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    The Dark Issue 18: The Dark, #18
    The Dark Issue 18: The Dark, #18
    The Dark Issue 18: The Dark, #18
    Ebook67 pages1 hour

    The Dark Issue 18: The Dark, #18

    By Nadia Bulkin, Richard Gavin, Cassandra Khaw and Mark Morris

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    About this ebook

    Each month The Dark brings you the best in dark fantasy and horror! Edited by award winning editor Sean Wallace and brought to you by Prime Books, this issue includes two all-new stories and two reprints:

    “The House That Jessica Built” by Nadia Bulkin
    “Neithernor” by Richard Gavin (reprint)
    “And In Our Daughters, We Find A Voice” by Cassandra Khaw
    “Full Up” by Mark Morris (reprint)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPrime Books
    Release dateNov 2, 2016
    ISBN9781536508796
    The Dark Issue 18: The Dark, #18

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      Book preview

      The Dark Issue 18 - Nadia Bulkin

      The House That Jessica Built

      by Nadia Bulkin

      We discussed this, Mark. She’s acting out because she’s trying to radically redefine herself.

      Rue knelt down by the upstairs banister and pushed her face between the bars. She used to feel a certain sophisticated glow from being driven across town for grief therapy sessions—it satisfied her to trudge into Dr. McKinley’s office with all the other broken people knowing that she had been marked fragile, handle with care. The girls at school worshiped sickness almost as much as they worshiped purity, and now they looked at Rue with the same adoration they bestowed on Jennifer, who was bulimic, and Nikki, who’d had an abortion. But now Dr. McKinley was coming over for house calls, and Rue had the disconcerting feeling that she had been marked something worse. Radioactive, perhaps. Terminal.

      This is common in girls her age. Especially after a traumatic loss, and a change like a new house. Negative energy can manifest in powerful ways. Try to be supportive.

      Rue’s father asked how he was supposed to accept this unacceptable behavior. He asked, again, if there wasn’t something he could do to make her stop this nonsense. Rue knew his instinct was to punish her, but he had already tried that—taken away her phone and internet privileges and sent her to her room, in the hopes that denying her information would put a stop to the house’s paranormal activity. It didn’t work. Even with Rue quarantined upstairs, the Ghost was still turning on faucets and banging on the basement door.

      You should think of the ‘ghost’ as a message from your daughter. Rue is trying to talk to you about something. Probably her mother. This ‘ghost’ is an easier way for her to communicate right now.

      Dr. McKinley really seemed to care about her mother’s death, so Rue had answered her questions honestly. What does the Ghost look like? How old is she? What color is her hair? Do you think she’s a friend? Does she ever tell you to hurt yourself? Or anybody else? She’d hoped to convince Dr. McKinley, and thus her father, that she was neither crazy nor lying. But it turned out Dr. McKinley wasn’t interested in the Ghost at all. Downstairs, her father wanted to know if playing along wasn’t just going to feed the delusion.

      She takes comfort in the delusion right now. It gives her back a sense of power and control that she feels like she’s lost.

      She could hear her father scoffing. She’s fourteen, he said. What sort of power and control does she expect to have? Jesus Christ. Just because we moved? This is unbelievable.

      I think for now you should try to meet the ‘ghost’ halfway, Mark.

      When she heard Dr. McKinley gathering up her coat and walking to the door in her patent leather heels, saying to please let her know if things got worse before next week, Rue hurried into the shadows toward her new bedroom. She took a deep breath before opening her door, just in case. Thank God, the room was empty. She stayed sequestered there until nightfall, when her father lured her out with the promise of Thai food, her favorite. Downstairs, her little brother Trevor was sitting anxiously at the dining room table with his inert Gameboy cradled in his hands. Her father had been very excited about this table, about having a dining room to put it in.

      Hi Rue, Trevor said, are you still sick?

      She glanced briefly at her father, who was focusing very deliberately on opening the sweaty little brown boxes. I’m okay, she said. Trevor knew about the Ghost too: not only had he overheard her screaming at their father about it, not only had he heard the bumps in the night, but he had felt its presence. She was sure about that. He had once crawled into bed with her, eyes wide with alarm, saying there was a woman in his room. Maybe it’s Mommy, he whispered under the sheets, his breath hot and his fingers ice-cold. Coming to say goodbye.

      It’s not Mommy, she immediately whispered back.

      So, said her father, once the table was piled with heaps of pad thai and shriveled egg rolls, is Jessica going to be joining us tonight?

      Rue looked at him in confusion. He never called her by her given name. It had been Rue from the start, Rue after her mother’s mother, Rue because she just didn’t seem like much of a Jessica. Besides, there was another Jessica in her grade, Jessica Snyder, who wore the name like a pair of tight designer jeans. She would rather be Rue, a little rough around the edges, than Ugly Jessica. I’m right here.

      "Yes, Rue. I know you are. I mean your special friend. Jessica. He raised his eyebrows at her and motioned idly with his fork at the ceiling, at the air above them, at the seen and unseen universe. Is Jessica going to come by, or is she busy tonight? I don’t know what ghosts do when they’re not messing around with the utilities. Rattle chains, I guess?"

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