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    1920: The Roaring Anthology
    1920: The Roaring Anthology
    1920: The Roaring Anthology
    Ebook103 pages1 hour

    1920: The Roaring Anthology

    By Union Combine

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    About this ebook

    As the Lost Generation struggled to move past the devastation of The Great War they embraced massive social change. Jazz, movies and technological innovation whirled with gangsters, prohibition and political upheaval. By the end of the decade Black Thursday would usher in the Great Depression and the world would grow steadily darker. But this was just the beginning...

    1920: The Roaring Anthology

    The Introduction by Julia Druk
    Wally Pendleton imagined a life of fame and importance yet, somehow, he found himself - and more - as a mundane census worker.

    Trenchers by Ron Perazza
    Great War veteran Charlie Clerk returns to the battlefield to confront an all too familiar enemy lurking in the abandoned trenches and bunkers of Europe.

    Comedy is Pain by Peter Timony
    The Keystone Kops might be masters of physical comedy but it’ll take more than trips and slips for professional slapstick Chuck Cooper to solve a real life Hollywood murder.

    Poltergeist by Matthew Petz
    The vigilante Poltergeist is the scourge of the underworld – literally! Gangsters and the great unknown collide in the streets of New York City on the brink of eldritch horror.

    Dearest Delilah by Dave McCullough
    Jack might be crazy but before he tried to kill himself he needed to explain to Delilah exactly why it wasn’t suicide. Hopefully.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUnion Combine
    Release dateOct 21, 2013
    ISBN9781310846328
    1920: The Roaring Anthology
    Author

    Union Combine

    What started out as creative collaboration between artists, writers, editors and professionals from the comic book industry soon evolved into UNION COMBINE; an all digital, eBook publishing imprint focusing on free, high-quality genre fiction inspired by radio dramas, pulp magazines, dime novels and (of course) comic books. Our goal is to create interesting characters and engaging stories that excite, provoke and entertain our readers.Our first book, 1920: The Roaring Anthology, was published in October of 2013.

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      Book preview

      1920 - Union Combine

      1920: THE ROARING ANTHOLOGY

      1920: THE ROARING ANTHOLOGY

      EDITED BY:

      Ron Perazza

      Peter Timony

      STORIES BY:

      Julia Druk

      Dave McCullough

      Ron Perazza

      Matthew Petz

      Peter Timony

      UNION COMBINE

      www.unioncombine.com

      Published by Union Combine at Smashwords

      The Introduction copyright © 2013 Julia Druk

      Trenchers copyright © 2013 Ronald J. Perazza, Jr.

      Comedy Is Pain copyright © 2013 Peter Timony

      Poltergeist copyright © 2013 Matthew Petz

      Dearest Delilah copyright © 2013 Dave McCullough

      Illustrations © 2013 Daniel Govar

      1920: The Roaring Anthology, Union Combine, the Union Combine logo and related elements @ 2013 Union Combine. All Rights Reserved.

      This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and appropriate creators except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      Visit Union Combine Online

      www.unioncombine.com

      CONTENTS

      The Introduction

      by Julia Druk

      Trenchers

      by Ron Perazza

      Comedy Is Pain

      by Peter TImony

      Poltergeist

      by Matthew Petz

      Dearest Delilah

      by Dave McCullough

      The Introduction

      I always imagined my life differently. I imagined being surrounded by gaiety and art, and all sorts of glittering, fascinating people. Visions of nightly dances and intellectual debates, smoky cafés, green-tinged cocktails, the haze of tobacco smoke, sax notes, all swam tantalizingly in front of my mind. Yes, I imagined that sort of fame, even if a diluted or reflected fame, or at the very worst, renown.

      I catered to it by purchasing a velvet smoking jacket and a few jazz records from a departing senior, and posing at my dormitory window in the evenings to gaze out from what I envisioned was a lonely writer’s aerie.

      Nonsense. It was all utter nonsense of course. But in the clutches of these vague imaginings I gathered enough courage at the end of my senior year to make a telephone call which set off a chain of events so decisively and irrevocably that it still holds itself firmly in my mind.

      I want to go to New York and try my hand at writing, it began.

      The line was silent. Among the crackling, I could hear one of my father’s heavy sighs, containing to my ear the sum of long-standing disappointments, of which this was only the last. It swept over my grade school days of mediocre marks and benched games, the failed youthful courtships, the years spent at study toward an undistinguished diploma at a school neither in Boston nor New Haven, the whole of it being a son that in his twenty-one years in this world had left not a single mark, and now – this.

      Your mother wouldn’t like it, he said at last.

      My late mother had been faint and timid, a gray sparrow who in life had never once ventured to express an unfiltered opinion, but had now become the first and last resort of all arguments, the most forceful of women.

      And so I steeled myself to counter with all the thrust of youthful enthusiasm, only I’ve got it all figured out, you see. For the first few months I’ll need to rent a room and get situated, just before I get published, but then, you’ll see, I should be able to take care of everything on my own, and I – I spoke too fast, and here I stumbled, before finishing rather lamely,

      – I would just like the chance.

      This was the most that I had ever said to my father all at once, and it had perhaps embarrassed him enough to reply, after another sigh, All-right, six months.

      And that was that.

      * * * * *

      And so, in the bloom of June 1919, I arrived, as everyone arrives, on the doorstep of a city that wanted nothing to do with me.

      My first impression was noise. Yes, the sheer, overwhelming noise of it. The cars and trams and porters just outside the station, and then people, people, people everywhere – in the cars, and cabs, and on foot, walking four abreast, an overpowering cacophony of summer suits and straw hats.

      I stood frozen just inside the station doors until – what luck! – I saw a familiar face passing quickly through the crowd.

      Bink! I cried, frantically waving my arm and half-running to catch him up. Bink!

      Brian Hastings, known simply as Bink in our friendly circles, paused and turned around. He wore a slim-cut gray suit, maybe a shade dark for June, and one of those straw hats you saw in all the pictures. Here was that elusive introduction to the city! Bink glanced me over quizzically, and said yes?

      He- Hello Bink, I stammered, a little out of breath, I’ve just arrived! So good to see a familiar face. What are you doing here?

      Bink didn’t reply at first, still looking at me with a somewhat puzzled expression, then said, I’m sorry – but do I know you?

      I was so surprised that I actually took a step back, and after mumbling a hasty apology to a woman behind me, I turned to Bink and said, I – well, it’s me, Bink. You know, we took Crockford’s class together and I think Greek too – I paused, now unsure, Don’t you remember me?

      "Oh, yes, of course – Bink said slowly, yes, yes, yes, yes, sorry about that. You were that… You must have been that… quiet fellow, wasn’t it? Didn’t you write that, what was it now…"

      Yes! It’s Wally – Wallace Pendleton. I said quickly. He remembered!

      And now – you’ve just arrived, you say?

      "Yes, I’ve decided to try my hand at writing, you know. This is where everyone goes to do it, isn’t it? I’ll get a couple pieces in the New Yorker and it’ll be up and up from there, I suppose."

      I paused as Bink looked down at his watch, then ventured as casually I could, Say – you wouldn’t want to get a drink, would you? Help me settle in?

      He frowned slightly. Wally, is it? He looked me over once again, surely taking in the outdated jacket and trousers, the travel creased shirt, the unseasonable hat, No… sorry, Wally. I’ve really got to run, old boy. Work, you know. It was great catching up, though, and – good luck!

      He turned on his heel, and with the air of someone who has just narrowly avoided some minor misfortune, took off into he crowd.

      In desperation, I yelled after him, if you change your mind, look me up, Bink!

      And then I stood still for a long silent moment.

      And that was that.

      * * * * *

      I won’t bore you with the details of June-October. Suffice it to say that after a hectic search, I found adequate lodging by the Fuller on 23rd – a furnished white

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