Year's Best Weird Fiction, Volume Three Read online

  YEAR’S BEST

  WEIRD FICTION

  VOLUME THREE

  GUEST EDITOR

  SIMON STRANTZAS

  SERIES EDITOR

  MICHAEL KELLY

  Also by Simon Strantzas

  Beneath the Surface

  Cold To the Touch

  Nightingale Songs

  Shadows Edge (as Editor)

  Burnt Black Suns

  Aickman’s Heirs (as Editor)

  Also by Michael Kelly

  Songs From Dead Singers

  Scratching the Surface

  Ouroboros (With Carol Weekes)

  Apparitions

  Undertow & Other Laments

  Chilling Tales: Evil Did I Dwell, Lewd I Did Live

  Chilling Tales: In Words, Alas, Drown I

  Shadows & Tall Trees, Vols. 1 - 7

  Year’s Best Weird Fiction, Vol. 1 (With Laird Barron)

  Year’s Best Weird Fiction, Vol. 2 (With Kathe Koja)

  First Edition

  Year’s Best Weird Fiction, Vol. 3 copyright © 2016 by Simon Strantzas & Michael Kelly

  Cover artwork copyright © 2016 Beatriz Martin Vidal

  Cover design copyright © 2016 Vince Haig

  Interior design, typesetting, layout © 2016 Alligator Tree Graphics

  Proofreader: Carolyn Macdonell-Kelly

  Foreword © 2016 Michael Kelly

  Introduction © 2016 Simon Strantzas

  “Rabbit, Cat, Girl” © 2015 Rebecca Kuder

  “Violet is the Color of Your Energy” © 2015 Nadia Bulkin

  “Blood” © Robert Shearman

  “Loveliness Like a Shadow” © 2015 Christopher Slatsky

  “Orange Dogs” © 2015 Marian Womack

  “Seaside Town” © 2015 Brian Evenson

  “Honey Moon” © 2015 D.P. Watt

  “The Marking” © 2015 Kristi DeMeester

  “The Strangers” © 2015 The Estate of Robert Aickman

  “Guest” © 2015 Brian Conn

  “Julie” © 2015 L.S. Johnson

  “The Devil Under the Maison Blue” © 2015 Michael Wehunt

  “Fetched” © 2015 Ramsey Campbell

  “Rangel” © 2015 Matthew M. Bartlett

  “Visit Lovely Cornwall on the Western Railway Line” © 2015 Genevieve Valentine

  “The Rooms Are High” © 2015 Reggie Oliver

  “Strange Currents” © 2015 Tim Lebbon

  “The Seventh Wave” © 2015 Lynda E. Rucker

  “Little Girls in Bone Museums” © 2015 Sadie Bruce

  Lyrics from "Blackberry Pie" in "Rabbit, Cat, Girl," page 10 used by permission, 2004 Jack Hardy Music, BMI.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword — Michael Kelly

  Introduction — Simon Strantzas

  Rabbit, Cat, Girl — Rebecca Kuder

  Violet is the Color of Your Energy — Nadia Bulkin

  Blood — Robert Shearman

  Loveliness Like a Shadow — Christopher Slatsky

  Orange Dogs — Marian Womack

  Seaside Town — Brian Evenson

  Honey Moon — D.P. Watt

  The Marking — Kristi DeMeester

  The Strangers — Robert Aickman

  The Guest — Brian Conn

  Julie — L.S. Johnson

  The Devil Under the Maison Blue — Michael Wehunt

  Fetched — Ramsey Campbell

  Rangel — Matthew M. Bartlett

  Visit Lovely Cornwall on the Western Railway Line —Genevieve Valentine

  The Rooms Are High — Reggie Oliver

  Strange Currents — Tim Lebbon

  The Seventh Wave — Lynda E. Rucker

  Little Girls in Bone Museums — Sadie Bruce

  Contributors

  Copyright Acknowledgements

  Michael Kelly

  FOREWORD

  Hail and welcome to the third volume of the Year’s Best Weird Fiction.

  There is a tendency with each successive volume of the Year’s Best Weird Fiction to try and define Weird fiction. As Series Editor it would appear to be my duty to set the framework, the guidelines if you wish, from which these stories were chosen. And that is true, in a sense.

  The Weird, like any genre or mode of literature, is fluid, adaptable, and ever changing. I take a more expansive and less ‘tentacled’ view of Weird fiction. In the previous volume I argued that the Weird, more than any other mode, perhaps, is a feeling, and that its roots date back to 8th century BC. The Weird or strange tale pre-dates genre conventions. So, instead of rehashing those points here, I urge you to seek out the previous two volumes.

  Weird fiction is a large umbrella, encompassing many modes of fiction. Before genre rules were established, weird fiction could be said to consist of the science fictional, the ghostly supernatural, the mythical, the cosmic, and the fantastic. An extensive mode of literature. In that regard it shares many properties with its Horror brethren. It’s why weird fiction is, I’d say, most commonly associated with horror fiction. Like the weird mode, horror can also be a slippery genre to define. While I’d argue that horror fiction could be seen as a subgenre of weird fiction, others would argue the opposite—weird fiction is a subset of horror fiction.

  My guest editor this year, Simon Strantzas, hews closer to the horror side. That, of course, is what makes the Year’s Best Weird Fiction a compelling read—fresh takes, fresh perspectives, new and sometimes opposing views. And diverse new voices each year. The fact that there has been almost no overlap with the other ‘Year’s Best’ anthologies ably demonstrates we’ve accomplished our ambitious objectives. I believe this to be a vital and important annual volume, and hope that it can continue to be so.

  Why Weird Fiction? Why now? Simply, it was past time. The renewed interest in Weird Fiction is spurred by newer, exciting writers, mainly (but not always) working in the supernatural and horror modes, picking up the mantle and exploring new territories. And also by experienced writers in the speculative fields who are still pushing genre boundaries and conventions, breaking new ground, thus helping us define this mode of Weird Fiction. It could very well be, as Simon posits, the changing face of horror. What it is, undoubtedly, is something exciting. A mode that is changing and reenergizing the field for the better.

  I take the role of Series Editor for the Year’s Best Weird Fiction very seriously. Once again I read upwards of 3000 stories for this volume. Yet, there is still work I am not seeing. Many publishers simply do not respond to my repeated queries. One hopes that as this series establishes itself that won’t be an issue.

  The first volume of the Year’s Best Weird Fiction included a list of 25 other notable pieces of weird fiction from that year. Volume 2 did not include that list, nor does this volume. Simply, including a list of other notable stories is left solely to the discretion of the guest editor.

  I’ve known Simon Strantzas for quite some time. A dear friend, a great writer, and a sharp and inquisitive critic, Simon is an important voice in the horror and weird fiction communities. It is important, I think, to share differing perspectives and ideas on what constitutes weird fiction—it’s why we utilize a yearly Guest Editor—and knowing Simon’s philosophies on the horror mode vs weird fiction, I felt it vitally prudent to give space to his viewpoints. You’ll find them illuminating, I’m sure. And this volume is a representative reflection of his thoughts and his aesthetic. It’s a marvel, to be sure. It was a joy to work with Simon to help create this volume. I am in his debt. Thank you, Simon!

  Volume 4 of the Year’s Best Weird Fiction will be guest edited by Helen Marshall. We are currently reading for and assembling that volume.

  As always,
I am happy to listen to your recommendations, questions, complaints, and even the odd word of encouragement. We cannot do this without you.

  Stay weird!

  —Michael Kelly

  Pickering, Canada

  August 1, 2016

  Simon Strantzas

  INTRODUCTION

  Here we are, Volume Three of the Year’s Best Weird Fiction, and there’s still no clear consensus on what constitutes Weird fiction. Sure, we all have our own ideas, but often those ideas fail to overlap. Which is, right there, the whole premise of this anthology series: the prismatic nature of the Weird. The first two volumes, edited first by Laird Barron and then by Kathe Koja, were fabulous (and I heartily recommend picking them up immediately if you haven’t already), but they didn’t necessarily address my Weird fiction. They saw the Weird through other people’s lenses, and there’s no doubt that whoever will be editing Volume Four will look at this volume and feel the same. Maybe even most of the readers, too. It’s marvellous how many different takes on Weird fiction there are. It makes this whole series exciting to follow. And even more exciting to edit.

  So, the crux: What is Weird fiction? From where I sit, Weird fiction is just another name for Horror fiction, that kiss-of-death classification that’s haunted us since the 1970’s, but only really became a problem in the 1990’s, when the boom went bust and no one could sell a Horror book if it were made of chocolate. But Horror’s come back in a big way over the last few years—maybe not in the bookstores (if you can still find one in your neighbourhood) but certainly in the small press and at online retailers. In many ways, the reason Horror is growing in stature again is because, as currently written, it’s a reaction to that lengthy time as speculative fiction’s misbegotten child.

  Now, the idea that Horror and Weird are really the same thing is not necessarily one everyone agrees with. That’s okay. I get it. But before the knives come out, let me explain what I’m getting at. Horror is a genre, it’s true: a set of tropes and clichés we are all familiar with (and some are tired of). But Horror is more than just a genre; it’s a mode of writing. When I talk about Horror, this is what I’m referring to: the mode. And the mode of Horror is something different. It’s writing with the understanding that there are things about the world we don’t understand; forces beyond our control that nevertheless act upon our lives. Malignant forces, out to do us harm. Stories about this understanding don’t need to have vampires, or werewolves, or psycho killers or possessed children or any of the familiar trappings to bring us terror. The terror flows from the world not being as it seems, and what its true nature actually is.

  But a world not as it seems... well, that’s kind of Weird fiction, too, isn’t it? Bizarre things happening in a world where the rules we understand are bent. A place where strange things occur (and, unlike in Fantasy, the rational world of the story considers them strange as well), and the characters are affected by it, often permanently. Doesn’t that sound like Horror as well? Weird fiction may be Horror-without-malignancy.

  The thing is, I think it’s a false division. If you divorce malignancy from Horror, I don’t feel you end up with something not-Horror for one simple reason: the idea that there is something beyond the world we know, something we can’t understand, is such an intrinsically terrifying notion that it doesn’t matter if that something means us harm or not. The mere idea of its existence is existentially terrifying, and fiction that dwells on this notion is, by definition, Horror fiction.

  Maybe the question isn’t what is Weird Fiction, but why? Why is this term growing in popularity as of late? If the term Horror is more appropriate, why not simply reclaim and rehabilitate it? There are a few possible reasons to explain the Weird’s rise, but the most succinct is that “Weird Fiction” is not just a term to describe the mode of Horror, but to describe where Horror is going. That’s what makes the Year’s Best Weird Fiction series so invaluable: it gives readers a chance to see what’s coming around the bend for the field, sometimes earlier than the rest of the world is ready for. You can see the changes happening before your eyes if you’re paying attention. Horror’s high-water mark in terms of popularity was the boom, but many of those authors abandoned the genre when the money did. Their work inspired a subsequent wave of authors a decade later who built upon it and recontextualized it for a contemporary audience. But now that those most affected by the boom, directly and indirectly, have either left the field or finished working its influence out of their system, the type of work emerging at the forefront of the field is innovative in a way we haven’t consistently seen in some time. This new wave of fiction, the one just now getting started, finds its inspiration in the fantastic and the fabulous as much as in the dark of Horror, and the way these different speculative worlds overlap and intermingle is in some sense undefinable by any word other than the Weird. That’s ultimately what I see when I look at what’s happening now to the field. We call it Weird, but it really should be called “Tomorrow”, because that’s where we’re headed, one way or another.

  These new wave authors are all over this book. They write stories ostensibly a few years in the future, or maybe on some foreign shore we’ve never been. They write about strange things that happen to normal people, and even stranger things that happen to unusual people. In some cases, you’ll find yourself surprised, in others confused, and in many frightened, because the unknown is always frightening. A lot of times you won’t know just what you’re reading, because the authors have found a way to bridge all the speculative fiction silos you thought you knew and made them run together. You’ll find this in the new young voices in the book, feel the energy of writers just starting to understand what they can do, but you’ll also feel it in the established writers that share the pages with them, writers who understand that the world of fiction continues to change and twist like a river, and who are dissatisfied standing on the banks and letting the world pass them by. We even have a story by one of the masters of the Strange tale, a voice whose influence has only grown in the decades since his death. About the only thing we don’t have here is the boring and the predictable, but the future never is. These are definitely exciting times.

  Michael Kelly has been shepherding this series for over three years now, and already has a roadmap for several years further. I won’t bore you with explanations as to why what he’s doing with this series—and with Undertow Publications as a whole—is important: everybody already knows this series was an idea whose time had long since come. I won’t even bore you with stories about how invaluable he is to the process of selecting the best Weird fiction of the year, or the tireless work he does to make sure the Weird is as expansive and inclusive a mode as possible. Instead, all I’ll say is thank the heavens and all the deities within them that Michael Kelly is doing what he does, and I’m sure he joins me in hoping that you enjoy the volume you hold in your hands, and that you find the future as interesting and inspiring as the both of us do.

  —Simon Strantzas

  Toronto, Canada

  Rebecca Kuder

  RABBIT, CAT, GIRL

  If I’m the one to tell this story, there will be gaps. I can only see things as I see them. I stay in the house these days. In my hours, stretchy as they are, I’ve had little time for more than thought; still I have trouble making thoughts walk toward words, trouble explaining in ways you will understand. Something to do with the stinging in my eyes. But I will tell you what I know.

  We will have no autumn this year. The season has been stolen, replaced by perpetual summer. It’s been hot like this for ages; you remember that thaw a few months ago. How could ice survive this heat? The iceman used to call out, “Ice! Ice!” and the girl’s father gathered money and gave it over, to buy a block of winter. The girl’s grandfather had worked ice, too; her father told stories, how her grandfather’s back was stronger than a beam. The beam still gave out at the end. The girl’s iceman would take tongs, plunk the block in the bin, and let it begin the melting. See the box stil
l there on the porch. Oh, I’d give all my money to lean over now, wrap myself around that metal box, and relieve myself of this heat.

  But that isn’t the story you want.

  You want to know about the girl. I want to tell you. But I must begin with rabbits.

  Here’s what I know: there have been rabbits since the start of the world, gnawing the sharp drygrass when there are no tender green spring shoots. They burrow into the bases of catalpa trees, and under bushes, hiding like vermin. Some people find rabbits endearing, benevolent like the smiling Easter Bunny, a chocolate charade, lurking beneath false rebirth of spring. Soft and so helpless, they hop like little innocents, and grow like armies, eating everything. Have you ever studied a rabbit’s teeth?

  The girl’s father hunted rabbits. In them, he saw food. They had to eat. The girl hated to eat rabbits; she was always left with the taste of their teeth.

  She had a toy rabbit, sinister gift from her father. Easter. A puffball of white wool, pink bead eyes carefully wrought, it fit in her seven-year-old hand. Felt ears, as if they needed delicacy, as if they were only for hearing. When she went to the beauty parlor with her mother, ladies looked at her holding that soft monster, cooed, and said, “Oh how darling!” But at night, the rabbit, absent all good intent, stretched in shadow, entered her dreams, fangs first. Don’t kid yourself; I know the story, look closer: Alice was terrified of the March Hare. It wasn’t the Mad Hatter pulling the puppet strings of everything.

  The girl’s house burned. I’ll get back to that when I can.

  After the fire, the girl went out to what remained of the shed, and stood there, foot tracing shapes in the black char. She saw something white, small, unsullied. The toy rabbit, unburned, pink eyes peering up, dared her to pick it up. It shivered; it moved in her hand, more proof that those beasts will outlive us all.