Nightmare Magazine, Issue 111 (December 2021): Nightmare Magazine, #111

By Wendy N. Wagner

NIGHTMARE is a digital horror and dark fantasy magazine. In NIGHTMARE's pages, you will find all kinds of horror fiction, from zombie stories and haunted house tales, to visceral psychological horror.

 

Welcome to issue 111 of NIGHTMARE! This month's issue is suffused with history, from Steve Toase's archaeologically-inspired story "To Rectify in Silver" through to Ali Trotta's shroud-filled poem "When the Wraith Smiles." You'll find thoughts about the way we've historically treated our dead (in both Trotta's poem and Manish Melwani's poignant new story, "The Plague Puller") and the way we've talked about miscarriages (in Laur A. Freymiller's unsettling flash piece, "The Mothers"). Whether these pieces are historical fiction or modern tales, they reflect upon history and leave the reader with a touch of winter's chill. Our nonfiction features are a bit more festive. In The H Word, Simon Strantzas discusses the role of ambiguity in horror, and Adam-Troy Castro recommends some new novels in his book review column. We also have author spotlight interviews with our authors, and for our ebook readers, an excerpt from Blake Johnson's new novella, PRODIGAL: AN AMERICAN FABLE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adamant Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201213060

Book preview

Nightmare Magazine

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Issue 111 (December 2021)

FROM THE EDITOR

Editorial: December 2021

FICTION

The Plague Puller

Manish Melwani

The Mothers

Laur A. Freymiller

To Rectify in Silver

Steve Toase

POETRY

When the Wraith Smiles

Ali Trotta

BOOK EXCERPTS

EXCERPT: Prodigal: An American Parable

Blake Johnson

NONFICTION

The H Word: Ambiguity—What Does It Mean?

Simon Strantzas

Book Reviews: December 2021

Adam-Troy Castro

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHTS

Manish Melwani

Steve Toase

MISCELLANY

Coming Attractions

Stay Connected

Subscriptions and Ebooks

Support Us on Patreon, or How to Become a Dragonrider or Space Wizard

About the Nightmare Team

© 2021 Nightmare Magazine

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http://www.nightmare-magazine.com

Published by Adamant Press

From the Editor

Editorial: December 2021

Wendy N. Wagner | 349 words

Welcome to Nightmare’s 111th issue—and if you’re in the northern hemisphere, welcome to winter. Winter, that long dark season of hardship and despair.

The poet Christina Rossetti perfectly captured the season when she wrote: In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, / Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. It is a season that strips life from the world around us and leaves our bodies enervated and fragile. Even in our modern era, we can’t help but feel exposed in these harsh months.

There’s a reason humanity turns to history and ritual in this time—we desperately need the reminder that we have faced the cold before, and that we must pass along those survival skills to the next generation. So this month’s issue is suffused with history, from Steve Toase’s archaeologically-inspired story To Rectify in Silver through to Ali Trotta’s shroud-filled poem When the Wraith Smiles. You’ll find thoughts about the way we’ve historically treated our dead (in both Trotta’s poem and Manish Melwani’s poignant new story, The Plague Puller) and the way we’ve talked about miscarriages (in Laur A. Freymiller’s unsettling flash piece, The Mothers). Whether these pieces are historical fiction or modern tales, they reflect upon history and leave the reader with a touch of winter’s chill.

I admit our nonfiction features are a bit more festive. In the H Word, Simon Strantzas discusses the role of ambiguity in horror, and Adam-Troy Castro recommends some new novels in his book review column. We also have author spotlight interviews with our authors, and for our ebook readers, an excerpt from Blake Johnson’s new novella, Prodigal: An American Fable.

In many cultures, December is a time not just for chills, but for celebrating kindness and gift-giving. For us at Nightmare, the best gift is getting to share our work with you, our fantastic readers. Well—that, and the hope that we’re giving you bad dreams!

Wishing you and yours a very festive and terrifying month of darkness.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Wendy N. Wagner is the author of the horror novel The Deer Kings and the gothic novella The Secret Skin. Previous work includes the SF thriller An Oath of Dogs and two novels for the Pathfinder Tales series, and her short stories, poetry, and essays have appeared in more than fifty venues. She also serves as the managing/senior editor of Lightspeed Magazine, and previously served as the guest editor of Nightmare‘s Queers Destroy Horror! special issue. She lives in Oregon with her very understanding family, two large cats, and a Muppet disguised as a dog.

FictionDiscover John Joseph Adams Books

The Plague Puller

Manish Melwani | 3264 words

Stopping by the canal to piss, and only a third of his way back to the House of Death, Ah Keng found his friend Leung, dead of the cholera. He recognized his oldest friend immediately, even in the darkness; even in this state. Leung’s sickness-shriveled body lay a few feet from brackish water, pallid face upturned towards the moon.

Leung. It was really Leung.

Ah Keng had been steadying himself on a tree trunk. Now, he found it not steady enough: he slid to squat in dry grass; slammed a fist into soil, then again, then again.

Bastards, cowards, dogs—Leung’s so-called friends had clearly tried to roll him into the canal, but they’d put neither back nor heart into the job. They’d just left him here, for the buffalos and buffalo-herds to find. No care for his body, nor for his ghost.

Ah Keng brushed a tender hand across his friend’s face. Leung’s once-lovely eyes were half-open, his once-full lips shrunken back in a sickly cholera-grin, and his copper ring—a relic from better days—hung loosely around one withered, death-stiffened finger.

Keng had hoped they would meet again, but never like this.

I’m so sorry, brother, he said, his voice parched as the soil. I wasn’t there when you needed me. But I’m here now. I won’t leave you.

That whole evening, Ah Keng had been sour and full of curses. He’d cursed the coffin-makers for dispatching him to the distant pauper’s hospital. He’d cursed the mortuary attendants for their lack of suitable passengers. And above all, he’d cursed his ankle; his accident; his own poor fate after eighteen arduous years in Singapore.

But now,