Nightmare Magazine, Issue 88 (January 2020): Nightmare Magazine, #88

By John Joseph Adams, Adam-Troy Castro, Meg Elison and 3 more

NIGHTMARE is an online 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 eighty-eight of NIGHTMARE! It's another terrifying issue, with a new short story from Meg Elison ("Familiar Face") that connects the spirit world with the internet of things. Brian Evenson has penned a darkly fantastic forest in his new short "Elo Havel." We also have reprints by Stephen Graham Jones ("The Floor of the Basement Is the Roof of Hell") and S.P. Miskowski ("Alligator Point").

In our "The H Word" column, author Caitlin Starling takes a disconcerting look at the safest and coziest of places: our homes. Plus, of course we have author spotlights with our authors, and there's also a new media review from Adam-Troy Castro.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Joseph Adams
• Release date: Jan 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393605430

John Joseph Adams

John Joseph Adams is the series editor of The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy and the editor of the Hugo Award–winning Lightspeed, and of more than forty anthologies, including Lost Worlds & Mythological Kingdoms, The Far Reaches, and Out There Screaming (coedited with Jordan Peele).

Book preview

Nightmare Magazine

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Issue 88, January 2020

FROM THE EDITOR

Editorial: January 2020

FICTION

Familiar Face

Meg Elison

The Floor of the Basement Is the Roof of Hell

Stephen Graham Jones

Elo Havel

Brian Evenson

Alligator Point

S.P. Miskowski

NONFICTION

The H Word: Picture a House

Caitlin Starling

Media Review: January 2020

Adam-Troy Castro

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHTS

Meg Elison

Brian Evenson

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

Also Edited by John Joseph Adams

© 2020 Nightmare Magazine

Cover by Ddraw / Fotolia

www.nightmare-magazine.com

From the EditorBEST AMERICAN SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY 2018

Editorial: January 2020

John Joseph Adams | 118 words

Happy New Year, and welcome to issue eighty-eight of Nightmare!

It’s another terrifying issue, with a new short story from Meg Elison (Familiar Face) that connects the spirit world with the internet of things. Brian Evenson has penned a darkly fantastic forest in his new short Elo Havel. We also have reprints by Stephen Graham Jones (The Floor of the Basement Is the Roof of Hell) and S.P. Miskowski (Alligator Point).

In our The H Word column, author Caitlin Starling takes a disconcerting look at the safest and coziest of places: our homes. Plus, of course we have author spotlights with our authors, and there’s also a new media review from Adam-Troy Castro.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Joseph Adams, in addition to serving as publisher and editor-in-chief of Nightmare, is the editor of John Joseph Adams Books, an science fiction and fantasy imprint from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. He is also the series editor of Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy, as well as the bestselling editor of many other anthologies, including The Mad Scientist’s Guide to World Domination, Robot Uprisings, Dead Man’s Hand, Armored, Brave New Worlds, Wastelands, and The Living Dead. Recent projects include: Cosmic Powers, What the #@&% Is That?, Operation Arcana, Loosed Upon the World, Wastelands 2, Press Start to Play, and The Apocalypse Triptych: The End is Nigh, The End is Now, and The End Has Come. Called the reigning king of the anthology world by Barnes & Noble, John is a two-time winner of the Hugo Award (for which he has been a finalist eleven times) and is a seven-time World Fantasy Award finalist. John is also the editor and publisher of Lightspeed Magazine and is a producer for Wired.com’s The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy podcast. Find him on Twitter @johnjosephadams.

FictionDiscover John Joseph Adams Books

Familiar Face

Meg Elison | 4039 words

Your camera thinks it spotted a familiar face.

Cameras don’t think, Annie said, looking down at her phone. Who taught this thing to identify specific faces? Who thought that was a good idea?

Ok, neuromantic, Jonah scoffed at her, looking over. Not everything is a part of the panopticon. Calm your tits.

It’s just weird that it thinks, Annie continued, loading more Diet Cokes into the communal fridge. And why does that make me a new romantic?

No, like the book by that dismal guy. The cypherpunk one. Jonah looked away, because he always drank cold Diet Cokes out of the fridge without replacing them. He knew Annie hated this about him. He wanted to do better, but could never seem to remember until he saw her face fall when she went looking for a cold soda on a hot day. Then he wished he could turn back time, just for the smallest of sins between roommates that ended up meaning everything.

Annie was blinking. "Dismal. Cyber. Gibson. You mean Neuromancer."

New romance with a necromancer, Jonah said, slipping through his bedroom door. Whatever. So who was the familiar face?

Annie turned her phone screen back on. It doesn’t say. There’s nobody there. She put it away. Does it recognize me when I come in?

Yeah, Jonah said. It says ‘Annie is at the door’ every time you come home. I taught it your face when I first put it in. You can sign to it, and the person getting the notification can see you. Cool, right?

Annie closed the fridge. She stood in front of it, looking at nothing. Who all did you teach it to recognize?

The people who come over most often. You, me, and Kevin. Stacy and Kit. Lav. J.P. You know. Jonah hesitated.

And Cara? She didn’t look at him when she said her wife’s name.

Yeah, it knows Cara. I got it right before, but it wasn’t . . . Of course. Yeah, it knows her.

Annie looked at him for a fleeting second and he could see her eyes were wet. She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Jonah waited until he heard her go out the back door. Then he went to the fridge and found some space to hide two or three more Diet Cokes, mostly from himself. He texted the other roommates to remind them to replace the supply, for Annie’s sake.

• • • •

Unknown person at the door.

The first time Annie saw the warning, she got tiny little needles of adrenaline in her wrists and ankles, as if she might need to dig in and hold the door shut.

Her phone opened the notification and showed her the fish-eyed view of her front door: her own parked car in the driveway, the grey sky beyond.

There was no one there.

Intrigued, Annie toyed with it. It allowed her to pan right and left, but not to look up or down. Deep right: trash cans. Deep left: FedEx guy.

Annie swore and stuffed her phone into her pocket, running the length of the narrow, deep warren of a house to reach the front door before he left.

She flung it open and winced as the weak sunlight hit her across the eyes after the customary dimness of her basement bedroom.

Wait, she yelled, running down the driveway.

He sat in the high seat of his truck with the engine running, but he had not yet pulled away. He was tall and always smiling. He knew Annie on sight; he’d been delivering their paperwork and packages for years. Cara’s job had sent a packet a week since they left New York. He popped back out good-naturedly and retrieved a flat envelope from behind him.

Hey! Almost missed you, Miss Brandt.

She nodded and he handed her the tablet to sign.

Thank you, she said, still squinting in the light.

No problem, he told her, looking around. He spotted her car in the driveway. Is Mr. Cooper home from work today? I thought I heard him.

Yeah, his car is at the glass shop. Have you got something for him, too? Annie could never remember the man’s name. Was it Devin? David? Too awkward to ask now. Cara had always written the tag on his yearly tin of holiday cookies. And Annie had one more reason to mourn her wife. Reasons came in all shapes and sizes.

Nah, said the FedEx man, climbing back up into his driver’s seat with no door to hold him in. He was gone with a puttering of the engine. She watched the arrow in the logo follow its own direction off her block.

Slowly, Annie walked back into her dark house.

Is that it? Jonah was lurking just inside the door. I saw it was the FedEx dude.

Annie scowled a little. His bedroom was far closer to the front door than hers, but she always seemed to get the door first.

Yeah, this should be it. She stared at the pull-tab that would open the envelope. She didn’t move.

Are you gonna be ok? Jonah bit the cuticle beside his thumbnail.

"How ok would you be