Mystery Tribune / Issue Nº12: Winter 2020

By Brian Silverman, Tom Barlow, Lisa Black and 6 more

Our 240 page Issue Nº12, Winter 2020 edition of Mystery Tribune is a must-have featuring Tom Barlow, Lisa Black, Drew Buxton, Sara Garland, Robert Pope, Brian Silverman, and more.

Winter 2020 features: 

A curated collection of short fiction including stories by Tom Barlow, Lisa Black, Drew Buxton, Sara Garland, Robert Pope, Brian Silverman, TJ Staneart, Andrew Welsh-Huggins, and William Wilcox.

Interviews and Reviews by Andrea Bartz, Hector Acosta, Tobias Carroll, and Charles Perry.

Art and Photography by Chantal Convertini, Karen Jerzyk, Joël Sanguinetti and more.

This issue also features a preview of the new graphic novel Bloodborne Volume 4: The Veil, Torn Asunder by Ales Kot (Author) and Piotr Kowalski (Illustrator).

NY Times Bestselling author Reed Farrel Coleman has called Mystery Tribune “a cut above” and mystery grand masters Lawrence Block and Max Allan Collins have praised it for its “solid fiction” and “the most elegant design”.

An elegantly crafted quarterly issue, with a beautiful layout designed for optimal reading experience, our Winter 2020 issue will make a perfect companion or gift for avid mystery readers and fans of literary crime fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystery Tribune
• Release date: Mar 10, 2020

Book preview

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ISSUE NO. 12

MysteryTribune

WINTER 2020

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MysteryTribune

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P.O. Box 7638, New York, NY 10116 / email [e-mail]

To subscribe go to mysterytribune.com or call [phone]

Publisher

Ehsan Ehsani

Associate Editor

Elena Manatina

Contributing Editor(s)

Tobias Carroll, Charles Perry

Cover Illustration

Mara Drozdova

Design and Art Direction

Leo Lipsnis

Subscriptions and Advertising

Rachel Kester

IT Manager

Jack Rodriguez

Contributors

Hector Acosta, Tom Barlow, Andrea Bartz, Lisa Black, Drew Buxton, Chantal Convertini, Sara Garland, Karen Jerzyk, Ales Kot, Piotr Kowalski, Robert Pope, Joël Sanguinetti, Brian Silverman, TJ Staneart, Andrew Welsh-Huggins, William Wilcox

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Contents

ISSUE NO. 12

WINTER 2020

Editor’s Note

Ehsan Ehsani

Publisher and Managing Editor

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I remember I was having a friendly conversation with few author friends in a restaurant few years ago and the topic of conversation was about short mysteries. You don’t have to be a mystery short story writer to create amazing mystery short fiction. is what one friend said at one point. I couldn’t agree more.

That’s why it has long been a tradition at Mystery Tribune to publish short fiction from novelists (and not short story writers) or authors are known in circles outside mystery genre. Lisa Black is one of those authors. I first read one of her Theresa MacLean forensic thrillers (Defensive Wounds) in 2012 and was hooked. She kindly wrote Victoria’s Nasty Little Secret for us a while ago and I’m sure you’d be delighted with the tale that this talented author has crafted. The same is true with the pieces by Sara Garland and Drew Buxton who are mostly literary writers and have stories in this issue.

As always, we have an amazing art section and my personal favorite is the work of Karen Jerzyk whose The Lonely Astronaut mixes her love of the 80s with her interest in astronauts, and what they represent. Chantal Convertini and her intimate self-portraits are also interesting and demonstrate her dark and dreamy style.

Besides thoughtful mystery fiction reviews by Tobias Carroll and Charles Perry, don’t forget to check out the comic section where we take a look at Bloodborne Vol. 4: The Veil Torn Asunder based on an action role-playing game published by Sony Computer Entertainment for the PlayStation 4.

I would love to hear your feedback in terms of how we can take Mystery Tribune to the next level and continue the amazing run that we have had so far. So feel free to write to us. Although we may not be able to answer all emails or letters, we do read them all.

I hope you feel as excited as me about this latest edition and I appreciate if you spread the word about us and recommend Mystery Tribune subscription to friends and family.

Fiction

Victoria’s Nasty

Little Secret

by Lisa Black

Mary told me about the doll on Tuesday. I told her she was nuts.

We had met for one of our lunch-outs after she stuffed her six-year-old daughter into a leotard to learn jetes, and I needed to get away from the office before I told my current client that adding 10 more floors to their office building would not compensate for their lack of social success.

I’m not kidding, she told me.

You didn’t sound as if you were. I exercised some discipline and offered her the last roll. Happily, she felt too discombobulated to take advantage of my gesture, and I buttered those carbs right up. It bought me time to choose my words carefully. Which is what worries me, because, you know, there’s no such thing as a doll possessed by an evil spirit. That only happens in the movies.

I thought so too. But what’s happening is not possible. Simply not possible, so I don’t know how else to explain it. The doll moves by itself.

We’ve known each other since the fourth grade, and other than partying the night before the LSATs (resulting in a well-established career in yoga instruction) and letting her toddler talk her into getting a sheepdog (which sheds enough hair to fill the average football stadium to brimming, weekly), she had never evidenced mental instability before. I ate my artisan whole-grain crumpet and let her talk.

Kayla wanted this doll—actually I think she wanted the pony with tackle that’s available as an accessory, along with a Corvette and a town home and a briefcase and a boyfriend—so her dad gave it to her for her birthday this summer. No big deal, it joined the ranks in her bedroom. But three weeks ago, I was cleaning the house—

I should mention that what Mary refers to as a ‘house’ would be considered a ‘McMansion’ by the 99 percent: three floors of marble, cathedral ceilings and mahogany trim. Cleaning the house meant coordinating the twice-a-week cleaning lady’s visits and perhaps throwing in a load of laundry to tide them over in the meantime.

—and I put all Kayla’s toys back in her room. I know I put the doll next to its pony on her window seat with all her other dolls and the stuffed octopus. And only the stuffed octopus, she couldn’t resist adding, finding her child’s individual quirks endlessly amusing. The other stuffed animals go on the bed, except for the coral snake, which goes over the bulletin board.

... there’s no such thing as a doll possessed by an evil spirit.

I could feel my childless brain wandering, my eyes no doubt glazing, and she picked up the pace.

I got some coffee in the kitchen, went to my office, paid a few bills online, called about the cable bill. Then I wanted a refill, so I go back to the kitchen. The doll was sitting next to the coffee pot.

Hmm. I said.

Not possible, she insisted with a deep frown, bringing out wrinkles I had never noticed before. I know exactly where I put it, on the window seat in Kayla’s room upstairs, and 15 minutes later it’s sitting on my kitchen counter.

Kayla was playing with it.

Kayla wasn’t home. No one was home. Not my cleaning lady, not my sister, not Kayla.

Logical explanation, I told myself. No such thing as a haunted toy. It was a different doll.

She only has one Victoria. It’s got green hair and this perky smile that irritates the crap out of me. You can’t miss it. Besides, even if I’m losing my mind, even if I put it in Kayla’s room the day before, it hadn’t been there 15 minutes before when I got my first cup of coffee. How do you explain that?

I couldn’t. Green hair?

She rolled her eyes. Fashion trends last about 30 seconds in Kid World.

What kind of doll is this?

Victoria, like I said. I’m sure my face appeared blanker than unused copy paper, so she elaborated: Like a Barbie. Big boobs and a ton of clothes and cute shoes.

Expensive? I don’t know why I asked.

No—just a knockoff Barbie. Available at Target, Walmart, whatever.

That can’t be right, then. There’s no such thing as a haunted Barbie. Possessed dolls are always some unique china thing that great-grandma brought from the old country. I considered, then amended, Or maybe a Raggedy Ann. Those things always seemed creepy to me.

I know that, she said impatiently. But listen, that was only the beginning. The next week Kayla had left the whole setup, house, car, pony, doll in the family room—

Which one? I had to ask. I always have to picture the spaces.

The ground floor one off the kitchen. I left it there, I was busy with the art museum luncheon arrangements and I didn’t have time, and it was a Friday, I figured she’d pick up wherever in her game she’d left off, wouldn’t have homework on the weekend. The doll was on the pony when I looked. Again, no one home. I even had the alarm set. The doorbell rings, I go to answer it, and she’s sitting on the foyer table. Perky little smile right next to my Chihuly vase.

Haunting the coffee pot was one thing. Haunting a unique piece of glass art seemed to cross a line with Mary. I asked, Who was at the door?

She blinked. UPS. Something I’d ordered from Amazon. But last night was the worst. She rubbed her temples, her dry salad untouched. I had no idea what was going on. The idea of my vital, straight-A student, Atkins diet friend suddenly talking about haunted dolls belonged to an alternate dimension.

But I cared.

So I patted her shoulder. Tell me.

I had had enough. Kayla only really cared about the pony anyway, so.... She pressed a fist to her mouth but the words escaped in a rush anyway. I threw the thing out. It was garbage day. I put little Victoria in the kitchen garbage, tied the bag shut, carried it out to the can and dragged the cans to the curb. Then, I’m telling you, I stood at my window and watched until the garbage truck dumped it. I stood there for an hour, didn’t move, didn’t pee, nothing.

Haunting the coffee pot was one thing. Haunting a unique piece of glass art seemed to cross a line with Mary.

I had forgotten my own lunch by then, with a dreadful suspicion of where this would lead. And?

Truck dumped the can, I went out and checked the can to be sure it was really empty, dragged it back in. She sipped the dry white she had ordered, alcohol at lunch only another marker of her agitation. Kayla got home, didn’t even notice. I felt great, could concentrate on my work, Kayla ate her dinner without a fuss, I went to bed thinking—thinking I was safe, even though I wouldn’t let myself think that, I’d never even put my thoughts into words, not even in my own brain. Because there’s no such thing as a haunted doll, right?

Normally I would have said yes, of course not. But by now I’d been warned to reserve judgment.

I woke up and it was on my bed. Sitting up on my bedspread, though it fell off when I moved. I swear I— The fist went back to her mouth and the gorgeous blue eyes filled with tears. I have a nightlight in the hall in case Kayla wakes and wants to come in with me—she’d outgrown that but started up again after Nick moved out. So there was enough backlight that I saw that little silhouette as soon as I opened my eyes. I—I screamed.

I patted her hand. A waiter approached us with a water pitcher but, sensing drama, veered off.

Thank heavens I didn’t wake Kayla—she’s at that sleep-through-anything stage. But—am I losing my mind? I know I’m not crazy. I threw that thing out. I watched it go! And then it appeared...

I am not often speechless, but right then I couldn’t think of a single, solitary thing to say. Because I believed her. I had never met anyone less crazy than Mary. If she said a cheap, mass-produced plastic doll was moving around her house under its own power, then a