, read by Kate Baker

Crown of Thorns

by Octavia Cade, read by Kate Baker

Goodnight, Melancholy

by Xia Jia, read by Kate Baker

The Discovered Country

by Ian R. MacLeod, read by Kate Baker

ART

Jungle Deep

by Sergei Sarichev

Fiction

No Regrets on Fourth Street by Lauren C. Teffeau

Shell Game by Tom Jolly

proLong by James Van Pelt

Defensive Posture by Eric Del Carlo

Real Rachel Winterbourne by Tim Jeffreys

Short on Thought, Quick on the Trigger by Dave Creek

Last Times by Jez Patterson

Natural Eyes by Benjamin Sonnek

Shorter Stories

Floating Rocks by L.L. Hill

Goddamn Marvel by James Wesley Reid

Ligeia is Waiting by Russell Hemmell

Articles

Drones in the Daffodils by Wyss Institute

Mapping Time Travel by Daniel M. Kimmel

NOVELLAS The Man Who Put the Bomp – Richard Chwedyk

NOVELETS Driverless – Robert Grossbach

Ten Half-Pennies – Matthew Hughes

The Avenger – Albert E. Cowdrey

SHORT STORIES

The Toymaker’s Daughter – Arundhati Hazra

A Green Silk Dress and a Wedding-Death – Cat Hellisen

Miss Cruz – James Sallis

Daisy – Eleanor Arnason

POEMS Spacemail Only – Ruth Berman

DEPARTMENTS Books to Look For – Charles de Lint

Musing on Books – Michelle West

Science: Robots in Your Pants – Pat Murphy and Paul Doherty

Films: The Language of Loss, Trust, and Heptapods – Kathi Maio

Coming Attractions – Curiosities – David Langford

CARTOONS Arthur Masear, Arthur Masear, Nick Downes

COVER Bryn Barnard for “The Man Who Put the Bomp”

From the Cloud Editorial

When I tried to go to England by Sarah Hart

Wind Farmers from Outer Space by Robert Cox

Hyter and the House That Stands by Steve Toase

Dissecting SF: The Enduring Influence of Kafka on Speculative Fiction by Lachlan Walter

Not Born of Woman—Artificial Wombs in the Vorkosigan Saga by Renée Turner

More Fiction

Auspicium Melioris Aevi by JY Yang

Rising Star by Stephen Graham Jones

With Cardamom I’ll Bind Their Lips by Beth Cato

The Red Secretary by Kameron Hurley (available Apr 04, 2017)

An Abundance of Fish by S. Qiouyi Lu (available Apr 04, 2017)

And Then There Were (N-One) by Sarah Pinsker (available Apr 04, 2017)

Poetry

time, and time again by Brandon O’Brien

Protestations Against the Idea of Anglicization by Cassandra Khaw

The Size of a Barleycorn, Encased in Lead by Bogi Takács (available Apr 04, 2017)

The Axolotl Inquest by Lisa M. Bradley (available Apr 04, 2017)

Editorials

The Uncanny Valley by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas Essays

Act Up, Rise Up by Elsa Sjunneson-Henry

Resistance 101: Basics of Community Organizing for SF/F Creators & Consumers, Volume One: Protest Tips and Tricks by Sam J. Miller

Thank You, Patreon Supporters! by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas

Fandom in the Classroom by Paul Booth (available Apr 04, 2017)

A Work of Art Is a Refuge and Resistance by Dawn Xiana Moon (available Apr 04, 2017)

#beautifulresistance by Shveta Thakrar (available Apr 04, 2017)

Interviews

Interview: Stephen Graham Jones by Julia Rios

Interview: Sarah Pinsker by Julia Rios (available Apr 04, 2017)

The Editor’s Word

FICTION BRAGGING RITES by Samantha Murray

THE TRAGEDY OF THE DEAD IS THAT THEY CANNOT CRY by Sunil Patel

THE LOYAL ORDER OF BEASTS by Kay Kenyon

YOU CAN ALWAYS CHANGE THE PAST by George Nikolopoulos

IT TAKES A SPECIAL-SPECIAL PERSON by Andrea G. Stewart

LOCKED ROOM by Kevin J. Anderson

GOLF TO THE DEATH by Alex Shvartsman

MY MONSTER CAN BEAT UP YOUR MONSTER by Brennan Harvey

THE OBSERVER by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

YOUR GRIEF IS IMPORTANT TO US by Yaroslav Barsukov

DO NOT CALL ME BENTO by Tina Gower

IN THE GROUP by Robert Silverberg

INTERVIEW Mike Resnick by Joy Ward

SERIALIZATION Double Star (Part 2) Heinlein’s First Hugo Winner by Robert A. Heinlein

COLUMNS From the Heart’s Basement by Barry N. Malzberg

Science Column by Gregory Benford

Recommended Books by Bill Fawcett & Jody Lynn Nye

Issue #222 — Mar. 30, 2017

The Shark God’s Child

Jonathan Edelstein

Nightshade

J.W. Halicks

Audio Fiction Podcast:

Nightshade

J.W. Halicks

Forever magazine

Forever has reprints by Ian McDonald, T.R. Napper, and Ken Liu.

Fiction: The Influence Machine by Sean McMullen illustrated by Richard WagnerA Death in the Wayward Drift by Tim Akers illustrated by Richard WagnerStill Life With Falling Man by Richard E. Gropp illustrated by Richard WagnerA Strange Kind of Beauty by Christien Gholson illustrated by Martin HanfordThe Common Sea by Steve Rasnic Tem

Guest Editorial by Steve Rasnic Tem

Future Interrupted: #Resistance Jonathan McCalmont

Time Pieces: The Voyage Home Nina Allan

Ansible Link David Langford

Reviews: Book Zone Peter Tennant, Maureen Kincaid Speller, Jonathan McCalmont, Stephen Theaker, Elaine Gallagher, Duncan Lunan, Jack Deighton, John Howard, Lawrence Osborn

Mutant Popcorn Nick Lowe

  CURRENT ISSUES: Periodical SF, Fantasy & Horror Current Issues is an occasional feature (mostly monthly) that provides a round up of the content of periodical SF, fantasy and horror.

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Intellectual and art school, champion of medieval art, but it was John Ruskin’s alleged horror of female pubic hair that was the ground breaking revelation I first heard as an undergraduate.Emma Thompson’s film Effie Gray appeared to add that he was an oppressed mummy’s boy, too. However this programme grew out of an invitation to address Speech Day at Queenswood School in Hertfordshire 2 years ago which suddenly opened up a new way of seeing him.

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The school had been named in reference to Of Queens’ Gardens, Ruskin’s famous speech and subsequently published essay about raising girls like flowers, to be educated and freed from the narrowest constraints of traditional feminine upbringing. Archivist Wendy Bird showed me photos, letters and a mini mock up of the infamous “purple horror” floaty Liberty-designed dresses that early pupils would wear for special occasions. There was a white wafting gown, too, really very Isadora Duncan, to dance like flowers. I was fascinated by the unashamedly aesthetic glamour. There were photos of the Queen Mother who came to a display back in the 1950s.

Sutton High School chemistry lab designed by teacher Annette Hunt (far right) photo taken between 1895 and 1928 (photo SHS archives)

I thought of my own memories of attending a private girls’ school, founded in 1880 and of the many like it. Their photographs of Edwardian ladies in chemistry laboratories or lined up as hockey players in long skirts and piecrust collared blouses. How did girls’ education come so rapidly to include the same ambitions of sporting and scientific prowess as boys? Did Ruskin, even before the female suffrage movement, help set that off?

I enlisted Simon and Thomas Guerrier, my regular Sunday Feature producers from HG and the H Bomb and The Fundamentalist Queen, to help me explore John Ruskin’s Victorian vision of female liberation.

Ruskin wanted to educate women only as far as they would make superior wives and companions for their empire building husbands, and raise healthy children. Toby Haydoke does a wonderful job bringing him to life for us, while Dr Matthew Sweet, author of Inventing the Victorians, gives an insight into his huge intellectual celebrity. But it wasn’t a simple revisionist thesis, to reclaim Ruskin the medievalist as a feminist. There was a prejudicial disgust at inferior races. The V&A’s excellent Lockwood Kipling exhibition catalogue on the sculptor and art and design teacher points out that Ruskin dismissed the richness of Indian art because of his insistence they were savages.

Drill at Darley St School (copyright Leeds Library and Museum)

Yet there were clearly so many revolutionary ideas brewing in his theories. At a time when reading novels was considered dangerous for female minds he promoted the idea that girls should have a wide education in science and art (though not theology) and that a “noble girl” should be given free rein in books as she would choose wisely and not be harmed. Asa Briggs’ Victorian Things quotes his advice, in a letter to a girl correspondent, about using a magnifying glass to look at crystals: “I send you one for yourself, such as every girl should keep in her waistcoat pocket always hand.”

Talking fit bodies with Dr Fern Riddell

At the British Museum Dr Fern Riddell, author of A Victorian Guide To Sex discussed Ruskin and Charles Kingsley’s fascination with the muscular bodies of the Greeks in their loose robes. The idea that healthy bodies made healthy minds would have had a political power in Victorian England, where childbirth was so dangerous and malnutrition, poverty and child labour stunted growth. But Riddell warned against giving too much credit to Ruskin and his friends, when women doctors and health campaigners were at the forefront of female education programmes around sexual health. Still isn’t there a fascinating modern legacy in women, whether homemakers or career women, obsessed with both success and strength, having abs as honed as those of Jessica Ennis Hill?

With Dr Debbie Challis and Dr Amara Thornton. 3 career women discussing Ruskin & mummies around the kitchen table

Dr Debbie Challis from the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, UCL and Dr Amara Thornton from the Institute of Archaeology, UCL offered insight into the world of adult education opening up for women who whether as archaeological explorers themselves, or night school enthusiasts, signed up to study the growing knowledge about the Egyptian and classical worlds.

At Angels Costumes with Louise Scholz-Conway

Ruskin’s focus was on middle class women as the angels of the hearth. To get an insight into what physical liberation meant to them, Simon insisted I needed to try on corsets at Angels Costumiers. The experience challenged another of my lazy assumptions – that women hated corsets. To liberate oneself from the feeling of protection and support it gave at a time when women were considered physically weaker, required a significant leap of faith.

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The dancing that schools like Queenswood promoted represented both a very Ruskinian idea of the intrinsic beauty of the feminine and a delightfully female-focussed physicality. The school staged elaborate classical and mythological based plays and masques. The development of Delacroze Eurythmics formalized aesthetic ideals amid the more traditional wholesomeness of outdoor games.

Queenswood register (Queenswood archives)

One of the most moving moments of making the programme was when Dr Wendy Bird showed me through the registers of Queenswood School. Reading the entries of when girls joined and when and why they left was an insight into changing times: In the early years many were returning home to nurse invalid relatives or to early marriage. But surprisingly fast, they are going to be teachers and increasingly to university as female colleges began to flourish.

Old Queenswood girls Diane Maclean (L) Annette Haynes (centre) Dr Jean Horton (seated)

For our programme Queenswood brought together old girls Annette Haynes, Dr Jean Horton, Diane Maclean, from the 1940s and 50s who remembered the eurythmic dancing lessons and the unexpected paths their lives took after. Some had become wives of empire, joining husbands working for Western corporations in Africa and the Far East. But many, like Dr Horton, a renowned anaesthetist in Hong Kong, never married, defying the goal Ruskin had in mind for his flower girls.

Queenswood girls today: Check out those badges

It was fun to read Ruskin’s words to Isobel Beynon, Aoife Morgan Jones and Natasha Rajan current sixth formers, and hear their opinion. Their blazers were festooned with shields and badges celebrating team success. Exactly the kind of ambition Ruskin thought so unladylike. The Victorian ladies’ schools that still thrive today, and there are many of them, have long defied the idea of producing humble helpmeets. Girls from all over the old Empire come to get a British girls’ school education. Would Ruskin flinch in horror, Effie Gray-style at the monster he’d created? Does it matter? Now more than ever a young woman finds herself entering a garden of delights thanks to the possibilities of a good well rounded education.

With gratitude to all our interviewees, but especially the staff and pupils of Queenswood School.

John Ruskin’s Eurythmic Girls is on Radio 3 on Sunday February 26th 2017 at 630pm and iplayer after

  The making of John Ruskin’s Eurythmic Girls Intellectual and art school, champion of medieval art, but it was John Ruskin’s alleged horror of female pubic hair that was the ground breaking revelation I first heard as an undergraduate.Emma Thompson’s film Effie Gray appeared to add that he was an oppressed mummy’s boy, too.