#shook black horror anthology

[geekcavepodcast]

Dark Horse and Second Sight Publishing Announce “Shook! A Black Horror Anthology”

Dark Horse Comics and Second Sight Publishing have partnered on a new 200+ page collection of horror tales from black writers and artists. Shook! A Black Horror Anthology will include stories from David Walker, John Jennings, Rodney Barnes, Bradley Golden, and more and art by David Brame, Flavio Cortés, and more.

Shook! A Black Horror Anthology goes on sale in bookstores on February 28, 2024, and in comic shops on February 29, 2023.

(Image via Dark Horse Comics - Cover of Shook! A Black Horror Anthology)

[smashpages]

Dark Horse will publish ‘Shook! A Black Horror Anthology’

The collection will include stories by David Walker, John Jennings, Rodney Barnes and more.

[horrorpatch]

Comic Crypt: SHOOK! A BLACK HORROR ANTHOLOGY Coming From Dark Horse!

Dark Horse Comics and Second Sight Publishing present stories from award-winning black writers and artists with SHOOK! A BLACK HORROR ANTHOLOGY. This new horror anthology will make it to bookstores on February 28, 2024. Keep reading for more details on this exciting new comic. From The Press Release MILWAUKIE, Ore., (June 7, 2023)—Dark Horse Comics and Second Sight Publishing are teaming up to…

[graphicpolicy]

Prepare for 13 funkdafied tales of terror!

Prepare for 13 funkdafied tales of terror! #comics #comicbooks #graphicnovel

Dark Horse Comics and Second Sight Publishing are teaming up to deliver Shook! A Black Horror Anthology. This collection boasts more than 200 pages of dread, brought to life by award-winning Black writers and artists with a cadre of award wins and nominations such as Will Eisner Awards, Ringo Awards, Hugo Awards, and is the largest collection of Glyph Comics Awards winners and nominees in a…

[bcbdrums]

For the fic writer asks - 2 & 21! 👀

Thank youuuuu Cherry! Answering from this list here.

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

Oh... Heavens to Betsy, you have no idea how long it took me to add that up! Thirty-five (and counting!) for Soul Eater, four for Star Trek, two for Steven Universe, and forty-two for Kim Possible, so a total of....83 that I actually, actively, worked on... Some way less than others, some way more... In fact one of the Soul Eater ones is sort of a one-shot anthology so I'm currently counting it as one story even tho each chapter is its own thing... I just have no clue how long it will be, ultimately. So yeah. Myyy gosh I worked on a lot and finished/published very little. I gotta do something about that, lol.

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

All right... I thought of a line, but...I don't want to post it out of context. So...I added some context. Full story excerpt under the cut. Major, major spoilers for I'll Break Your Fall (Soul Eater, young Spirit and Stein).

"Now you understand..." Stein murmured. The sadness that emanated from the boy was heartbreaking. "It's okay. You can leave me here. You'll be better off."

Spirit frowned, his jaw setting in stubborn defiance.

"No."

"I'm sorry, Spirit."

"No! You're coming with me!"

He reached down with his right hand and pulled Stein's up from where he was digging his fingers into his thigh, clutching it to his chest. Stein looked up in wary surprise.

"But...you'll be better off," the younger boy repeated slowly, still resigned. "If you leave me here then..." Stein lifted his free hand, but as it shook he dropped it and dug his fingers back into his flesh. He took a shuddering breath, his next words coming out in a frightened whisper. "I'll become a...a kishin... Death will send someone to destroy me. Then... I won't be able to hurt you."

Stein's gaze sank in defeat. The agony and fear radiated out of his soul in heavy black waves, weighing Spirit down as he still gripped his meister's hand to his chest, nothing being returned.

The fire, the pressure, the intermittent static, and the whirlwind of blood and horror... The fear that had finally been exposed, and the madness that was the reason for everything... Spirit ignored it all. It was for another time.

He wanted to question, to mourn, as the realization that he couldn't fix this caused his heart to ache. Not only was the madness borne of Stein's soul, he had probably suffered it his entire life. The grief tore at Spirit's heart as if it truly had been rend in two, not by a blade but with the pain of his partner's fears.

There was nothing he could do.

But his soul swelled in fierce determination.

"No. Stein, you're coming back with me."

Stein did glance up then, but his eyes were hollow, already having sunk back down to somewhere within himself. The boy shook his head slightly, sullen and resigned.

"Don't...don't try to save me," he whispered, an almost imperceptible quiver in his voice. "You can't."

Spirit's fingers clenched on his partner's hand as he blew air out through his nose in frustration.

"Well you know what, Stein?"

The boy's dour expression didn't change as he stared at him.

"I don't give a damn!"

[mayamistake]

"12 Funkdafied Tales of Terror! In partnership with Second Sight Publishing, Dark Horse Comics is proud to present, Shook! A Black Horror Anthology. With over 190 pages of terrorizing material, the anthology is filled with stories from a range of award-winning Black writers and artists. Stemming from a love of Southern gothic horror, this anthology boasts a cadre of award winning or nominated writers representing awards such as the Will Eisner Awards, the Ringo Awards, the Hugo Awards, and is the largest collection of Glyph Comics Awards winners and nominees in a single publication. Including work by David Walker (Bitter Root, Black Panther Party), John Jennings (Kindred, The Blacker the Ink), Rodney Barnes (Killadelphia), and more! So, sit back and follow us on this journey of terror, suspense, nightmares, and the darkest depths of FEAR!!!!"

[downthetubes]

Second Sight Publishing and Dark Horse Comics announce new horror anthology, “Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens”

The success of Shook! A Black Horror Anthology, released last year, has summoned an all-new anthology from US publishers Second Sight Publishing and Dark Horse Comics

The success of Shook! A Black Horror Anthology, released last year, has summoned an all-new anthology from US publishers Second Sight Publishing and Dark Horse Comics. Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens, eight tales of terror and fear viewed through the lens of women, is due for release in time for Halloween 2025. Fans who couldn’t resist the spine-tingling thrills of the first volume will find…

[comicbookclub]

'Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens' Brings On The Horror This October From Dark Horse

Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens is a horror anthology featuring women of color creators hitting this October from Dark Horse Comics.

Shook! A Black Horror Anthology is spawning a sequel, as Dark Horse Comics has announced Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens. Featuring eight tales of horror filtered through the lens of being a woman, the 140-page anthology hitting stores this October. “I’m very grateful to be working with these very talented women,” Bradley Golden, CEO and Founder of Second Sight said via press release. “I’m…

[comicbookclublive]

'Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens' Brings On The Horror This October From Dark Horse

Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens is a horror anthology featuring women of color creators hitting this October from Dark Horse Comics.

Shook! A Black Horror Anthology is spawning a sequel, as Dark Horse Comics has announced Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens. Featuring eight tales of horror filtered through the lens of being a woman, the 140-page anthology hitting stores this October. “I’m very grateful to be working with these very talented women,” Bradley Golden, CEO and Founder of Second Sight said via press release. “I’m…

[saramichielle]

Graphic Novels - Personal Reading List

Memoir: The Times I Knew I Was Gay

Non-fiction (not a memoir): Sapiens - The Birth of Mankind

Superhero franchise: Wonder Woman - The Just War

Independent graphic novel: Shook - A Black Horror Anthology

Comic strip collection: Strange Planet

Webcomic: Nocturne

Intended for an adult audience: Double Walker

Intended for a teen audience: The Deep Dark

Intended for a child audience: How It All Ends

First published before 1986: Akira Volume One

Translated from French: Persepolis

Translated from Japanese: Nana Volume One

Translated from any language EXCEPT French or Japanese: Fruit of Knowledge

Written by an author with and features a character with an underrepresented identity in the country of publication: Heartstopper Volume One

A graphic novel adaptation of a novel originally published as prose: The Handmaid's Tale

A live-action movie or television show based on a graphic novel or comic strip: Creepshow

[arg-machine]

Comics at machine HQ

According to the machine HQ blog schedule, it’s almost time for a new list of comics and/or graphic novels that arg’s been reading lately… and so here it is – a new Comics at machine HQ post! In between the last such post and this one, arg has been quite active: he composed new music, posted on Instagram and compiled several monthly playlists.

And comics! arg also read a lot of comics – he read fiction too, but that’s a post for another week! – and here are some that he, like, really enjoyed…

Funnybooks! We got funnybooks! Here are the comics/graphic novels arg has read and enjoyed in the last few months. All titles are arranged alphabetically, and related titles – or titles from related genres – are listed in the Also recommended sections. Keep in mind that a few of these titles are suitable for mature readers only.

“During a golden moment in the early 1950s the stars aligned, and EC Comics lovingly adapted 25 classic Ray Bradbury stories into comics form. Al Feldstein scripted, and all of EC's top artists brilliantly illuminated Ray’s tales: Johnny Craig, Reed Crandall, Jack Davis, Will Elder, George Evans, Frank Frazetta, Graham Ingels, Jack Kamen, Roy Krenkel, Bernard Krigstein, Joe Orlando, John Severin, Angelo Torres, Al Williamson, and Wallace Wood. This special collection features all 25 official adaptations plus an additional ten related stories, with stunning art...”

Also recommended: Death Strikes: The Emperor Of Atlantis, The Bitter End And Other Stories and Dark Ride.

“More than a decade after a disastrous explosion, young Hailey is dropped off by her mum at a holiday camp in a dilapidated shopping mall. Alienated from the other kids, she connects with an eerie older teen named Jen… but soon dark horrors awaken, and the two new friends are caught up in a cataclysmic battle between two terrifying creatures who have been lying dormant all this time.

One of Australia’s most acclaimed young graphic novelists, Chris Gooch expertly crafts a taut and intimate thriller about mothers and daughters, the monstrous and the mundane, and the power of friendship in the midst of catastrophe.”

Also recommended: Complete Ballad of Halo Jones, Alien: Thaw, Indigo Children and Kaya.

“Deep within the walls of Castle Dunsinane, a seed of madness begins to bloom. Spurred on by the prophecies of witches and the whispers of his scheming wife, Lord Macbeth plots the death of his friend, King Duncan. This one cruel act soon spirals out of control, and murder after murder erupt into a wave of chaos and violence that threatens to consume all of Scotland.”

Also recommended: Creepshow, Shock Shop, and Shook! A Black Horror Anthology.

“When the sun goes down, our minds invent all manner of horrors that may lurk in the darkness. Danish cult illustrator John Kenn Mortensen draws inspiration from this shadowy realm, and his pen skillfully conjures these eerie visions on paper.

Open this book (if you dare) to encounter a frightful horde of sepia-toned spooks — witches, wraiths, goblins, giant spiders, wild boars, evil clowns — and countless other unspeakable creatures. Hairy, hooded, or horned, they peer at you ominously through dead eyes, their fangs bared.” Highly recommended!

[Y’all know who the “horde of sepia-toned spooks” above reminds arg of? Of course – his Copiers of Hindustan buddies from Mastodon! And don’t worry, they’ll probably take this comparison as a compliment!]

“In a climate crisis-ravaged future metropolis, a grumpy, smoke-belching, cigar-chomping, hotrod-racing robot is a twelve-year-old girl's only hope. Together, can they outrace the chasing Robo-Cops with an invention that might just save humanity?”

Also recommended: Sap Hunters, Under-Earth and The Colonized.

“Tom Gauld returns with his wittiest and most trenchant collection of literary cartoons to date. Perfectly composed drawings are punctuated with the artist’s signature brand of humour, hitting high and low. After all, Gauld is just as comfortable taking jabs at Jane Eyre and Game of Thrones.” An absolute favourite, this one!

Also recommended: The Site, Flung Out Of Space, Lomax - Collectors of Folk Songs, Whistleblowers..., Yazidi and The Dyatlov Pass Mystery.

The dynamic crime-writing/drawing duo is back! “A boarding house full of druggies. A neglected housewife. A young girl who thinks she's a superhero. A cop who wants to be left alone. And a private detective looking for a runaway girl. These stories collide one fateful summer in Where The Body Was, a tale of love and murder in the suburbs, told from a dozen different points of view. All the neighbours on the block have an opinion about the murder and how it happened, but which of them is telling the truth?”

Also recommended: The Reaper And Other Stories, Oswald's Body and Slash Them All.

…and now, here’s machine HQ’s Retro Pick for this post, a freaky little book straight from 1990:

“What happens when a scientist discovers a way to make cloning easy?; Nothing good as the inventor discovers when his invention is used on him! His quest to stop the conspiracy-minded thieves and retrieve his invention makes this one of the wildest suspense tales yet!”

Phew! That’s it for this new comics/graphic novels list, visit The Apocalypse Project on Mastodon, twitter/X and on tumblr, and don’t forget to check out the machinstagram [links elsewhere!] too!

Header image features artwork from Army of Darkness Movie Adaptation [30th Anniversary Edition] and from classic 1990s Predator comics.

[dark-ethereal-visions]

Kylie’s Reality - Short Story Excerpt

I can’t say where each element of Kylie’s Reality came from or what inspired me to write this story. I do remember that Julia’s part of the story was inspired by a local urban legend in my WNY state hometown. Briefly, the legend involves a couple of 20-something men who pick up a hitchhiking coed. She asks them to drop her off just outside of a cemetery and, as she flees from their vehicle, she leaves her purse behind. Seeking to return the girl’s purse, the driver looks for her driver’s license and returns the purse to the address on the license. Upon knocking on the door, an elderly woman answers the door and claims the purse as belonging to her daughter who was killed in a hit and run accident on that very highway 25 years earlier.

Otherwise, I would have to say the rest of the story is entirely a figment of my imagination. I will say that Kylie’s part of the story was challenging to write. While I can usually throw myself into any character, I found it difficult to form the dialogue of a gay, black, teenage girl. I rewrote her journal entries several times before I ended up with prose that I could be happy with in completing the story.

Here’s a brief look into Kylie’s Reality:

     Halfway up to the fourteenth floor, the cabin lights flickered. It had been barely noticeable and happened only that one time, but, after all she’d seen lately, that little disturbance unnerved her just a bit. She tried to pay it little attention…until her senses peaked. The stoic stare at her reflection straight ahead was now the only shred of reality she had left to grasp. Chills ran up her spine and spread to every inch of her flesh, she shook with fear and confusion so intense that it almost drove her into a fugue, and she could already feel her bladder threatening to release its contents. All of this before her mind had even registered what her eyes were seeing. Just behind her reflection, she saw a second image; the image of a person.

     It was her.

     The same girl she’d seen last night. The same dark skin, the same dreadlocks, the same face…the same scars on that face and neck. It was definitely her.

     Julia wanted to turn. She wanted to either confront her or prove to herself that the girl wasn’t really there. She wasn’t sure which option would have been more relieving. Her mind fought her body’s resistance, turning in one quick motion. She’d hoped the spasmodic turn would have startled her visitor, but what Julia saw shocked her. The vision terrified her down to the deepest depths of her soul. She’d turned completely around -180 degrees- yet the reflections in the mirror told her that the girl still stood directly behind her. The worst part of it was how clearly the reflection appeared; this was no hallucination. She could see the anger in the girl’s eyes and she could feel her hot breath against the nape of her neck. It didn’t matter which direction she turned. That girl always stood behind her, like a guardian…or a stalker. Too frightened to carry through with the scream she felt building up in her throat, she swung around to face the doors. She looked at the girl’s reflection, both anger and fear swelling up within; her fists were clenched so tightly that she could feel her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. “Leave me alone!”

     The bell chimed and the doors swung open. She found herself greeted with the befuddled stares of the secretary, her fellow paralegal, and the two lawyers that headed the office. Everyone in the office had heard the scream. There was no hiding her shame, either; she felt her face grow hot and her mirrored image told her she’d turned three shades of red. She walked onto the floor, carrying herself as professionally as the situation would allow, and smiled. “Bad break-up.” She quickly produced her cell phone. “Sorry.”

Experience all nine stories in Whispers From Hell: An Anthology of Horror & the Supernatural.

Follow these links to get your ebook or paperback copy:

Amazon Kindle

Amazon Paperback

Barnes & Noble Nook

[witch-hazels-musings]

nightmares

Includes: Childe, Albedo, Xiao

Warnings -> STRONG emotional images (panic attack, spectral hands grasping at character, feeling of overwhelming fear and dread) -> leads to comfort

Synopsis: Nightmares plague the characters sleep and they wake up startled - the reader comforts them 

I’m a SUCKER for painful things man - I want to put them through hell just to pull them back up again ... 

Anthology

Childe

He was drowning, suffocating by the thousands of hands pulling him deeper into the terrifying darkness he ran from. Their nails dug into his skin, pulling it back to reveal the horrors laying underneath. The thousands of vile acts he had done in service of the Tsaritsa, for the Fatui, now pouring from him and feeding the hunger of the hands, urging them to dig deeper into him until there was nothing left. 

He reached out toward the distant light, gasping and desperate. 

Childe...

The light called to him, speaking his name as if he were worth more than being a simple tool, a means to an end. The dirty hands grabbed at his face, he struggled with every ounce of his strength to get away. The fear of seeing what lay beyond the reach of the light spurring his determination. He screamed and nothing came out, instead his mouth filled with bloody fingers. 

Childe violently awoke, lurching forward with incredible force and urgency. He was drenched in sweat and fiercely forced air into his lungs. When he felt a hand on his arm he jerked away stumbling from the bed in heartbreaking distress. 

“Childe …” he heard your voice, saw your hand reaching out to him, saw how you looked at him as if he were some wild animal: fearfully.  “It’s me … do you see me.” he watched as you moved the sheets from your legs. “You’re safe, it’s okay.” you moved toward the edge of the bed, “Put the knife down.” He looked down into his hand and saw he was gripping onto the knife which he kept in the nightstand. His fingers wrapped so tightly around it that they had turned a painful shade of white. 

The beating of his heart continued to race even as he straightened himself out, even as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead. 

“I’m okay …” he spoke the words more to himself than to you, like a montra he recited every day. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. 

He heard the bed creak and, returning his attention to you, he saw you making your way toward him, hands open in an attempt to show him you didn’t mean any harm. 

“Is it okay? Can I come to you?” the words are covered in honey, and he knew you were trying to cover up the hesitation of your steps. He placed the knife on the windowsill and nodded, making sure you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The feeling of your arms wrapping around him was akin to a drug. You provided him with comfort he’d never known, the sensation of your face resting against his chest, he reveled in it. Your voice had this magical power of reaching him no matter where he was, or what he was. 

“Your heart is beating so fast. That must have been one intense dream.” your lips connect with the space over his beating heart. 

“You can’t imagine,” he breathes into your hair, resting his face in it’s wild locks. He lets your scent fill him up, and this connection helps to calm him. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you shift your head making him lift his own, you stare at one another in the moonlit room before he finally answers your question. 

“I don’t want to make my fears your own,” he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m pretty tough, I can handle it.” you squeeze your arms around him in a playful manner which elicited a chuckle from Childe. “But, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll always listen, if you ever change your mind.” 

His heart rate slowed, thanks to the proximity of your own giving it the ability to match it’s pace. 

“Thanks,” He scooped you up and led you back to the bed, and once you got settled in between the sheets he slid down to rest his head against your chest. There he was able to drift back into a peaceful sleep by the rhythmic thumping of your heart and the movement of your fingers in his hair. 

Albedo

There was a long hallway, incredibly long, unending. His footsteps echoed off the walls and when he glanced upward he couldn’t find the ceiling. A child was laughing further down the passage, and he followed after it until he reached a blinding light, without hesitation he stepped through it. 

On the other side was a bustling city filled with laughing citizens weaving between one another, going about their day under the warmth of the sun. As he walked through the streets, he noted how the citizens didn’t seem to mind him. A woman stumbled before him and he reached out his hand to help her, when she turned to thank him her face contorted into uncomfortable, inhumane shapes. She screamed causing Albedo to stumble backwards and, in unison, every citizen stared at him, their mouths open, screaming. Their voices culminated into an unholy sound which unraveled his soul. 

Suddenly, shackles appeared around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. Their icy touch seeping into his skin. When he touched them the screaming only grew louder which caused him to cover his ears, tears falling from his eyes onto the stones below, which were now covered in snow. He looked up and saw burning buildings. Screaming families desperately trying to hold onto their children as the walls crumbled around them. He looked onward, and without warning the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. 

Albedo, in a hysterical fit, pushed himself off of his chest and onto his knees. His arms extended to keep him from the mattress and he watched how it became damp from the sweat dripping off of him. His heart was beating way too fast, he couldn’t breath, his chest felt tight and it began to make him panic. 

“Albedo?” a voice called to him, but the beating in his ears made it impossible to hear. He felt a hand slide along his back and it caused him to sit up suddenly, smacking the hand away from him. When his eyes saw you in the darkness he wondered what face he must be making based on the way you looked at him. 

“Albedo …” you called again. He grasped at his chest hoping he could find a way to pull the invisible weight off of him. His breathing still erratic. “Hey, look at me.” you told him, and when he looked at you he saw you were now sitting closer to him, your hand extended to his chest. The warmth of your fingers broke through the chill smothering his body and he watched as you pulled his hand to your chest. 

“Do you feel my heartbeat? Feel my breathing.” and he did. The even in and out of your chest, the steady thump of your heartbeat. He felt them. “That’s it, match my rhythm.” You placed your other hand on his shoulder, which provided him another way to ground himself. The images started to fade from his mind and were replaced by the outline of your frame, illuminated by the soft light from the bedside table. 

You looked at him and gave him a warm smile. “Keep breathing, I’m here.” You stroke his face and that’s when he learns he had been crying. He pressed his face into your palm, breathing in the sweet smell of your skin. “I’m here, and I’ll be here until you’re ready to sleep again.” 

You stayed with him even as the sun started to fill your room and birds chirped out morning salutations. 

Xiao 

An epic battle raged around him, the sounds of victorious and pained screams mixing with the clashing of swords and heavy claymores. He was running quickly through the mass of bodies thrusting and flying through the air. His mind focused and clear, it had to be if they were expected to win. 

To his left he saw the flash of red fabric, to his right he heard the booming voice of another and when he found the source he smiled to himself. It seemed that even through all of this the yaksha’s were able to relish and live. He felt his heart move at their elegant movements, how they used the strength of one another to quell the mania of the world. Xiao continued to run, his movements turning into a blur at the speed. In fact, he ran so fast that time seemed to move with him until he came skidding to a stop in an open field. 

He looked behind him confused as to how he got here, wondering if he had passed through some portal or door. He was alerted to a shriek and turned forward only to feel a sharp stabbing sensation pierce his chest. It propelled him backwards and as he fell, red strings claimed him. They wrapped around him, completely enveloping him and held him suspended. Again, there was a shriek. He turned his head and wished that he hadn’t. He saw the face of his kin pleading and begging to another before being struck down violently. Their body ripping in half before him. The yaksha decorated in purple garments turned and with a great thrust of their weapon impaled another. Xiao watched as their body, bathed in blue light, went limp and with the flick of the wrist were tossed into oblivion. 

Xiao writhed and pulled at the strings capturing his limbs, he spat and yelled but couldn’t escape. His head shook violently, unable to deal with the scene in front of him, and unable to do anything to stop it. He closed his eyes letting his angry tears drop into the black water slowly rising over his body. 

“Xiao,” a voice called out and when he opened his eyes he saw the dangling bodies of his yaksha family impaled against the nothingness which drowned him. 

He awoke in a fit. He felt the scream spill from his throat as he lurched upward. Around him things began to fall to the floor, toppling back to the ground as if a huge gust of wind had picked everything up all at once. Before his eyes a piece of paper fluttered past him before slipping under the trunk next to the window. Something touched his shoulder and in a second he had the perpetrator in a tight hold, one hand viciously wrapped around their wrist and the other gripping onto an arm. 

“It’s me, it’s me!” his eyes were clouded, but he knew the voice. “Come back … it’s me.” The breath in his lungs was hot, almost as if he had been standing next to an active volcano. His mouth was heaving in an attempt to grasp back to reality, to still his overworked mind. The sound of humming filled the room, it’s soft, slow tone pulling him in. He focused on it, taking the tune in as if it were a lifeline, the only light in the dark space which surrounded him.  After a bit, his eyesight began to clear and when he saw you, eyes closed humming to him, and his hand digging into your wrist he quickly let go.  

“You’re back,” you whisper, sending him a soft, ‘i’m relieved’ smile. 

He crawled off of the bed and made his way to the window, desperately in need for some fresh air, and an escape. 

“Whatever you saw in your dream, must have been very frightening.” your voice stilled his movements. “I’ll be here when you decide to come back,” he looks back at you, your legs crossed, hands resting in the blanket. The moonlight illuminates the space there, casting white shadows along your chest and face. You look like an ethereal being in this moment, and there is a call in his chest to return to you. 

His heart is still so heavy, and even though his breath has returned to a normal state, buzzing energy continues running through his veins. He looks at your wrist and can see a bruise beginning to form. He can’t risk letting his energy out with you near him, it’s too dangerous. Even though he feels the stab in his chest, he slips out the window and into the night sky. 

In the morning when you wake up you find qingxin flowers resting on the table next to the bed. You lift them and inhale their scent. 

“How did you sleep?” you turn to see Xiao perched in the window, his eyes downcast. 

“Alright,” you sniff the flowers again, “you came back.” 

He huffs at you and looks back out the window. His back resting against the windowsill, one leg bent so he can rest his arm on it, the other dangling over the edge. Sliding out of the bed you make your way over to him, taking up the space at his side. He looks at you and you can see he is looking at the bruise on your wrist. Placing his head in his palm he reaches down and grabs onto your wrist with the other. His fingers brush over the darkening skin. 

“Welcome back.” you whisper into the wind. 

[graphicpolicy]

Second Sight Publishing presents more chills and thrills in a new Shook! Anthology

Second Sight Publishing presents more chills and thrills in a new Shook! Anthology #comics #graphicnovel

The success of Shook! A Black Horror Anthology has summoned an all-new anthology from Second Sight Publishing and Dark Horse Comics: Shook! Songs of the Dark Sirens. Entombed in these pages are eight tales of terror and fear viewed through the lens of women. Fans who couldn’t resist the spine-tingling thrills of the first volume will find this siren’s song inescapable when Shook! Songs of the…

[little-miss-dumpsterfire]

I think I made you up in my head - chapter two

Ah, yes, here it is. Part two of the total drama horror anthology no-one asked for. This chapter has already been posted on Wattpad (as have two others) but fuck it, I like it here. 

Fair warning, it does get pretty deep pretty quickly. So, let’s get into it. 

Chapter Two - I stared at my mirror; the mirror stared back

Trigger warning - eating disorders, self-harm (mentioned briefly) and blood/gore.

If you're not comfortable, please skip. 💛

******************************************

Axel's complexion lightened as his eyes bulged from his head. His head was spinning, and the confined basement he was in was not making the situation any better.

"Someone... someone else's turn? What are you going to do to me? Fuck, I didn't tell anyone I was coming out here. Oh god, oh god. No-one's gonna find me..." Axel panted, his body aflame with anxiety as he felt his heart pounding in his head. The slight weight of a dainty hand on his shoulder broke his haze and brought him back into reality. He shook her hand off, backing away from Izzy slowly with his hands held up in surrender.

"Don't touch me! Please... wha- what do you mean? What do you want from me?!" he pleaded, his earlier arrogant façade cracking to reveal a vulnerable, scared young man.

Izzy looked at him, the flicker of the flame reflected brightly in her dull green eyes. She sighed before backing up to the brick wall, sliding down before falling in a lump on the cold floor. Her thin index finger traced over the scars on her wrist she had hidden behind her jacket and whimpered.

Izzy spoke softly, barely audible to her frightened guest. "They never stop screaming. I try to close all the doors in my brain to silence them but they still haunt me. Slowly creeping... like a dense cloud blocking out the sun. Nothing will stop them, at least nothing I do will stop them."

She raised her head again, eyes obscured by dishevelled strands of copper hair. Axel stared at her quizzically as if he had wandered into the psych ward accidentally. Clearly, he was standing in the basement of a schizophrenic hoarder who couldn't let the past die, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Listen, lady," he started, regaining his air of arrogance, "I've about had it up to here. I make a podcast about cursed movies and conspiracies to earn money, not to end up in a knock-off Warren's Occult Museum."

"You don't understand. You don't feel the darkness we felt," Izzy replied, staring over at the shelves. "The paranoia, the pain, the conviction that we lived in a sick man's simulation. But everything in here was bathed in the depravity of Total Drama, and like a cancerous tumour it infected us all."

Their eyes met - soulless against suspicious - and Axel took a step towards Izzy, crushing a fragment of broken glass in his wake. Kneeling to her level, he roughly took her chin in his hands and raised her face to look at him.

"You killed them," he accused Izzy, malice dripping from his voice.

Weakly, she responded, her voice getting caught in her throat. "N-no. I didn't. But I know what did."

She lifted her slim arm and gestured towards the shelves. "Those relics are tombstones. Go and pick your poison, if you really want to know what happened."

Axel stood up, wiping the glass fragments from his knees and cautiously wandered over to the winding labyrinth of shelves. His fingertips barely grazed the aged wood of the shelves, tracing the grooves and divots with his index finger. In the corner of his eye, a dark shadow passed him by, and he quickly whipped his head around to investigate. Turning to the shelf in front of him is when he saw the imposing dark figure: himself. Situated in his eye line was a sparkly pink hand mirror intricately embellished with golden sculpted roses. He leant in closer to the mirror; his reflection was a shell of himself, with black pits for eyes and a pitiful smile.

"You ought to be careful with that one, kid," Izzy warned him, rising to her feet and dusting the grime from her pants. "If you look too long, the darkness grows eyes. This I know all too well now."

Izzy walked up to Axel, slightly caressing the edge of the mirror. She sighed deeply.

"We all knew she was the prettiest from the moment she stepped onto that dock... But in a world of lions, you didn't want to be fresh meat."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was no secret to anyone that Chris didn't cast Lindsay for her personality. The shark had smelt blood when he saw her audition tape. Looking back on it now, her fate was sealed in those fleeting seconds.

Lindsay sat atop her bed cross-legged, her dog perched in her lap. Her hair had been brushed to be its silkiest, and the photos on her dresser cemented the point she was making.

"I have bikinis for every season, even the ones not listed on the calendar," she chirped, reflecting her archetype of the dumb blonde.

She was the dream girl for any man: honey blonde and curvy. Her 'assets' warranted attention from creeps shrouded in anonymity behind their computer screens and TV executives alike. Unsolicited strokes and caresses were handed to her regularly, and she lavished in the attention that her looks had bestowed onto her. The early bloomer with the IQ of a thumbtack was a thirst trap for the reality TV crowd, yet the elephant in the room was never addressed.

No one seemed to care that she was sixteen.

For those of us in her different teams, we witnessed these infidelities and stood idly by, our mouths wired shut by clauses, contracts and never-ending fine print. Lindsay may not have been the brightest bulb in the bunch, but the correlation between her body and the positive attention she was receiving was crystal clear to her. She felt the pressure of public scrutiny if she gained weight, had a pimple or even covered up her chest. It was during Action that the red flags appeared... I'd give anything to go back and change it all.

Half-empty bottles of lip gloss were scattered on the bunk bed as Lindsay struggled to find a colour that brought out the highlights in her hair. In her left hand, firmly grasped, was an antique hand mirror that she had repainted herself to match her personality. She applied a liberal layer of rosy-pink gloss onto her lips and puckered them together, staring at the shine in the mirror. A sharp gasp escaped from her lips as her blue eyes widened like saucers. Her gaze was transfixed on her mirror as she moved it around, attempting to shake what she saw away.

"Um, guys..." Lindsay started, a slight panic present in her voice. "There's someone in my mirror."

A bald girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, resettling her focus onto her nails. "No shit, Sherlock. It's supposed to be there. That's a reflection."

A faint, obnoxious voice could be heard from out the open window of the trailer.

"Actually, the presence of a reflection is due to photons coming off of an object to strike the smooth surface of the mirror, which subsequently causes them to bounce back at the same angle, ergo creating a person's reflection." Harold corrected from afar.

"Shut it, dweeb!" Heather called out, throwing a hairbrush at the boy.

"That hurt, GOSH!"

Lindsay became visibly more and more terrified by what she was seeing. Small tears began to pool in the outer corner of her eyes as her lips trembled fiercely. The mirror slipped between her fingers and landed with a muted thud on the orange carpeted floor as the blonde held onto her face protectively. A hairline fracture snaked its way across the glass, briefly eclipsing a dark smudge that quickly disappeared.

None of us girls took Lindsay's claims to heart. She always said that someone was looking at her through her mirror; hardly a surprise from the girl who couldn't remember her boyfriend's name. Something in Lindsay changed that day, and all of us were in the dark. She still fell victim to the paedophilic adoration of Chris McLean and his lackeys - submitting to every squeeze and fondle - but something in her eyes showed that her comfort in her own skin had dwindled.

The water tap squeaked as a thin stream of water dripped out, moistening her toothbrush. She brushed violently, minty foam spilling from her mouth as she desperately washed the taste away. It had consumed her waking thoughts; her mind constantly flashing back to what she had seen. Fear enveloped her in its heavy blackness, picking at her deepest insecurities. Her throat burned from the acid and the bitterness of the bile seemed to stain her tongue.

She stared at her mirror and shook her head, lightly tracing the crack on its surface.

"I can't become fat like Hannah. I'll never win my trip to Paris that way."

In the mirror, her reflection began to warp and distort, but Lindsay placed it back on the counter face down. Her hand wavered over the handle for what seemed like hours, and when she tentatively picked it up again, etched in what looked like blood spelt out an ominous message: EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

In the weeks following Action's conclusion, images of Lindsay in her Wonder Woman costume were plastered on every tabloid site, every fan page and in every pervert's special photo folder. Her next two seasons played out very much the same, with sideways glances from the production crew eye-raping her on every occasion and her appearance being flaunted for more ratings. Gone was the girl with the backbone of steel who had stood up against Heather in a passionate act of defiance. In her place was an airhead overcome with fear and self resentment.

The click-clacking of her boots against the pavement was all Lindsay could focus on as the world went by around her. Wolf-whistles and cat-calls plagued her at every corner she walked past. She would usually stare into every shop window she passed by, gazing dreamily at purses on sale or new makeup products, but nowadays she scarcely looked twice. Not because she wasn't still obsessed with fashion, as she would always be. She never looked at her reflection because 'it' would be there. Every mirror, every window stared back at her.

She sat anxiously in the waiting room, fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she avoided the stares from the man next to her who was blatantly looking down her top. Her chest, whilst still well endowed, had shrunk, as had the rest of her body and it was starting to become obvious to those closest to her.

"Lindsay Marriott?"

Lindsay rose from her chair silently and followed, being lead down a short hallway into a room. Posters of the food pyramid and anatomical models were plastered on the walls as the strong scent of sanitiser attacked her nostrils. She sat down lightly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and forehead. The usual small talk took place before the woman placed the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope onto Lindsay's back. Her vertebrae were prominent through her skin, sticking up tall like mountain peaks. The doctor breathed out a small sigh before sitting down across from her.

"Lindsay, would you mind standing on the scale for me?"

She timidly nodded her head, rising and walking towards the scale. Lindsay removed her shoes and stepped onto the scales, the doctor over her shoulder writing down the number. Settling back into their seats, the doctor stared into the eyes of her patient and how their bright blue hue was a stark contrast to her fatigued, gaunt face.

"Honey, you've lost five kilograms since your last visit. You're bordering on becoming dangerously underweight. I think it's time we seek psychological intervention. When was the last time you ate a proper meal without purging?" the doctor asked, an air of concern apparent in her voice.

Tears began to drip down Lindsay's cheeks as she spoke between sobs. "Months... I can't eat... it won't let me eat."

"Who won't let you eat?" the doctor looked quizzically at the young girl who was averting her eyes now.

"The person in my mirror," Lindsay answered matter-of-factly before lifting her head. Behind the doctor's head was a wall-mounted mirror, where she could visibly see herself and the back of the physician. A slow ripping sound filled Lindsay's head as the back of the doctor's shirt split into letters written by an unknown force.

"Lindsay, are you okay? You've gone quite pale. I'll take your blood pressure."

As the doctor turned around, red, pointed letters were emblazoned on the doctor's back.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

Lindsay jumped from her chair with a yelp and ran for the exit, bypassing the crowd of people in the waiting area.

That was the last anyone saw of Lindsay in public before... well... it's hard to put a word to what happened. Text messages to her phone went unread as she slowly slipped into her own self-imposed isolation. Her sister Paula would visit weekly and give us updates, but they were never anything to ignite our hopes or positive outlooks. On her last visit, she recalled that the stench of vomit would follow you around as plates of fly-blown, half-eaten meals were stacked up on the benches. Any mirrors in the apartment had been covered with blankets or covered with masking tape and the windows were blacked out with newspapers. Something had gotten its claws into Lindsay's head, and it was not going to let go.

The porcelain was cold against Lindsay's exposed thighs as she sat on the edge of her bathtub. Her pink mirror sat just within reach on the edge of the counter. The abyss. She had been holding in her hands the view into the abyss. Slowly, her skeletal fingers reached for the mirror, clumsily grabbing it before raising it to her face. Time seemingly stopped as she stared into the mirror, analysing her face; the sunken eyes and teeth slowly yellowing and corroding from the years she had spent purging. Before her eyes, the mirror once again warped until it showed what years ago her peers thought she had falsely identified as her own reflection.

Staring back at her was a decrepit woman with a face as bloated and waxy as a waterlogged corpse. Brown matted hair was plastered onto its face, slightly obscuring its eyes. Two large white orbs with pinpoint black pupils bore into Lindsay's soul as a grotesque smile crept upon its face, stretching its width from ear to ear. A silent scream left Lindsay's lips as black liquid began to seep from its eyes, nose and mouth, pooling at the base of its chin. In front of her was the shadow that had haunted her since she was sixteen, staring at her endlessly in every reflection, punctuating how ugly she perceived herself to be. Edging closer and closer towards the mirror, Lindsay couldn't tear her eyes away, paralysed in terror as faint whines wafted from under her bathroom door.

Paula found her three days later. The poor thing, I don't think the sight has ever left her, and in God's graces, I don't think it ever will. There's not enough therapy on this fucking planet that can erase that from the human psyche.

Paula walked into the apartment, distracted by a low buzzing sound. As she walked towards her sister's bedroom, calling out her name, the sound began to crescendo and a singular fly flew past her head. A distinct smell of rot and decomposition filled the air as she advanced slowly to the closed door of the bathroom. Her perfectly manicured hand gripped the knob strongly as she turned it, opening the door slightly. A swarm of flies buzzed through the open door, obscuring Paula's vision in a haze of black. As her eyes settled, they landed on what the flies had been inhabiting: Lindsay's corpse. Paula tried and failed to suppress gags as she saw her sister's dead body, eyes gouged out by her own hand in an attempt to stop what she had seen. A tacky layer of old blood surrounded Lindsay's head as hundreds of squirming bugs wriggled around in her empty eye sockets. Laying ornamentally atop the pink hand mirror were two eyeballs; their blue sparkle dulled and glazed over.

Scrawled in lipstick all over the walls of the room was one simple phrase.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"In my head, Lindsay didn't fall victim to herself," Izzy concluded, staring at her appalled guest, "she fell victim to the industry. The sharks in suits who groomed her and fed her insecurities until the societal norms of beauty ate her from the inside."

Axel stepped wearily away from the shelf, in way over his head now. What had started as a cash-grab to use as a clickbait-eqsue podcast had now escalated to a trip to hell... and once you're in hell, only the devil can help you out.

[weirdletter]

Arthur Machen: Collected Fiction (3 Volumes), edited by S.T. Joshi, Hippocampus Press, 2019. Cover artworks by Matthew Jaffe, info: hippocampuspress.com.

This is the first complete edition of the fiction of Anglo-Welsh writer Arthur Machen (1863–1947) ever published. It includes the totality of his short fiction, novelettes, novels, and prose poems. While there is some debate as to what actually constitutes a short story in Machen’s work—especially given his bountiful array of journalism, some of which borders on fiction—the works in this volume are unquestionably narratives that feature one or more elements of fictional composition. A substantial majority of these works are tales of horror and the supernatural—a genre in which Machen has made a lasting and ever-expanding impression. The edition has been prepared by S.T. Joshi, a leading authority on weird fiction and the author of The Weird Tale (1990) and Unutterable Horror: A History of Supernatural Fiction (2012). Joshi has prepared textually corrected editions of the work of H. P. Lovecraft, Ambrose Bierce, and many other weird writers.

Volume 1: 1888–1895 This first volume contains his charming picaresque novel The Chronicle of Clemendy (1888), an exquisite imitation of the medieval narratives of Chaucer and Boccaccio. At this time Machen was a young journalist who had moved from his native Wales to London, and he wrote a number of humorous and slightly risqué sketches for fashionable London magazines. But then he published “The Great God Pan” (1894), one of the pioneering works in the entire range of weird fiction. It was condemned by contemporary reviewers as the work of a diseased mind. Machen followed it up with the episodic novel The Three Impostors (1895), containing the brilliant segments “The Novel of the Black Seal” (which features the Little People, a sub-human race lurking on the edges of civilization), “The Novel of the White Powder,” and other vivid narratives.

Volume 2: 1896–1910 This second volume of Machen’s collected fiction begins with Machen’s most accomplished novel, The Hill of Dreams (written in 1895–97 and published in 1907), which H. P. Lovecraft called a “memorable epic of the sensitive aesthetic mind.” It features Lucian Taylor, a young man from the country who struggles to become a writer in London. His ruminations on life, love, and authorship are extraordinarily poignant, and at one point he engages in a lengthy dream of being back in ancient Rome, in the town of Isca Silurum, near his birthplace in Wales. Later in 1897 Machen wrote a series of exquisite prose poems that were later published as Ornaments in Jade (1924). These ten vignettes display Machen’s luminous prose at its most evocative, and they touch upon the possibility of strange and wondrous phenomena concealed behind the outward façade of the mundane world. Machen’s most accomplished weird tale, “The White People,” is also found here. Its account of a young girl insidiously inculcated in the witch-cult, told entirely from her own perspective as she jots down her thoughts and impressions in a diary, achieves the pinnacle of clutching fear. A very different work is the short novel A Fragment of Life, telling of how a seemingly ordinary couple rediscover their sense of wonder in the world around them. The novel The Secret Glory (written around 1907) is a discursive novel that searingly condemns the British school system for destroying the imaginations of its pupils. The entire work—including the final two chapters, first published only in a limited edition in 1992—is included here.

Volume 3: 1911–1937 The third volume of Machen’s collected fiction begins with a tale, “The Thousand and One Nights,” that has never before been reprinted. It continues with a succession of tales that Machen wrote during and just after World War I, a cataclysm that shook Europe to its foundations. The most famous of these is “The Bowmen” (1914), a narrative of medieval soldiers coming to the rescue of besieged British infantrymen in France was widely believed to be a true account, in spite of Machen’s repeated protestations to the contrary. Machen’s final war tale, the short novel The Terror (1916), is an imperishable depiction of the revolt of animals against humanity’s rulership of the earth. In the 1920s Machen resorted to humor and satire to convey his dissatisfaction with the increasing secularization of his era, which he felt was robbing the imagination of wonder and mystery. He also began contributing to anthologies of original weird fiction edited by Cynthia Asquith and others, producing several memorable tales as a result, including “The Happy Children” and “The Islington Mystery.” Machen’s final novel, The Green Round (1933), is a subtle tale of supernatural menace, narrated in the blandly repertorial prose that Machen had developed in his later work. He then published two final volumes of weird tales, The Cosy Room and The Children of the Pool (both 1936), which contain many memorable tales, including “The Bright Boy” and “N.”