LampLight: Volume 4 Issue 1

By Paul Michael Anderson

LampLight, Year Four.

Featured Writer is Tim Waggoner, who brings an all new short story, Trespasser. We talk to him about writing and art.

Kevin Lucia returns to LampLight with the first of a four part series on the history of the genre, entitled ‘Horror 101.’ The first piece is The House and the Gothic, focusing on haunted houses and the bad place.

Fiction from P. D. Cacek, Christopher Shearer, Jamie Lackey, Charles Payseur

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apokrupha LLC
• Release date: Sep 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310574986

Book preview

LampLight

A Quarterly Magazine of Dark Fiction

Volume 4

Issue 1

September 2015

Smashwords Edition

Published by Apokrupha

Paul Michael Anderson, Editor

Jacob Haddon, Editor-in-Exile

Katie Winter, Assistant Editor

Paula Snyder, Cover and Masthead Design

All stories copyright respective author, 2015

ISSN: 2169-2122

lamplightmagazine.com

apokrupha.com

Table of Contents

Featured Writer - Tim Waggoner

Trespasser

Interview with Jeff Heimbuch

Fiction

Memento - P. D. Cacek

The Dream Doctor - Jamie Lackey

The Storm - Christopher Shearer

Tramposo - Charles Payseur

Horror 101 with Kevin Lucia

The House

LampLight Classics

Number 13 - M. R. James

Why I Edit - Paul Michael Anderson, Guest Editor

Writer Biographies

Subscriptions and Submissions

Trespasser

by Tim Waggoner

Duncan sits cross-legged in front of the bay window, a cat on either side of him, rain pelting the glass. It’s four in the morning, and his wife is still in bed asleep. He envies her. He always gets a sinus headache when it rains, and he has a bad one now. That’s what woke him up, the deep throbbing behind his eyes, as if some small creature burrowed into his brain and is now trying to claw its way out. He got out of bed–Kim not so much as stirring; that woman could sleep through the end of the world–staggered out of the bedroom, down the hall to the kitchen, and, wincing once he turned on the light, took some pain medicine. He flipped the kitchen light off then, and knowing it would be some time before he could get back to sleep, if at all, he walked through the dining room into what he thought of as the side room because it branched off both the living and dining rooms. He then sat in front of the bay window to listen to the rain. The cats joined him soon after, brother and sister, tabby and calico.

Despite what it does to his head, he loves the rain, loves everything about it. The fresh, crisp smell of it, the cold sharpness when it hits his skin... but he loves the sound of it the most. The shuuuuuush, like a river or waterfall, the ebb and flow, sometimes soft and quiet, sometimes loud and intense. So even though his head hurts, he’s happy to sit here, listen to the rain, and wait for the medicine to kick in.

The window is a large one, stretching from ceiling to floor, and it faces the house next door. Not the most picturesque of views. Lightning flashes then, illuminating the house and its backyard, and the cats freak. They disappear instantly, as if they’re teleported away, in search of somewhere to hide. Thunder follows quickly, rattling the glass, and Duncan doubts he’ll see the cats again for hours. Lightning is bad enough, but as far as the cats are concerned, thunder is a demonic force without parallel, except maybe for the vacuum cleaner.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the house next door again, painting it blue-white. It’s a small ranch, like theirs, red brick, black roof, green shutters. No fence to enclose the backyard, a couple tall gray-barked oak trees. The lawn is immaculate–grass healthy and neatly trimmed, no leaves of twigs to mar the look of it. It always startles him, that lawn. No one’s lived in the house for years, and although he knows the city pays a guy to maintain the property–has, in fact, seen the man working before–he can’t escape the feeling that the house somehow cares for the lawn on its own. The house is in good condition for the most part, roof intact, shutters hanging at the proper angles, windows clean and unbroken. But there are signs of neglect if you know where to look. Some of the curtains hang askew, there’s a concrete bird bath near the back door that’s been tipped over, and sometimes the back screen door comes open and stays that way until the property maintenance guy’s next visit. Unless Kim sees it, in which case she’ll walk over and close it. Duncan has never set foot on the property, let alone approached the house. It would technically be trespassing–that’s the excuse he gives Kim, anyway. The truth is the idea of stepping onto someone else’s property without permission makes him feel a little sick. And–although he would never admit this to Kim–the fact the house has been empty for years kind of creeps him out. It’s like the house is merely a shell whose occupants have outgrown it and moved on, like a family of land-dwelling hermit crabs.

There’s more to his feelings toward the house than this, of course, as much shame as revulsion, maybe more. But he doesn’t want to think about this right now, so he doesn’t.

Duncan and Kim bought the home–their first–from friends of theirs. The wife is in the air force and had a military transfer, and she and her husband needed to sell fast. The price was right and Kim wanted to help out their friends, but Duncan was reluctant. He didn’t like the idea of moving in next to an empty house, not so much because of the ick factor–although that was part of it–but because he feared the house would drag down the value of their property. Sure, the lawn was maintained, but what about the interior? There could be water damage, black mold, termites, families of raccoons who had found their way inside and made dens, depositing their urine and feces everywhere.

But Kim really wanted a home. She was tired of apartment living.

We’re both in our thirties, she said. We’re officially grownups, and that means we need a house. She paused, and then delivered the final blow. Especially if we want to start a family.

So he capitulated and now here they were.

Kim quickly made friends in the neighborhood–he wasn’t as social–and she soon got the skinny on the house next door. The woman who’d lived there had died, and her family had fought over what to do with the property. Evidently, she hadn’t made any provision for it in her will–if she’d even left one. Since the family couldn’t agree, the house remained empty, year after year, and Duncan thought it likely to stay that way until time and the elements took their toll and the structure, weary and sad, collapsed. Kim went over there one day when Duncan had to work late. She looked through the windows and said the place still had some furniture in it and had been ransacked as if by a gang of professional thieves as the family had fought over what items they wanted to take. He wasn’t happy about Kim’s snooping, but he said nothing. What could he say? She was an independent person and did as she liked. He found the whole situation with the house sad as hell, and he wondered what sort of people would fight like that over a modest house in a modest neighborhood. It wasn’t as if it’s a mansion or something.

Lightning flashes once more, and this time Duncan can see that the house’s back yard is no longer empty. A smudge of shadow in the night, hunched over against the rain and wind, moves silent and smooth as if sliding across glass. A dog, maybe, seeking shelter, just as his kids had. Another burst of lightning, and he sees the figure moves on two feet instead of four.

His first instinct is to scoot away from the window so whoever–or whatever–it is can’t see him. There are no lights on in the room, but he figures the lightning illuminates him as much as if does the outside. He doesn’t move, though. He’s transfixed by the dark figure, body frozen into immobility, not by fear–although he feels fear, yes he does–but by wonder. It’s like he’s reliving a dream he doesn’t remember having, and he’s fascinated.

It’s a small adult or maybe a large child, and it crosses the lawn quickly, not running but giving the impression that it’s eager to get out of the rain. It approaches the back door, steps over the downed bird bath, and opens the storm door. The figure appears to remove no keys from its pocket, does not seem to unlock the door. One twist of the knob, the door opens inward, and the figure slips inside–never once looking in Duncan’s direction. Then the door closes and the figure is gone, the yard once again empty.

It happened so fast that Duncan isn’t sure it really happened at all. He realizes that his headache is gone then, and he imagines that the shadow figure, whoever it was, took the headache with him–or her–when it entered the house.

He sits there, gaze fixed on the house, and wonders what’s happening inside. He’s forgotten all about the rain.

* * *

Should we call the police?

Duncan leans against a kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand. Kim has just finished brewing herself a cup and she’s adding half-and-half. She’s always cold in the morning, no matter the time of year, and she’s wearing a fuzzy blue robe. Duncan is usually warm, and he’s wearing only a T-shirt and shorts.

What for? Her voice is sleep-thick and she doesn’t turn to look at him as she answers. Mornings are not her thing.

She’s taller than Duncan by several inches, with short red hair that’s already showing some gray. Not much, but enough to remind her that