The Dark Issue 47: The Dark, #47

By H. Pueyo, Gabriela Santiago, Francisco Ortega and Kirsty Logan

Each month The Dark brings you the best in dark fantasy and horror! Selected by award-winning editors Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Michael Kelly, and Sean Wallace and published by Prime Books, this issue includes two all-new stories and two reprints:

"An Open Coffin" by H. Pueyo
"Children of Air" by Gabriela Santiago (reprint)
"Seventy-Seven" by Francisco Ortega, translated by David Bowles
"My House Is Out Where the Lights End" by Kirsty Logan (reprint)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prime Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386927020

Book preview

THE DARK

Issue 47 • April 2019

An Open Coffin by H. Pueyo

Children of Air by Gabriela Santiago

Seventy-Seven by Francisco Ortega

My House Is Out Where the Lights End by Kirsty Logan

Cover Art: Drawlloween Swamp Thing by Iren Horrors

ISSN 2332-4392.

Edited by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Michael Kelly, and Sean Wallace.

Cover design by Garry Nurrish.

Copyright © 2019 by Prime Books.

www.thedarkmagazine.com

An Open Coffin

by H. Pueyo

General Estiano hired me to take care of the body, but he avoids speaking to me. The only times we did talk was by telephone, when he insisted that this job would require my full attention and care. A family matter, he said, I’m sure you will understand. What awaited me in the front room of his house was an embalmed corpse resting in a beautiful crystal coffin, stuffed with alcohol, glycerin and preservatives to keep somewhat of a life-like appearance.

Do you think it unsettles him? I asked one of the maids.

No, no, she answered in a hurried whisper. I think it calms him down.

It was then that I looked more closely at the body for the first time: thin auburn hair, white skin turned waxen, eyes closed in blissful sleep.

Good heavens—the death . . . When did it happen?

1985, the maid said. She didn’t look at the body at all, like it wasn’t there. A shame.

Shame didn’t explain what lead someone to keep a body in display. Still, I found some beauty in the gesture, in the filial love, perhaps. This thing—this human being—must have been adored to be kept in the house.

There is something else you must know about this job, she told me, as we walked through the corridor that lead to the stairway. Sometimes, others will come to visit the body. You must always let them in.

Others?

The maid stopped walking, and placed a necklace with one key in my hands, trembling.

Don’t ask too many questions.

The visitors came every week, and they didn’t seek to meet the owner of the house. They only had eyes for the body; I suppose General Estiano found in those occasions an opportunity to rest, as I didn’t see him at all during the day. For this reason I had to answer the door, shaking everyone’s eager hands before kissing their cheeks.

I’m Amélia, the new caretaker.

We’re so glad you’re here! Aunt Laura was the first to greet me, her strawberry wig slightly misplaced. It’s tragic that you had to be introduced like this, my dear. To be here in such a sad moment, instead of the good old days . . . 

Tragic indeed.

One by one they came in, congesting the front room with their presences and handbags. The second one to greet me was Jair, a spindly man with sunken eyes, who hugged me like we were old friends.

I reckon you must be close to General Estiano, I said.

Yes, yes, we joined the army in the same year! Jair opened his arms, as if trying to embrace the whole room, coffin included. Have you met him before?

We didn’t have the chance to meet face to face.

Of course. You’re too young to remember that time, after all. Jair sat on the couch, watching as the women placed white lilies around the body. This death . . . Amélia, right? This death, Amélia, it took us all by surprise. It ruined the christening of my son, such was our shock.

Some people simply can’t be replaced, right?

Jair looked at me for a second, but his bloodshot eyes went back to the crystal box lying on the other side of the room. Then, he smiled, nodding.

You’re right—you’re absolutely right.

"Amélia, querida . . .  Someone called in a singsong voice. I’m not found of being called darling by a person I’m not close to, but it was my job to smile at the sixty-year-old in front of me, and allow her to grab my arm. Would you please bring a glass of water for this band of fools?"

Even if I couldn’t, her glittery eyes left no space for a no.

Laura, Jair and Josefina, I repeated to myself, trying to memorize all of them. My mind wandered, stubborn, finding everything I needed in a mechanic way: water pitcher, three glasses, napkins, a tray. Well, if it’s just three people . . .

I must have been too silent in this moment of concentration, because when I returned, I found them all around the coffin, hands and noses pressed against crystal. Josefina, who had asked me for water in such a nice, sugary way, was touching the surface with her face while she prayed. Jair clasped his hands together, murmuring what sounded like a religious chant, and Aunt Laura kissed the wooden table where the body stood.

The intensity of the moment took me