Friday, 28 October 2016 15:03

Dark in the Day

Dark in the Day Dark in the Day

Dark in the Day

Dark in the Day is an anthology of weird fiction, penned by established writers and also those new to the genre – the latter being authors who are, or were, students of Creative Writing at Staffordshire University, where editor Storm Constantine occasionally delivers guest lectures. Her co-editor, Paul Houghton, is the senior lecturer in Creative Writing at the university.

Contributors include: Storm Constantine, Rosie Garland, Tanith Lee, Nicholas Royle.
Paperback: 318 pages
Publisher: Immanion Press (9 Sept. 2016)
ISBN-10: 190773774X
ISBN-13: 978-1907737749

My new short story ‘An End to Empire’ is featured in this anthology.
Read an excerpt here:

An End to Empire

I see her on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, where she is gazing through the bronze bars bolted round the perimeter. All for our own good: to deter the climbers, the jumpers and those who might itch to lob a bomb through the four-inch gap. I sidle up and make a snappy observation about King Kong and how he couldn’t do his fateful climb these days. If she laughs, I’m in with a chance. Go where your accent is an aphrodisiac, the ad said. Two days in the Big Apple and not a sniff of interest from these hard-faced females. It’s not my style to go hungry.

She shows no sign of having heard. I try again, give her the line about being the English guy lost in the city: artistic, lonely, sensitive and searching for his Muse. She raises a hand and crooks her fingers as though cradling an invisible apple. I think she’s about to brush her knuckles against my face, but instead she cups her ear like she missed what I said and wants me to repeat it. The breeze up here is certainly stiff enough to toss the words aside. I take it as a good sign.

From this angle, all I can see is her left cheek; nose and chin sideways on. Her coat is buttoned to the throat, long sleeves covering her knuckles and the hem reaching halfway down the calf; the verging-on-the-unremarkable sort worn by women on the Upper East Side. She could stroll down Fifth Avenue and not turn a single head. A cloak of invisibility. To all but me.

I lean a little closer and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin is so bright it looks polished. Middling height, middling figure as far as I can tell. Maybe she is hiding voluptuous curves under the coat. It’s a navy blue that on first glance could be taken as nun-like. No; an indigo cut from the night sky.

Not just any night sky…

More in this category: Invisible Works - Black Dog Tales »