by Karen Heuler
He admired the picture she had of herself. As far as he knew, it was true. “You wouldn’t ever feel humiliated, would you?”
“Not if I have the whip hand.” She tapped him gently. “You want to be pushed to the edge; I can see that. The edge is very beautiful. But you don’t need them for that; they’d be no good, they’d never understand. They don’t have the mind for it, for real fear; they’re not special enough to give you what you want. They’re afraid of small things and that’s what they deal in. Most of them, anyway.”
“What about you?” he whispered. “If I asked, would you make me afraid?”
“Ah, Guy,” she said softly. “I don’t know. Would you be the same to me after that? Would I be the same to you?”
He flung himself off the sofa and stretched. “I’m not against change. I can’t go on like this much longer.” He became suddenly businesslike. “We have to find out where to go. We’ll have to get things, too, I suppose—condoms and gels; special clothes; shoes; masks; I want masks.”
“Masks,” she agreed.
“And you—feathers? Lace? Black or red?” He stood by the side of the window, against the frame, so he had a silhouette. His head turned to her from within the shadow.
“Red, I think. Are we really going to do this?”
“Can you think of a reason not to?”
She bent at the waist and grasped her ankles and released them. He suspected she had a scene revolving in her head. “Would you kill someone?” she asked.
He came back to her slowly and very gracefully. They both felt that the air had thickened around them, around them exclusively. “I don’t know; I think about if, of course. Doesn’t everyone think about it? Wonder if they could do it, when they would do it, under what circumstances. And if they would do it out of curiosity. You read about joy-killings and you think, those people are off, they don’t realize it, they’re missing something fundamental the rest of us have. And then I wonder: do I have it? Maybe I don’t; would I want it? Wouldn’t I prefer to be someone who could kill in cold blood, indifferently? After all, killing out of passion or self-preservation is hardly killing at all. I couldn’t kill a stranger, it would have to be someone I loved. That’s the real strength, isn’t it; that’s ultimate power, to be above the things you love or want, to master indifference on that scale. How else can you be truly alive?”
“So you would kill someone,” she said meditatively.
“I’m not sure; I like to think I would. What about you?”
“No,” she said, and she could tell he was disappointed.
“You can’t even imagine doing it, can you?” he asked. He was extremely annoyed; he had thought she would feel exactly as he did.
“Oh I can imagine it; I have imagined it. But doing it is another thing. I would stop there.”
“And who have you imagined killing?” he asked, surprised.
“You.” She watched him carefully. “To think how it would be without you. To be away from you.”
He considered this for a long time, letting the idea of it creep around them like an odour. He imagined the look on her face—raising a knife, cocking a pistol, surely it would be sudden?—and he moved the expression around, making it subtler, broader, combining it with satisfaction, lust, regret. These went rapidly through his head, but there were so many variations that the silence lengthened and enriched itself. And how would he feel, seeing her face (now dark with fury, now pale with nerves) and the weapon pointed at him, the moment centrifugal to him; how hard would his heart beat, his palms sweat; would his knees weaken or his hands shake; what would he see, what would he feel? He was aroused.
She laid her hand on his lap, but neither of them moved past that. They sat there, their breaths quickening, the air in the room filled with shadowy expectant figures—writhing, stalking, crying out.
LANDSCAPE, WITH FISH
“You gotta control your fish better,” Willis said. “They’re scaring my dog.”
Tom nodded. “Didn’t know they could go so far. It’s interesting.”
“The first time, yes,” Willis agreed. “After that, it’s nasty. The dog ain’t the same.”
“Easy now, it’s just a fish.”
“I hear they eat things you wouldn’t think. I hear they slide right under doors.”
“That ain’t true, about the doors. You’re thinking of mice, not fish. These fish eat mice, so they’re more like cats. Only not so fast, I think. At least, I haven’t seen ’em move that fast.”
“I hear,” Willis said slowly, “I hear they can get in the pipes. You know, you’re sitting on the john . . .”
“Now that’s damn foolish,” Tom said. “That’s maligning my fish.”
“Keep ’em on a leash,” Willis said flatly. “And put up some kind of fence.”
“It’s a good thing we’re friendly,” Tom said shortly. “Or I’d be annoyed.” With that, Tom lowered his head and left. He came across one of those special-order fish of his on the well-worn path back to his own house, and he kicked it a little. It made a kind of hissing sound.
“You watch it,” he said to the fish. “You were meant to be eaten, you know.” He looked at the fish, its big toothy mouth, its snaky head. “Though I wouldn’t want to see you on my plate. Not without gravy, anyway.”
He poked the fish back to the pond and set to putting up a fence around it. “Fencing a pond,” he grumbled. “Damn foreign fish.”
He pounded in the posts and put up the mesh. The fish sort of hopped along the ground so it didn’t have to be high. The job went easily.
He thought it was his imagination when he heard the pops against his window in the morning. He sat at the kitchen table and had his coffee first; that was his rule. He saw movements, like big flies, out of the side of his eyes, but he waited to catch them dead-on.
He saw one, finished his coffee, saw another, and got up.
They were leaving oval slimy smears on the windows and falling in the bushes around the house. A little stunned they were, obviously shook up ’til they got their wits about them again. It annoyed Tom when he saw them, because it meant there’d be trouble. He didn’t have the kind of neighbours that would let a thing like this go by without comment.
He never actually saw them take off—he always caught them flying, instead—but he had to assume they did a kind of leap first, so he put up a higher fence.
That didn’t stop them, and his windows were getting all smeared. Well, then, some kind of tent would do it. He stared at his little pond, which, when you started thinking about covering it, got a whole lot bigger. He sighed. It might be best if he got Willis to help him. It was hardly a secret he could keep.
Kind of strange he hadn’t heard from Willis anyway, he thought, as he walked the old path to his neighbour’s house. There were fish in the trees and they sometimes dropped on top of him with a wet thwack and an unpleasant snapping of teeth. They hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet; they landed upside down and their teeth went nowhere.
Willis’ place was looking a little off. The grass must have gone to seed because there was a whole flock of grackles standing off to the side making grackly cackles.
“Psst,” Willis said, tapping on his window from inside. “Get in here.”
Tom stepped inside.
“No problems getting through?” Willis whispered. “You didn’t hear anything?”
Tom frowned. “Well, there’s birds outside. I did hear that.”
Willis drew in a long breath. “What were they saying?”
With that, Tom started to actually listen to the murmur outside, which wasn’t exactly the regular kind of bird talk. He stepped to the window. The birds were walking around, meeting in groups. He listened hard.
The birds were saying, “WILLIS Willis Willis. WILLIS Willis Willis.”
He stepped away from the window. “Now, that’s creepy,” he said.
Willis nodded. “Did they say anything about you?”
Tom listened again, but t
here was nothing but Willis in the air. “No,” he said. “It’s just you.”
“What if they start lying?” Willis asked. “Won’t nobody believe me over birds.” His eyes got filmy. “How much do you think they know?”
Tom went out down the path and picked up a few of his fish. It seemed like they’d followed him part way. Some fish hopped along behind him back to Willis’ place, and when he got to the grackles one fish reared up and grabbed a bird by the wing. Tom kicked it free, watching that bird rise up and join the others scattering overhead. As long as they were talking, they could talk about that.
Willis peeked from his window until the yard was clear and then he came out. “Those fish of yours,” he said. “Mighty evil looking. They got a temper?”
“Sweet as can be,” Tom said. “They get attached, too, just like a dog.”
“I think my dog ran out on me. Kind of miss him.”
They stood for a while in silence, watching the fish. They were flapping on the ground, wiggling their tails back and forth till they started making a bunch of holes around the yard. Then they each settled into a hole and turned their heads towards the two men by the house.
“Well,” Tom said. “Looks like they’re planning on staying. You want ’em?”
Willis nodded. “I can see their attraction now. They’ll keep the yard free anyway. And they’re quiet—I like that.”
Tom nodded. “Real quiet,” he said. “You never hear them coming. You never know they’re there.”
Satisfied, the two men looked at the fish, and the fish in their trenches looked back at them.
PUBLICATION HISTORY
“FishWish,” originally published in Weird Tales, Winter 2011.
“The Inner City” originally published in Cemetery Dance, February 2008.
“Down on the Farm” originally published in Bandersnatch, PrimeBooks, 2007.
“The Great Spin” originally published in Confrontation Magazine, Winter 2010; and Wet Ink magazine, September 2009.
“The Escape Artist” originally published in International Quarterly, 1997.
“The Large People” originally published in Daily Science Fiction, July 2011.
“After Images” originally published in Phantom, Prime Books, 2009.
“Creating Cow” is original to this collection.
“Beds” originally published in Moon Milk Review, February 2010.
“How Lightly He Stepped in the Air” originally published in Short Fiction by Women, Issue 4.
“The Difficulties of Evolution” originally published in Weird Tales, June/July 2008.
“Thick Water” originally published in Albedo One Magazine, Spring 2011.
“The Hair” originally published in Michigan Quarterly Review, Spring 2011.
“Ordinary” originally published in Confrontation Magazine, Spring/Summer 2002.
“Landscape, with Fish” originally published in Weird Tales, February 2008.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Karen Heuler’s stories have appeared in over sixty literary and speculative journals and anthologies, including several “Best of” collections. She’s published a short story collection and three novels, and won an O. Henry award in 1998. She lives in New York with her dog, Philip K. Dick, and her cats, Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. Website: www.karenheuler.com
GOLDENLAND PAST DARK
CHANDLER KLANG-SMITH
A hostile stranger is hunting Dr. Show’s ramshackle travelling circus across 1960s America. His target: the ringmaster himself. The troupe’s unravelling hopes fall on their latest and most promising recruit, Webern Bell, a sixteen-year-old hunchbacked midget devoted obsessively to perfecting the surreal clown performances that come to him in his dreams. But as they travel through a landscape of abandoned amusement parks and rural ghost towns, Webern’s bizarre past starts to pursue him, as well.
AVAILABLE MARCH 2O13
978-1-927469-37-8
THE WARRIOR WHO CARRIED LIFE
GEOFF RYMAN
Only men are allowed into the wells of vision. But Cara’s mother defies this edict and is killed, but not before reaturning with a vision of terrible and wonderful things that are to come . . . and all because of five-year-old Cara.
Years later, evil destroys the rest of Cara’s family. In a rage, Cara uses magic to transform herself into a male warrior. But she finds that to defeat her enemies, she must break the cycle of violence, not continue it.
AVAILABLE APRIL 2O13
978-1-927469-40-8
ZOMBIE VERSUS FAIRY FEATURING ALBINOS
JAMES MARSHALL
In a PERFECT world where everyone DESTROYS everything and eats HUMAN FLESH, one ZOMBIE has had enough: BUCK BURGER. When he rebels at the natural DISORDER, his marriage starts DETERIORATING and a doctor prescribes him an ANTI-DEPRESSANT. Buck meets a beautiful GREEN-HAIRED pharmacist fairy named FAIRY_26 and quickly becomes a pawn in a COLD WAR between zombies and SUPERNATURAL CREATURES. Does sixteen-year-old SPIRITUAL LEADER and pirate GUY BOY MAN make an appearance? Of course! Are there MIND-CONTROLLING ALBINOS? Obviously! Is there hot ZOMBIE-ON-FAIRY action? Maybe! WHY AREN’T YOU READING THIS YET?
AVAILABLE MAY 2O13
978-1-771481-42-7
THE ’GEISTERS
DAVID NICKLE
When Ann LeSage was a little girl, she had an invisible friend—a poltergeist, that spoke to her with flying knives and howling winds. She called it the Insect. And with a little professional help, she contained it. But the nightmare never truly ended. As Ann grew from girl into young woman, the Insect grew with her, becoming a thing of murder. Now, as she embarks on a new life married to successful young lawyer Michael Voors, Ann believes that she finally has the Insect under control. But there are others vying to take that control away from her. They may not know exactly what they’re dealing with, but they know they want it. They are the ’Geisters. And in pursuing their own perverse dream, they risk spawning the most terrible nightmare of all.
AVAILABLE JUNE 2O13
978-1-771481-44-1
THE MONA LISA SACRIFICE
BOOK ONE OF THE BOOK OF CROSS
PETER ROMAN
For thousands of years, Cross has wandered the earth, a mortal soul trapped in the undying body left behind by Christ. But now he must play the part of reluctant hero, as an angel comes to him for help finding the Mona Lisa—the real Mona Lisa that inspired the painting. Cross’s quest takes him into a secret world within our own, populated by characters just as strange and wondrous as he is. He’s haunted by memories of Penelope, the only woman he truly loved, and he wants to avenge her death at the hands of his ancient enemy, Judas. The angel promises to deliver Judas to Cross, but nothing is ever what it seems, and when a group of renegade angels looking for a new holy war show up, things truly go to hell.
AVAILABLE JUNE 2O13
978-1-771481-46-5
978-1-926851-68-6
SANDRA KASTURI &
HALLI VILLEGAS
* * *
IMAGINARIUM 2012
978-1-926851-72-3
NICK MAMATAS
* * *
BULLETTIME
978-1-926851-70-9
PAUL TREMBLAY
* * *
SWALLOWING A
DONKEY’S EYE
978-1-927469-18-7
JOHN PARK
* * *
JANUS
978-1-927469-17-0
DANIEL A. RABUZZI
* * *
THE INDIGO
PHEASANT
978-0-927469-19-4
IAN ROGERS
* * *
EVERY HOUSE IS
HAUNTED
978-0-927469-22-4
ROBERT SHEARMAN
* * *
REMEMBER WHY
YOU FEAR ME
978-1-927469-25-5
HELEN MARSHALL
* * *
HAIR SIDE, FLESH SIDE
978-1-927469-28-6
ROBERT BOYCZUK
*
* *
THE BOOK OF
THOMAS: HEAVEN
978-1-927469-05-7
JOHN MANTOOTH
* * *
SHOEBOX TRAIN WRECK
978-1-927469-04-0
MIKE CAREY, LINDA
CAREY &; LOUISE CAREY
* * *
THE STEEL SERAGLIO
978-1-927469-06-4
RIO YOUERS
* * *
WESTLAKE SOUL
978-1-927469-07-1
CAROLYN IVES GILMAN
* * *
ISON OF THE ISLES
978-1-927469-08-8
JAMES MARSHALL
* * *
NINJAS VERSUS PIRATE
FEATURING ZOMBIES
978-1-926851-66-2
DAVID NICKLE
* * *
RASPUTIN’S
BASTARDS
“IF YOUR TASTE IN FICTION RUNS TO THE DISTURBING, DARK, AND AT LEAST PARTIALLY WEIRD, CHANCES ARE YOU’VE HEARD OF CHIZINE PUBLICATIONS—CZP—A YOUNG IMPRINT THAT IS NONETHELESS PRODUCING STARTLINGLY BEAUTIFUL BOOKS OF STARKLY, DARKLY LITERARY QUALITY.”