Karl Wagner - The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Karl Wagner - The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Город: New York, Год выпуска: 1994, ISBN: 1994, Издательство: DAW Books, Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.

The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

“…THE JUICIEST BLOODFEST, THE MOST IRONIC CONTE CRUEL, THE SUBTLEST EVOCATION OF WISPY HORROR.”

Return, if you dare, to the dark realms of terror with intrepid guide Karl Edward Wagner as he once again seeks out the most fear-inspiring tales of the year. Cower in horror as Jack the Ripper reaches out from the grave to take bloody vengeance on a rock band… even as a “retired” serial killer experiences the perfect end to a perfect life… while an injured woman receives a blood transfusion only to find she has lost control of her will… and a garbage dump spawns a malignant new breed of life—or death…
Join Dennis Etchison, Ramsey Campbell, Wayne Allen Sallee, T.E.D. Klein, Lisa Tuttle, and their fellow masterminds of the macabre on this year’s unforgettable, chill-packed journey into the heart of the horrific!
A kid’s camping supplies turn out to be not quite what the catalog advertised…
A pulp writer’s imagination really gets the better of him…
A suburban dog-run turns out to be an exercise in terror…
A juror’s identification with a convicted murderer becomes more than simple sympathy… OPEN THE CREAKING DOOR OF TERROR AND ENTER A WORLD WHERE FEAR IS YOUR ONLY COMPANION…
TRAVEL INTO REALMS WHERE NIGHTMARES LURK AT EVERY CORNER. THE ONLY TOUR-GUIDE YOU’LL NEED IS…
THE YEAR’S BEST HORROR: XXII

The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

I want to embrace her, but she backs away as if my madness were contagious. “Why did you do it? And if I was dead, how could you bring me back to life? It’s impossible. This must be a nightmare, it has to be, because this can’t be real.”

“It is real,” I say. “Very real.”

“Oh Christ, this is too much. You literally stabbed me in the fucking back!” She laughs, but there is no humor in it.

“Calm down, Donna. After all, I brought—”

“You bastard, you loon, just stay away. My own boyfriend! I thought I could trust you, Jay. I loved you, and I thought you loved me, and—” She moans. “You just keep your distance.”

I take three steps backward. “This far enough?”

“Fine,” she says.

“I do love you,” I say.

A cruel sound leaves her lips, laughter so warped it borders on the maniacal.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Suddenly I find myself justifying my actions to her, much as I have been trying to justify them to my own conscience. “But I had to do something. I was so scared. I had to, don’t you see?”

“Like hell I do.”

“I’m sorry. I care about you so much, Donna, you can’t imagine. But there are other things to be considered.” My head churns like the inside of a blender. “I needed someone I could trust. Besides, in a way, I’ve given you a kind of gift. You’re a pioneer. Not many people have ever returned from the grave.”

“I’m honored.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

“Please, Donna, try to understand.”

She covers her face with her hands, like a child playing peek-a-boo. “This is all happening so fast. It’s crazy.” She looks up. “I want to understand, Jay, I truly do. Tell me why. You owe me that much.”

I shake my head, realizing how absurd this all is, like something out of a John Carpenter flick. A killer explaining his motives to his victim after she’s already dead. Ludicrous.

“All right, I’ll tell you, though I’m not sure I even know why myself. It started last April, when my father died. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I was at the funeral with you, wasn’t I?”

“Yes. I appreciate it. You helped me get through one of the toughest times of my life. I thought I was over it. Then, about six weeks ago, when Ron died…” I felt tears build in my eyes but willed them away. “He was my best friend. We grew up together. I knew AIDS would get him sooner or later, but… he wasn’t even thirty years old, Donna.”

“I know.”

“I started to become obsessed with the idea of death. Every breath I took, I was afraid it would be my last.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Donna asks. “Maybe you should have seen a psychologist. It’s still not too late.”

“My sister used to see a shrink. I’ve always thought they were for… weak people. Strong people solve their own problems. And so I told myself I had to find a way to work through the problem, alone.

“That’s when I realized something. Why was I afraid of death? Why is anyone? Because it’s human nature to fear the unknown. Death is the ultimate unknown. So I decided to find out what it was all about. That’s why I did it, Donna.”

“Jay, I can’t believe… you’re…”

“Nuts?”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You didn’t have to say it. I can see it in your eyes. But it worked, didn’t it? You were dead, and now you’re not. So tell me, what is the afterlife like? Don’t spare a single detail. I want to know it all.”

She says nothing, just stares at the beige carpet.

“I’m waiting.”

“I… what’s going to happen to me?” she asks miserably. “How am I going to live now that I’ve been… dead?”

I pause. “Same as before. Besides the only person who knows you were dead is me. Nobody will even suspect.”

She seems to consider this for a moment. “But what about this?” She turns around, giving me a glimpse of the torn blouse and the gouged flesh beneath, the bone-white of her vertebrae. I look away, feeling my stomach lurch.

“What about it?”

“How can I live a normal life with a hole in my back?”

My mind races. “I’ll fix it.”

“You? How?”

“Magic,” I lie.

“Magic,” she says dubiously.

“I resurrected you, didn’t I? Believe me, a little stab wound is nothing compared to raising the dead.”

Donna sighs, satisfied for a moment.

“Now, I want you to tell me everything you remember about tonight.”

A frown creases her brow. “Well, you knocked at the door, saying you had to talk to me, and it sounded urgent, so I opened the door and you—”

“I know that,” I say impatiently. “Tell me what you remember… after I stabbed you.”

“Well, I remember that the pain in my back was really bad, it burned, as if someone had set me on fire, and I thought it would never end, but then it did, I guess. It’s like when you fall asleep, you know it happened, but you can’t pinpoint the exact moment.”

“What else?”

“There isn’t much else. The pain was gone, somehow, and the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and I was here.” She shrugs.

“That’s it?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

Stay calm, I think. Coax it out of her. Don’t panic. Not yet.

“What about all the time when you were actually dead?” I ask. “Don’t you remember anything? Even something that might seem insignificant?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “If anything did happen, then I can’t remember what it was. Maybe I was in heaven, but then when you brought me back it vanished from my memory, like a dream.”

My hand goes to the scissors in my back pocket. “You’re saying you had a dream?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know! Are you deaf? I don’t know, I just don’t fucking know!”

“Or maybe you do know and just aren’t telling me.” I take a step towards Donna. Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Maybe you’re being spiteful, you cold, dead cunt. Maybe that’s it.”

“No,” she says, leaping across the bed, crawling, eyeing the bedroom door. “Nooooo!”

She lunges, but I’m too fast for her. I grab her wrist as she reaches for the doorknob and twist her arm just enough so that she can feel how fragile tendons really are. A low squeal escapes her, then nothing, not even the rustle of her breath. She is as silent as a corpse.

“Are you going to tell me, now?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Donna gasps. “Nothing.”

“We’ll see,” I say, and bring my right hand out from behind my back. The scissors gleam in the lamplight, their stainless steel surface shiny enough to show me my own reflection. I bring them up so Donna can see them, and I savor the look of horror in her big blue eyes.

Then I bury the blade in her socket while she stares up at me in one-eyed agony and terror. Gore gushes out, splashing my hand, staining the carpet. After a minute I let go of her arm and the scissors. Donna’s body slumps to the floor. The blood flows long after the look of life is gone from her remaining eye, and I wait until it’s halted to remove the blades.

I lift her body back onto the bed and go into the bathroom to wash myself and vomit.

When I return, I kneel on the carpet and say the chant for the second time.

Afterwards I sit down in a chair by the bed. The only thing to do now is wait.

I LIVE TO WASH HER

by Joey Froehlich

Joey Froehlich is one of the foremost gonzo madmen of the small press scene. No mean achievement. Born in Honolulu, Hawaii on November 13, 1954, Froehlich is best known for the hundreds of his poems, most of which could easily fit onto a matchbook cover, which have appeared in countless small press publications. He has also published two small press magazines, Whispered Legends and Violent Legends , and is at work on a third, Live Mysteries . Froehlich has spent most of his life in Kentucky and can now be found crawling around Frankfort. He is currently at work on a novel, The Eyes of a Saint , and he has compiled a collection of his poems entitled The Fuel of Tender Years , for which Stephen King has offered to write an introduction. Any publishers reading this?

Читать дальше
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.


Отзывы о книге «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.

x