But writers go one step further–we expect people to not only read the words, to not only piece them together into a coherent story, but we demand adoration for our act. And, occasionally, a little bit of cold coin.
The only time I will voluntarily reread an old story is when I am revising it or proofing it for a book like the one you hold in your hands. Because my first instinct is to correct all the flaws that are now so obvious to the wiser and more battle-scarred version of myself, and the second is to cringe and fling the offensive prose into the recycling heap. Sure, there was youthful vigor aplenty in the tales, a little brashness and vanity, and a barely hidden glee in the process of stacking words as if they were a child’s alphabet blocks. But just as the parent must come in and clean up what the petulant child has kicked over, the writer must look at his older work with nothing less than total dismay.
There is one saving grace, though. These stories saved my life and helped me reach this little scenic turnout in the journey.
I wrote most of these stories when I was struggling with alcoholism, depression, fatherhood, divorce, selfishness, fear, and other personal trauma, all of it self-inflicted. And all I could do was scream onto the page in much the same way pre-morphine amputees screamed into the pillows in the field hospitals of bygone wars. Hear me, don’t hear me.
With a little time under my belt, and a little acceptance, the pain seems like such a waste. I would gladly have traded a little peace for all the work I’ve managed to pile up over the years. But perhaps these stories played a part in reaching my new station. Indeed, Dark Regions publisher Joe Morey and I kicked around the title of “Growing Pains” for the collection. Like the fetus in “The Christening,” I had to kick and squirm and squeal to be born. I had to fight for it, even though the fight was only against myself.
As a result we have this collection, largely written over the years 2000 to 2006, as documentation of that period of my life when I could easily have gone the other way–into the darkness and despair that I so often ridicule others for embracing as poseurstage costume. Perhaps there’s a lesson in the cumulative pile of burnt offerings, but that old photograph is as much gray as it is black and white.
So here’s a little color commentary to flesh out the fantasy.
Timing Chains of the Heart- This was one of my first published stories, appearing in the short-lived Internet magazine E-Scape in 1998. I believe it was inspired by some of those old EC horror comics of the “Tales of the Crypt” sort, and a story that stuck with me about someone driving a hearse and the coffin ripping open in an accident, with the corpse ending up behind the wheel. I’ve also developed a small ouvreof transformative horror, in which the reader–and sometimes the author–isn’t sure whether the haunting is real or only occurring in the mind of the protagonist. Instead of delivering on the expected crash, I prefer the continued horror of the endless, open road. After all, the scariest part of hell is the allegation that it lasts forever.
Dog Person– This was inspired by a true story. My friend Al Carson was talking about his dog’s expensive medical problems and how he decided to have Sally “put to sleep” instead of spending thousands of dollars. We discussed a fictional version of the tale and, in his version, there were two shots–first was the mercy killing of the dog, then the suicidal shot. I went with the version here, where the guy loves his dog so much that he just can’t face life without her. And, of course, the treacherous wife gets the fruit of her hateful labors. Originally published in Cemetery Dance Magazine #56 in 2006 and selected by editor Ellen Datlow for inclusion in The Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror.
The October Girls–Written under the original title of “Playmates” in 2001, I wrote this for a promotional e-book that fellow authors Brandon Massey and Jon Merz were distributing. The idea of a dead best friend is not uncommon or new, but I like the chilly flavor of the dead friend’s jealousy. In the end, however, our sympathy shifts to the girl who must live a wretched childhood rather than the one whose pain has ended. I’m currently developing this as a book series, with the characters more grown up and firmly in the early 20's. Unfortunately, even young grown-ups are more dishonest than children, so this may be the closest we get to the truth.
Murdermouth– I’d toyed around with carnivals and circuses before, especially with zombies, and I’ve penned a few first-person zombie tales. To me, suffering bottomless, vacuous hunger is more horrifying than actually being pursued by such creatures, and I still prefer the old-school zombies that plod along with total patience and determination instead of darting around like wolves, sometimes weilding firearms. In much of my work, I’m attempting to figure out the nature of love. As with the real thing, sometimes I just get a little squishy in the process. Published in the anthology The Book Of All Flesh in 2001.
Sung Li– Every author needs to drag out at least one creepy-doll tale, and this is mine. The subtext of child abuse is a little too facile and gross, but the doll and the knife were drawn from my real life, and again we have a bit of ambiguity about the reality of the supernatural occurrences. I write without outlining, so I often don’t know the ending until I get there. And sometimes not even then. Originally published in At The Brink of Madness #3 in 1999.
In The Family– This was written before the “Six Feet Under” television series, proof that undertaker families are kind of strangely appealing. However, they often have great senses of humor, as you can imagine. This story isn’t too funny, though, and has a bit of a Norman Bates flavor and I’m not sure the science is too valid. My plan is to be cremated myself, as I don’t really trust anyone playing with my internal organs, especially if they’re getting paid by the hour. First appearance in The Third Alternative #41 in 2005.
The Night Is An Ally– I dug the old “Weird War” comics that usually had short scripts with a twist ending, and I’d also read a book called Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland. I was fascinated by the psychological process in which “ordinary men” evolved into cold-blooded killers, and I have no more answers today than I did then. And I believe it’s frigtheningly easy for such events to replicate themselves repeatedly in the human future. This appeared in the Mike Heffernan-helmed anthology A Dark And Deadly Valleyin 2007.
Work in Progress– I studied art in college and have this secret little fantasy of becoming a painter in my old age. Or maybe I just think it’s cool that Van Gogh whacked off his ear and mailed it to his sweetheart. Proof that guys will do anything for sex. But it could have been worse, if he had chosen a different organ...which is another story in itself, but I’m not writing it. Published in Crimewave #9 in 2006.
She Climbs A Winding Stair– This story spun itself from an image of a ghost woman looking out on the sea, waiting and waiting for her seafaring love. I’d done some research on Portsmouth Island off the North Carolina coast, which was abandoned with buildings intact and is now a part of the National Park system. Ghost towns aren’t necessarily limited to the Old West. Originally published in The Book of Dark Wisdom #9.
Watermelon– I’m almost embarrassed to admit this is autobiographical, but if you’ve read the book, then you’ve caught me with my pants down, anyway. One night, while drunk, I yanked a watermelon from the fridge and beat the holy hell out of it, ramming my fist inside and yanking out the pink pulp. I wasn’t even that angry. But I imagined that was the sort of diffuse outlet that prevented some greater atrocity somewhere else. And as with the protagonist here, you suspect worse things down the road, life goes on, and hell lasts forever. Appeared in Cemetery Dance #51 in 2005.
The Meek– This story had an odd evolution, as it was originally intended for an Australian anthology that ultimately collapsed. Publishing ventures seem to give rise to more disease, bankruptcy, depression, divorces, and computer problems than all other human endeavors combined, at least to judge from all the excuses offered up by people with bigger dreams than abilities. But that’s why I’m a writer, because I need only a piece of pa
per and pen, and these days a laptop. At any rate, here’s another “carnivorous ruminant” tale with religious overtones, later visited more in depth in my novel The Farm. Originally published in the limited-edition CD anthology Extremes II in 2001, a hybrid format that also contained three of my original rock songs that can be heard on my Web site.
The Weight of Silence– While anticipating the birth of my daughter, I had a horrid run of “sinister pregnancy” stories, most of which were centered around conniving, cold-hearted mothers who didn’t really want to be mothers. And double crosses are among my favorite fictional tools, especially where romance is involved. Put it all together and you get a story that probably won’t be found on the table of a waiting room in the maternity ward. Originally published in the Corpse Blossoms anthology in 2005.
The Hounds of Love– This is one of my favorite stories, and again I’m plumbing the well of love and attachment. Sometimes I wonder if love is simply possession, and if you love something, you have an obligation to it. I was afraid this one was a little too gruesome but I vowed not to back down a bit, even though it got rejected a few times. Most serial killers start out as animal torturers, so perhaps this strange critter’s love is enough to keep little Dexter on the straight and narrow. Published in The Book of More Flesh in 2002.
You’ll Never Walk Alone– This is the third of my stories to appear in James Lowder’s Flesh zombie series, in the 2004 Book of Final Flesh, and I co-opted religion yet again, as well as that old inspirational show tune “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” I also went back to the mountains with this one, for though most of my novels are set in the Appalachians, my stories travel all over the place and often with strange company. Some things are far scarier than walking alone, I can assure you.
Penance– This set-up was inspired by the Black Plague-era habit of nailing people inside their own houses to prevent them from infecting others. Of course, such an apocalyptic situation practically begs a religious overtone, and I’m always happy to oblige. I hope I don’t come off as preachy, because I certainly don’t have any answers, and I try to offer uplifting moments in the horror, like those golden shafts of sunlight that sometimes break through a gathering storm. I’m generally an optimist, though I don’t blame people who don’t believe it. Appeared in Black October #3 in 2002.
Scarecrow Boy– This story went through numerous rewrites and I loved the “country” flavor of it, though it took a while to develop a satisfactory narrative arc. One editor said it was too much like the old horror-movie trick of “Don’t open the gate, you knowbetter than to open the gate,” and then the character conveniently opens the gate. But sometimes we don’t listen to reason, or we get absent minded, or maybe we just grab at whatever means necessary in order to gain eternal life. Published in Chiaroscuro at Chizine.com, in 2001.
Last Writes– This is one of only two co-writing projects I’ve ever been involved in, and the first in which the collaborator was dead. Sometimes I think if I actually had to collaborate, the other guy would be dead before we made it through the third chapter. But luckily Edgar Alan Poe is timelessly cool and, best of all, doesn’t need a cut of the royalties. I liked the idea of having Poe as a character in his own story, since the original fragment that inspired the project was written in first person. From Poe’s Lighthouse in 2006.
Sewing Circle– Inspired by a true incident in which I wrote what we in the journalism trade call a “fluff piece” about a local quilting group. The leader of the group, who wasn’t present and was barely mentioned in the article, harassed me endlessly about a minor error, to the point that I decided she was vengeful that I hadn’t made her the centerpiece of the article. Since the group met at a church, it was easy to spin the idea to its most absurd and extreme conclusion.
The Rocking Chair– Another of my “haunted pregnancy” tales, this one allowed me to explore bizarre family relationships and double crosses as well. I’m not completely sure I nailed my intentions with this one, because I wanted a clear ambiguity about the chair, not a typical “Surprise–it’s a haunted rocker!” surprise ending as expected. Shock endings rarely work on modern audiences, and if that’s all you got, then the story is weak anyway. So I’m sticking with the interpretation that Grandma did in the baby because she suspected it wasn’t blood kin.
The Endless Bivouac– I’d researched the horrors of the Andersonville prison camp in which Union soldiers died by the tens of thousands, and this is actually a mirror version of a story I’d written a decade ago. This time around, I explored the horror from the guard’s point of view rather than the spirit of the prisoner he’d killed. At the end we find the enemies have set aside their weapons. The war is over. Or is it?
Silver Run— Mark Twain is one of my favorite writers, and his blend of cynicism, observation of human nature, and yarn-spinning skill are tough to mimic, but I gave it a try here, albeit with more of a mountaineer flair. The story was written for Legends of the Mountain State, based on folklore of West Virginia and published in 2007. I was in Charleston for the West Virginia Book Festivalwhen I read an article about haunted train tunnels, and the rest is history. The view on women depicted herein is wholly fictional and not inspired by the author's relations, or lack thereof, with the fairer gender.
Thanks for scattering my ashes in the wind, and for helping my whispers linger. In many ways, my spirit is a phoenix risen from these ashes and I look forward to sharing many more adventures and tales with you. God willing and the Tao being receptive, I will. I am. We are. It is.
Scott Nicholson
August 2008
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scott Nicholson has written seven novels, including The Skull Ring, They Hunger and The Red Church. He is currently adapting The Red Church as a graphic novel. Other electronic works include Burial to Follow, Flowers and The First.Nicholson lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, where he writes for a newspaper, plays guitar, raises an organic garden, and works as a freelance fiction editor. His Web site www.hauntedcomputer.comoffers writing tips, free fiction, and survival tips. He loves to hear from readers at [email protected]. or http://hauntedcomputer.blogspot.com If you enjoyed this book, please tell your friends and give another Nicholson title a try.
Copyright
The Horror Of It All copyright 2008 by Jonathan Maberry
Timing Chains of the Heart copyright 1998 by Scott Nicholson
Dog Person copyright 1998 by Scott Nicholson
The October Girls copyright 2002 by Scott Nicholson
Murdermouth copyright 2001 by Scott Nicholson
Sung Li copyright 2003 by Scott Nicholson
Silver Run copyright 2007 by Scott Nicholson
In The Family copyright 2005 by Scott Nicholson
The Night Is An Ally copyright 2007 by Scott Nicholson
Work in Progress copyright 2006 by Scott Nicholson
The Endless Bivouac copyright 2008 by Scott Nicholson
She Climbs A Winding Stair copyright 2006 by Scott Nicholson
Watermelon copyright 2005 by Scott Nicholson
The Meek copyright 2001 by Scott Nicholson
The Rocking Chair copyright 2008 by Scott Nicholson
The Weight of Silence copyright 2005 by Scott Nicholson
The Hounds of Love copyright 2002 by Scott Nicholson
You’ll Never Walk Alone copyright 2003 by Scott Nicholson
Penance copyright 2002 by Scott Nicholson
Sewing Circle copyright 2008 by Scott Nicholson
Scarecrow Boy copyright 2001 by Scott Nicholson
Last Writes copyright 2006 by Scott Nicholson
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