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The Iteration of The Tuesday Morning - Perspective 9: Dream Logic / Surrealist DriftThe world began again at 6:47 AM, not with a bang, but with the cold, hard reality of a staircase under Frank Coleman's back. This was the Dream Logic / Surrealist Drift effect in full swing. He remembered the beer, the factory, and the crushing weight of a life that had become a series of repetitive motions. For twenty-three years, he had tightened the same bolt. Now, he was tightening the...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 16 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Iteration of The Tuesday Morning - Perspective 11: Narrative Deconstruction / Meta-fictionThe world began again at 6:47 AM, not with a bang, but with the cold, hard reality of a staircase under Frank Coleman's back. This was the Narrative Deconstruction / Meta-fiction effect in full swing. He remembered the beer, the factory, and the crushing weight of a life that had become a series of repetitive motions. For twenty-three years, he had tightened the same bolt. Now, he was...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Iteration of The Tuesday Morning - Perspective 12: Biological Clock / Cellular ResetThe world began again at 6:47 AM, not with a bang, but with the cold, hard reality of a staircase under Frank Coleman's back. This was the Biological Clock / Cellular Reset effect in full swing. He remembered the beer, the factory, and the crushing weight of a life that had become a series of repetitive motions. For twenty-three years, he had tightened the same bolt. Now, he was tightening...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Last Sentinel of BlackwaterThe fog rolled off the moor like a living thing, thick and cold and smelling of peat and old coal dust. Thomas Blackwood stood on the highest point of what had once been a village and listened to the wind move through the ruins. It made a sound like someone crying. Or like a man trying to whistle and failing. He had been twenty-six when his sister died. Mary had been twenty-two. The fever took...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Lantern-Keeper's DaughterI. Eleanor Blackwood knew, before she even opened the basement door, what she would find. The silence from below had been wrong for three days — a silence that was not absence of sound but presence of something else. Something held breath. The gaslight flickered as she descended the stone stairs, her hand on the brass rail her father had polished last Christmas, when Christmas still meant...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 10 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Howling DarkThe storm came down the Highlands like a judgment. Angus MacLeod felt it in his bones before he saw it. Seventy-two years of living on this rock had taught him to read the sky, and tonight the sky was wrong. The clouds hung low and black, swallowing the stars, and the wind carried the smell of coming snow. He pulled his wool blanket tighter around his shoulders and listened to the stone walls...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Gray PeltThe rain in Los Angeles did not wash things clean. It just made the dirt slicker. Jack O'Brien knew this. He had been coming to the San Fernando Valley for thirty years, first as a soldier who had seen too much of the Pacific and then as a civilian who could not stop seeing what he had seen. The farm house was small and rotting at the edges, sitting on five acres of land that nobody wanted...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Man Who Fed the WildFrank DeLuca found the coyote in his backyard because he was the kind of man who noticed things other people did not. Not because he was observant. He was not. He noticed it because the coyote was making a sound that sounded exactly like the refrigerator down the hall, which had been making the same sound for three weeks and which Frank was too stubborn to have repaired. It was a whining sound....0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima
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The Garden of Howling SoulsThe white wolves arrived at Chateau des Loups on an evening when the autumn fog was so thick that the forest behind the chateau ceased to exist and was replaced by something that Comte de Valmont would later describe in a letter to his friend Marcel Duval as "the white silence between worlds." The Comte was forty-five years old, which in the decadent circles of 1890s Paris was considered...0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima
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