The reissue of “A Flock of Crows is Called a Murder” is now available from Amazon.com. Now you can get it for $15.99 instead of paying $40 for an out-of-print copy. And there was much rejoicing …
The idea for “You” came from a coworker’s desk calendar of practical jokes, one of which was to leave notes for people that just said — wait for it — you. And what better time to leave prank notes than Halloween? “You” was accepted (and paid for) by Brutarian Quarterly for the Halloween 2001 issue, but it’s not clear that this issue ever appeared. It still counts as a sale though! They’re my rules, I make ’em up …
There wasn’t anybody at the front door, just a big jack-o’-lantern with a kitchen knife stuck through the side. Hank could see the blade through the thing’s gaping mouth, the metal blackened by the flame of the stubby candle that guttered within. He stepped out onto the porch, the old boards creaking and groaning beneath his feet. Whoever had left the jack-o’-lantern had rung the bell and then vanished into the night like a coward.
He noticed a piece of paper pinned to the creamy orange rind. With one hand steadying the pumpkin, he yanked out the knife and dropped it off to the side, then picked up the note. It said, in big black letters, YOU.
Was that supposed to be a threat?
He blew out the candle, picked up the jack-o’-lantern, and took it inside. He put it on the kitchen counter, then went back for the knife; but it was gone. Whoever had left the pumpkin must have taken it while he was in the house.
Hank returned to the kitchen and spent a moment looking at the jack-o’-lantern. Probably just some kids picking on him; maybe they figured he was some kind of weird hermit or an axe murderer or something. He remembered his own childhood, when he and his friends had harassed old lady McGill simply because she never came out. They would ring her bell and run away, leave flaming bags of dog shit on her porch, unscrew the bulbs of her outside lights … whatever they could think of. Never anything as overtly threatening as this jack-o’-lantern trick, though; they were just having fun. But times had changed.
He had become old lady McGill.
And the kids had become psychopaths.
This is a sunset in our backyard while the fires were going on. It doesn’t really look all that bad in the photo, but in person, it looked (and smelled) hellish. Of course, compared to shots from the actual fire zones, it isn’t very dramatic at all.
Well I guess I’ve been too busy watching the wildfires burning to the north, south, and east to post anything lately, which probably means I’m not a real blogger. (I’m a Web 1.0 type of person … so sue me.) Today is of course Day 4 of the fires and so far my town (Oceanside) remains unscathed, unless you count the smoky air and layer of ash that coats everything.
The smoke from all the fires shows up quite nicely on Doppler radar, as you can see in the enhanced image below from The Weather Channel. See the little tiny triangle of green in the northwestern corner of San Diego County? That’s where we are.
In a recent appearance at Carnegie Hall, J.K. Rowling answered a question about Dumbledore by revealing that he was gay. Given the themes of tolerance and diversity present throughout the books, it’s not surprising that such a major figure should turn out to be homosexual, even if it wasn’t spelled out in the series. (I certainly didn’t pick up on it, and there seems to be some disappointment among activists that it wasn’t made clear in the books.)
Some have suggested that we can now look forward to a new series featuring Dumbledore’s earlier adventures in stereotypical “gay” situations. If that’s the case, I’d like to propose a few titles for Ms. Rowling’s consideration:
- “Dumbledore and the Tastefully Decorated Studio Apartment”
- “Dumbledore and the Fruity Drink With An Umbrella In It”
- “Dumbledore and the Key West Vacation”
- “Dumbledore and the Small Yappy Dog”
- “Dumbledore and the Wardrobe Where Everything Matches”
And, of course:
- “Dumbledore and the Big Magic Wand”
Those who despise the Potter books for “promoting witchcraft” aren’t going to like them any better now, are they? Perhaps they will be so flummoxed by this development that they won’t be able to decide which aspect to protest, the alleged occultism or Dumbledore’s orientation. Anyway, if any such people happen to see this, may I suggest reading His Dark Materials? That’ll really make your heads explode.
I occasionally write something other than horror or fantasy, and when I do, it’s usually science fiction. “The Fold” is an example. Fans of hard SF will be disappointed as the science is more or less gobbledygook, but science isn’t really the focus. This story originally appeared in the Irish magazine Albedo One back in the fall of 2001.
Warning: This is a long one.
Parke leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of the man ahead of him. “Do you know what happened?” he said.
Rebuffed, Parke settled back to wait in silence, but then a woman behind him said: “I heard it was the Foldies.” He looked at her over his shoulder. She was small and blonde, dressed in a blue and white uniform, like Bo Peep from the old story. Her hair was tied back with a tattered red ribbon. “One of them went through with a plastic bomb set to go off when it got sniffed, and—”
She broke off as one of the Governor’s soldiers came up beside them. “There was an electrical malfunction in one of the scanners,” he said. “Rumor-mongering will not be tolerated. Desist immediately.” The guard backed off, but stayed within easy listening range.
Electrical malfunction? Not likely, Parke thought. He would believe ten rumors before he’d believe one official statement. Especially rumors about the Foldies, who could always be trusted to hit the Governor where it hurt innocent people like him. They just didn’t understand that no matter how much damage they did—no matter how bad they made things in the Fold—the Governor would just carry out his reprisals and rebuild what they’d destroyed, and life for the survivors would go on as it always had.
He finally reached the red line on the floor that marked the beginning of the run to the sniffers, three parallel archways that you had to pass through to continue along the corridor. They were separated by perpendicular plastic barriers that divided the hallway into thirds. The middle aisle was cordoned off with charge tape that hummed and crackled unpleasantly; the scanner beyond was a bent and twisted mess of dangling wires and severed tubes hanging down to a cracked and blackened floor.
Electrical problem. Of course.
I’m trying out a new WordPress theme called “Andreas09”. My wife liked the old one, “Rubric”, with the pen on top, but I like having the two sidebars and customizable appearance. (Can you tell orange is my favorite color?)
I do miss the pen, though …
“Silkscreen” appeared in 2001 in the Canadian magazine Storyteller. (I’ve had a number of stories published in Canadian magazines, most notably Storyteller and Challenging Destiny.) “Silkscreen” is another story where the ending was changed. In the original version, the main character ultimately commits suicide. To find out what happens in the revised version, read on.
Amelia came home late from work and they were waiting, as they always were, on the bench in the foyer. From left to right: Nicholas, as young and handsome as his pictures in their wedding album; Fran, her round, bright-eyed face straight out of her school photo; and Gordon, the baby, smiling the same idiot grin that he’d worn throughout his first birthday party.
“You all waited up for me?” Amelia said as she hung her coat on a peg by the door. “That was sweet.” She hugged each of them in turn, then gathered them all up in her arms and carried them into the kitchen. She arranged them on the counter to watch her make dinner (nothing fancy, just baked beans and a hot dog) and then watch her eat it. “Not much of a feast, I know,” she told them, “but if you were having some, I’d cook something better.” Their faces were smiling, as they always were; they knew she wouldn’t make them eat beans every day.
After dinner and a glance at the television, it was bedtime. Amelia brought the three of them with her, placing the children on the shelf beside the dresser. Nick accompanied her into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and changed into her flannel bedclothes. Then it was back into the other room, the warm nightshirt swishing around her ankles. She told them good night and settled into bed, clutching Nick like a child would a teddy bear.
“Good night,” she whispered, into where his ear would be, if it were really him.
And so it went, night after night.
Continue reading “Silkscreen”
As originally written, “A Flock Of Crows” had a brief epilogue. Because of length considerations, the publisher cut a lot of material, including the epilogue. At least one reviewer then mentioned that he thought the book would have benefited from the inclusion of an epilogue (and I was like, “See, DarkTales?”) Now, through the magic of the Internet, you can read the missing epilogue and decide for yourself if it improves the ending.
*** SPOILER ALERT ***
A big “thank you” goes out to Chess Griffin at Linux Reality, a podcast for the new and not-so-new Linux user, for mentioning my site in his latest podcast! I’ve been a Linux user since about 2004 (originally using Mandrake, currently using Ubuntu) and highly recommend Chess’s podcast for anyone who’s using, interested in using, or just curious about Linux, a free, stable, secure alternative to Windows. You can even order a computer now with Ubuntu preinstalled, for example, from System 76 or Dell.
Consider Linux for your next machine. You might be surprised.