Black Cat Weekly #115

By Norman Spinrad, Simon Wood, Veronica Leigh and 6 more

This week, we have original tales from Veronica Leigh (thanks to Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Phyllis Ann Karr, plus great modern tales from Simon Wood (thanks to Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman) and Norman Spinrad. Plus the usual range of classics which you (hopefully) haven’t seen before. Good stuff!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wildside Press
• Release date: Nov 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667682778

Book preview

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

THE CAT’S MEOW

TEAM BLACK CAT

TYTCHFELL ABBEY, by Veronica Leigh

THE COMIC BOOK CAPER, by Hal Charles

THE FRAME MAKER, by Simon Wood

THE PLUNGE, by David Goodis

REPLACEMENT, by Jack Ritchie

THE GUARNERI AND THE KITTEN, by Phyllis Ann Karr

WATER WORLDS, by Norman Spinrad

THE FISHDOLLAR AFFAIR, by Richard McKenna

THE BEAST OF BOREDOM, by Richard R. Smith

OUTSIDE SATURN, by Robert Ernest Gilbert

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Wildside Press LLC.

Published by Wildside Press, LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

*

Tytchfell Abbey is copyright © 2023 by Veronica Leigh and appears here for the first time.

The Comic Book Caper is copyright © 2022 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

The Frame Maker is copyright © 2010 by Simon Wood. Originally published in The Back Alley. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Plunge, by David Goodis, was originally published in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Oct. 1958.

Replacement, by Jack Ritchie, was originally published in Manhunt, November 1954.

The Guarneri and the Kitten is copyright © 2023 by Phyllis Ann Karr and appears here for the first time.

Water Worlds is copyright © 2015 by Norman Spinrad. Originally published in Nature Physics, December 2015. Reprinted by permission of the author.

The Beast of Boredom, by Richard R. Smith, was originally published in Infinity, April 1958.

The Fishdollar Affair, by Richard McKenna, was originally published in If, October 1958.

Outside Saturn, by Robert Ernest Gilbert, was originally published in Infinity, January 1958.

THE CAT’S MEOW

Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.

This week, we have original tales from Veronica Leigh (thanks to Acquiring Editor Michael Bracken) and Phyllis Ann Karr, plus great modern tales from Simon Wood (thanks to Acquiring Editor Barb Goffman) and Norman Spinrad. Plus the usual range of classics which you (hopefully) haven’t seen before.

New stuff:

1. We now have a submissions portal. If you’re a writer, feel free to stop by blackcatmystery.com and send us an original story. I read all submissions and reply quickly.

2. We are starting a readership drive. Please feel free to pass this issue on to a friend or two, so they can check out Black Cat Weekly. I’d like to double our readership in the next year.

3. We will be starting some novel serializations soon…next week, we will have the first part of a historical fantasy by Francis Jarman. Why serialize novels? Because a weekly magazine is published often enough that it’s not asking a lot of readers to read a new installment over 3 or 4 weeks. (It’s a long time between installments if you’re only publishing issues every month or two.) It will also give you something to look forward to each issue.

On with the show. Here’s this issue’s lineup:

Mysteries / Suspense / Adventure:

Tytchfell Abbey, by Veronica Leigh [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

The Comic Book Caper, by Hal Charles [Solve-It-Yourself Mystery]

The Frame Maker, by Simon Wood [Barb Goffman Presents short story]

The Plunge, by David Goodis [short story]

Replacement, by Jack Ritchie [short story]

Science Fiction & Fantasy:

The Guarneri and the Kitten, by Phyllis Ann Karr [short story]

Water Worlds, by Norman Spinrad [short story]

The Beast of Boredom, by Richard R. Smith [short story]

The Fishdollar Affair, by Richard McKenna [short story]

Outside Saturn, by Robert Ernest Gilbert [novelet]

Until next time, happy reading!

—John Betancourt

Editor, Black Cat Weekly

TEAM BLACK CAT

EDITOR

John Betancourt

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

Barb Goffman

Michael Bracken

Paul Di Filippo

Darrell Schweitzer

Cynthia M. Ward

PRODUCTION

Sam Hogan

Enid North

Karl Wurf

TYTCHFELL ABBEY,

by Veronica Leigh

May 1813

It may have been spring, but to Cassandra Hollingsworth it felt more like a bitter winter night in Tytchfell Abbey. The current of the drafts emanating off the cool stone walls trailed her as she padded down the hall to her father’s bedchamber. She shivered and pulled the shawl wrapped around her shoulders tighter to ward off the chill. Gooseflesh rippled along her neck, forearms, and hands as she reached his door.

Her whole being trembled, but now was not the time fall prey to fear. She pushed the door open and crossed the threshold. Father was tucked in bed, pale, perspiring profusely, his white-knuckled fingers clawing at his abdomen. Gastric fever. The doctor pronounced, solemnly shaking his head.

Despite all of the prayers and wishes, his condition worsened, and he was expected to die. Cassandra had been at his side all day but needed a couple of hours rest. Mother and Cousin James stood in for her, then summoned her when they knew the end was nigh.

Cassandra nodded to Mother and James, who lingered at the foot of the bed. Upon seeing her, Father reached out, beckoning her to come forward. She did as bidden and perched on the side of the bed, beside the poor man.

Dear God, I am not ready for this! She drew in a deep breath, though rather doubted anyone was prepared to lose a parent.

My girl… Father squeezed his eyes shut, panting for air. A man in his fiftieth year, his ailments advanced him twenty years at least. Between his graying hair and gray skin, he was gray all over. I am so sorry.

What do you have to be sorry for? Cassandra cradled his clammy hand, pressing it to her cheek.

A long tear trickled down his cheek and his eyes opened. There are things you do not know, for which I must beg your forgiveness. His weakness temporarily subsided and his grasp on her tightened enough to cause pain. You shall learn all by and by. Please know that I love you.

She heard Mother behind her. The woman let out a wounded cry and began to sob into her hanky. She briefly glanced over her shoulder and was relieved when James gathered his aunt into his arms and let her cry on his shoulder.

I love you too. Cassandra faced Father, blinking back her own tears. She had to be strong for him. Later tonight, when she was alone in her room and in bed, she could cry herself to sleep. Whatever sin you think you committed, it is forgiven and forgotten.

Father smiled wistfully and his head drooped back on his sweat-damp pillow. If only that were true. I wish for you to have my Bible. His dim blue eyes darted quickly at the black Book on the nightstand, and then his gaze darted back to her. It has given me such comfort as of late.

Thank you, Father. Cassandra nodded, understanding completely.

In previous years, whilst he attended church and observed the customary holidays, Father was not particularly devout. However, in the last six months, he became as zealous as one of the Methodist dissenters, praying often, reading the Scriptures, and paying special attention at church. His religion had become quite important to him, especially during his illness. Cassandra found his change intriguing and wished to understand what had caused it. Perhaps it will bring me comfort too. She considered.

Cassandra continued to hold Father’s hand, even hours later, when his spirit was called heavenward. She withdrew from the cold corpse and rose, shivering more now than when she entered the room. That particular cold stayed with her for the rest of the night.

* * * *

Cassandra set her needle work aside when the housekeeper guided Cousin James into the parlor. She and Mother stood simultaneously and offered him twin curtseys. He responded with his hand on his stomach and a polite bow. His face was melancholy, he had just come from Father’s funeral. There was much in life Cassandra found unfair, but she learned to reconcile herself to various injustices. However, losing her father and then being denied attendance at his funeral due to the fact she was a lady would always be upsetting to her.

James doffed his hat and, after he was encouraged to sit, he thus began: It was a lovely service; the rector did my uncle justice. There was a shiny glint in his brown eye. It never dropped for he quickly blinked it away. I hope… I may be speaking out of turn; however, I wish to say that whilst my uncle and I had our differences, he was an excellent man.

Cassandra couldn’t help but be affected by his benevolence. A decade prior Father and James had a falling out. She didn’t know the particulars, but they stopped speaking. Six months ago, Father sent James a missive, extending an Olive Branch and the two reconciled. Once more James was a regular visitor in their home and he became like a brother. The breach had been forgotten and was never referenced again. The healing within the family could be nothing short of Providential Intervention.

Not only did he extend forgiveness, he offered me his blessing in regard to a special union. His brows lifted in allusion to what was left unspoken, but Cassandra comprehended his meaning. But that is a subject for another time.

Cassandra lowered her head and folded her hands in her lap. He wishes to marry me. Heat rose to her cheeks. It was not a notion foreign to her. Mother hinted to it often enough, especially when they were young. Perhaps an attachment would have developed naturally if the breach between Father and James never transpired. But, alas, she was single and though he would be a rational choice for a husband, she couldn’t fathom the thought of marriage to him. In truth, she couldn’t fathom marriage to anyone, even though someday she would have to secure her future.

Dear James, Mother reached across, claiming his hand, and she squeezed it affectionately. I am pleased you made peace with him. Aren’t you, Cassy? She sent Cassandra a sly sideways glance.

Of course. Cassandra schooled her features, rather than betray her true feelings.

I don’t wish to trespass on your privacy a moment longer. James stood and, smiling magnanimously, added, Before I go, I hope you know that though this property is entailed upon me, you will always have a home here.

Mother extended her arm and James kissed her proffered hand. Cassandra mimicked this gesture, and decided she didn’t like it when he brought the back of her hand to his lips. The thought of kissing him soured her stomach. She was relieved when her cousin finally took his leave.

Cassandra reclaimed her previous seat and tried to resume the embroidery work on her hanky. It is no use. She cast a glance out the window and watched as her cousin rode off down the path. Soon he would be master of Tytchfell Abbey, and she and Mother would be his guests. Their ways would defer to his. That was her misfortune of being born a female rather than a male. If only I had been a boy. She had no qualms about her sex except when society slighted her. If only she could have been lord and master of Tytchfell Abbey. Once a medieval abbey, the structure had been constructed in the 13th century. Made of stone, it lacked grandeur but was austere. Built as a cruciform, it more than honored its original intent and continued to possess a holy reverence in its existence. After it was converted from monastery to country house, domesticity reigned throughout. There was a gothic influence in certain parts, and one could fancy herself in a gothic novel. All that it lacked were moving bookcases and secret passages. Instead, they had to make do with the large, airy bedrooms, a parlor, a dining room, a library, a kitchen, and complete servants’ quarters. Naturally, there were the customary old stories of ghosts and vampires lurking hither and thither, but none revealed themselves. Parks and woods buttressed the house and were ideal for a ramble on a sunny day.

Lucky is the man who inherits Tytchfell Abbey, Cassandra thought bitterly.

Such a thoughtful, agreeable man. Mother declared, clasping her hands together. She took a seat in the chair closest to Cassandra. He has been especially attentive to you.

Cassandra frowned. Now that James was gone, she had no intention to conceal her feelings. Mother, Father has just died. Do you not see the indelicacy of his reference to matrimony merely hours after Father’s funeral? We are in mourning.

A year would have been appropriate to broach the subject. That would have been plenty of time to mourn and she would have come up with a reasonable objection to his suit. James was hardly unfortunate looking; he cut a decent figure and his person wasn’t repulsive. A man of medium height and pleasing countenance, he was a fraction too pale for her tastes and his manners could be awkward at times. A sensible wife could remedy his shortcomings. However, she wasn’t drawn to him, nor did she believe she could love him in the way she should love a husband.

Cousin James is a practical man. Mother sent her a knowing look. Her eyes were red-rimmed from hours of weeping, yet her beauty and charms were not diminished. A lady in the latter part of her fourth decade, her tawny hair grayed, and when she was happy her eyes sparkled