Nightmare Magazine, Issue 116 (May 2022): Nightmare Magazine, #116

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 116 of NIGHTMARE! We have original short fiction from James L. Sutter ("And All Their Silent Roars") and Juan Martinez ("Esther (1855)"). Our Horror Lab originals include a flash story ("In the Water") from Rowan Wren and a poem ("Field Notes From the Anthropocene") from Priya Chand. We also have the latest installment of our column on horror, "The H Word," plus author spotlights with our authors, and a feature interview with author and film producer Taylor Grant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adamant Press
• Release date: May 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201399771

Book preview

Nightmare Magazine

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Issue 116 (May 2022)

FROM THE EDITOR

Editorial: May 2022

FICTION

And All Their Silent Roars

James L. Sutter

In the Water

Rowan Wren

Esther (1855)

Juan Martinez

POETRY

Field Notes from the Anthropocene

Priya Chand

BOOK EXCERPTS

EXCERPT: Hidden Pictures (Flatiron Books)

Jason Rekulak

NONFICTION

The H Word: The Search for Romanian Horror

Alex Woodroe

Interview: Taylor Grant

Lisa Morton

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHTS

James L. Sutter

Juan Martinez

MISCELLANY

Coming Attractions

Stay Connected

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

About the Nightmare Team

© 2022 Nightmare Magazine

Cover by Joelee Creative / Adobe Stock

www.nightmare-magazine.com

Published by Adamant Press

From the Editor

Editorial: May 2022

Wendy N. Wagner | 397 words

Welcome to Nightmare’s 116th issue!

This year I’ve tried a fun experiment—I’ve been digging stories out of my trunked stories folder and revising them—often brutally—to fit calls for submissions. Some of these stories have been buried for years, so I’ve reached a distance where it’s extremely easy to shave off thousands of words, tweak the characters, and see the kind of work a piece needs in a way I couldn’t see when I first wrote it. When it comes to stories, I find that distance might not make the heart grow fonder, but it does make the eyes grow sharper.

In fact, some stories are impossible to write when you’re too close to the events that inspire them. Your feelings can be so huge that they overpower fascinating situations or wonderful settings. There are places and events in my life I’ve tried to write about that simply refuse to be transformed into words. Despite my impatient nature, I’m learning to wait for time to rub the rough edges down so I can get a better grip on the material.

The works in this month’s issue all somehow grapple with time and distance. Some deal with physical distances: Juan Martinez’s short story Esther (1855) is about an actual journey across the desert, and Rowan Wren’s flash story In the Water follows the route of a dead girl carried downstream. Some deal with time: Priya Chand’s poem Field Notes from the Anthropocene sets our current time frame against the last Ice Age. James L. Sutter’s story And All Their Silent Roars looks back to the 1980s, when the narrator moved to the suburbs and lost his siblings. These are all quietly miserable stories that draw distance and loneliness around them like a cloak. They need the emptiness of distance—whatever its form—to drive their icepick most deeply into your heart.

Luckily, our nonfiction this month is a little more community-minded. In our H Word column, author and editor Alex Woodroe joins us to talk about the unique state of horror writers in Romania. Lisa Morton interviews author and filmmaker Taylor Grant, and of course we have our usual mini-interviews with our short fiction authors.

It’s another terrific month for dark fiction, poetry, and nonfiction—so creep in a little closer and enjoy every last sip.

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

And All Their Silent Roars

James L. Sutter | 5325 words

"But why?" Charlotte whined.

In the front seat, our mother consulted the map. I’m not going to keep answering that.

Anyone who’d come within shouting distance of our old house the week before could have done it for her, given how often it had been repeated. Mom’s office was moving her to Binghamton, and Dad had found a new firm there, so that was that. Plus there was an alternative school they thought would be good for Denny.

The poisonous look Charlotte shot Denny across the back seat made me lean back out of the line of fire. For the hundredth time, I wished I were in the station wagon’s rear-facing bench seat with Ringo, our beagle mix, even though it always made me sick. Instead, I was riding bitch between Charlotte and Denny, a convenient receptacle into which Charlotte could further misplace her already misplaced ire.

Freak, Charlotte whispered.

What was that? Mom asked.

Denny didn’t respond, of course. He was busy walking a My Little Pony and Battle Cat across the door’s plastic armrest, gabbling softly in his made-up language.

But that was Denny. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand what people were saying—he just didn’t care. Which was probably for the best, given most people’s opinion of him.

What he cared about was animals. Not real ones—those never seemed to hold his attention for long, not even Ringo. When he was younger, he’d run around the zoo all excited, clinging to the bars and yapping away in Denny Speak, then burst into tears when none of them greeted him back. Eventually he stopped bothering.

Toys, though . . . toys were different. LEGO horses, the pewter Monopoly dog, stolen nativity figurines—the quality didn’t matter. If it was animal-shaped, Denny loved it. He would lie on the ground, getting down to eye level with them, holding one-sided conversations in his trademark babble. He’d let you join, if you wanted, but any attempt to mimic his language or engage in an actual game—making the animals fight, or go on an adventure—got you ignored at best, if not bitten. If you asked him what the animals were saying, he’d look at you like you were the world’s biggest idiot and say, They don’t talk back. But he always looked kind of sad when he said it.

You’d think our sister Charlotte—a girl who talked constantly, even in her sleep—would have been ecstatic to have a checked-out little brother. Less competition,