I was just taking some time off, I told myself. From college. But more and more it felt like from life.
Whenever they drove past in the car on the way to the next town over, all he saw was a bare expanse of crumbling gray stones stretching out like a long-emptied riverbed behind the warped fencing with all its warnings.
When Amy whispered in Russ’s ear that what he wanted her to do would cost him fifty bucks, she meant it to be sexy.
Mrs. Marion heard Ronnie’s car turn into the driveway, and then shortly afterward the top of its hood slid into view out the kitchen window, breaking her concentration. A sour rush of annoyance spurted into her face like a grease explosion.
His mind raced over a series of firsts. The first time he used a men’s room; the first time a man took him for another man; the first time a woman did, and the first time one flirted with him; the first time he introduced himself with his new male name.
The world raced by in the opposite direction, a dazzling blur of sun-kissed blues and greens and browns. The sound was an ever-crashing wave. The driver’s eyes darted back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror. “Tell me something,” he said. “You have children?”
My year-round default pastime of choice is reading horror fiction. Thus, you can imagine my excitement when October comes around and horror recommendations are in demand for 31 delightful days.
The collection undertakes—with some success—the difficult job of creating stories that delight while carrying unsettling premises and undertones.
I’ve been here for as long as I can remember, but I never thought it was lonely. The shadows of Tall buildings follow me around all day and give me little reminders.
I finish telling my therapist about the assault. She takes the time to write the last part. The silence is oddly comforting.