By M. Amanuensis Sharkchild
Twenty-six brief stories of fantastical horror that may stick to you to the visions of your sleep. this can be Sharkchild's first cosmic choice of Lovecraftian-style tales, a silver medalist within the class of Horror within the 2010 self sufficient booklet writer Awards.
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Additional info for From the Passages of Revenants (The Dark Verse, Volume 1)
Last night I’d counted seven—five men and two women—including my three targets. Of course, there may be other people inside that I’d missed. This was going to be interesting. Unlike the front door, their apartment door was a joke. They apparently thought being gang members meant they didn’t need decent security. They thought wrong. I took out my Glock and tried to stop hyperventilating. Breaking into someone’s place is scary as hell. It always is. 63 One hard kick and the door burst inward. A guy on the couch, sleeping in front of the TV.
He found the remote and switched on the set, watching from the foot of his bed. A grainy image filled the screen, like bad footage from one of those media helicopters covering a police car chase. It was an aerial shot of a compound of some sort. Scores of small dwellings and other, larger buildings dotted the windswept landscape. There were patches of green, but overall the terrain had an arid quality, perfect for iguanas and banana rats—except for all the fences. Jack noticed miles of them. One- and two-lane roads cut across the topography like tiny scars, and a slew of vehicles seemed to be moving at high speed, though they looked like matchbox cars from this vantage point.
I left the bakery and headed for the bus. Ti had paid me enough to afford a cab, or even a limo, but cabs and limos kept records. Besides, I preferred to save my money for more impor- 62 tant things, like drugs and hookers. I try to live every day as if it’s my last. After all, it very well might be. The bus arrived, and again everyone took great pains not to stare. The trip was short, only about two miles, taking me to a neighborhood known as Pilsen, on Racine and Eighteenth. I left my duck egg moon cake and my red bean ball on the bus for some other lucky passenger to enjoy, then stepped out into Little Mexico.
From the Passages of Revenants (The Dark Verse, Volume 1) by M. Amanuensis Sharkchild