Dear Mr. Quiroga,
This is regarding the noise problem at 2A, which I'm sure you have already noticed. 2A is directly below my apartment, and I hear the noises as well as if they were coming from my own living room. Knocking, clanking and rattling can be heard at all hours of the night, sometimes as late as 3 AM.
I don't want to create any trouble for Mr. Levine – he has been a quiet and pleasant neighbor up until last week. But when I tried to speak with him on Monday he would not open the door. You might think he wasn't home, but I know he was. I could hear him moving about inside. Since I can't ask him to keep it down, I'm requesting that you do.
I'm not a young woman, and I need what little sleep I can get.
Your tenant in 3A,
Mrs. Gladys Craft
It was a four-hour drive to the lake. Danielle suggested he go by plane, and he frowned the way he always did when he wanted her to stop pestering him. She smiled and said very quietly, ‘By car it is.’ He thought she battled him through every step of the preparations — booking the cabin, packing, setting the alarm clock on his last night at home — only to surrender each time. She must have thought he was stubborn, and maybe it was true, but he had a right to be. It was his sixtieth birthday.
You can order it here, but before you do, here's an excerpt from A Good Price:
Ealdwine didn't mind the smell of the slave market. It was the dust that bothered him, and as the three of them sat in the carriage, he knew Seth and Delmar were waiting for him to pull out his handkerchief and cover his nose. Then they would pretend to follow his example, and they would curse at the thickening dust that hung like mist in the air, and they would repeat, “This weather, this weather.” But they were grateful for the dust, for it allowed them to cover their noses with their dirty, perfumed handkerchiefs.
The first paragraph of There Used to be Places:
Maggie Lowery sat with her legs crossed, leaning with her elbow on the kitchen table, her fist pushing her cheek closer to her eye. Her face was serious, without a shadow of a smile, but the expression seemed more like that of concentration than of sadness. Jasper hoped this was only an act, that underneath her face she was sad, because if she wasn't, it would mean she had faith in him. He wished she didn't. He was only a small town sheriff, but he knew children were rarely found alive in these cases.
There were never many reasons for a stranger to stop by the town of St. John. Car trouble was the most common of them, and it was the reason Tim limped into the convenience store that Sunday evening in August, just short of seven o'clock. He had driven over a pothole and blown a tire between a tall hill and the cemetery. He would have seen it had he not been focused on a wooden sign that stood at the foot of the hill and read, Here Lies Little Thaddeus.
Dark Lane Anthology: Volume Two is edited by Tim Jeffreys and features the works of Rebecca Lloyd, Tim Major, James Everington, L.S. Johnson, Damon King, F. Charles Murdock, S.P. Lazarus, Beau Johnson, Matthew Lett, Rhoads Brazos and many others. It's an assortment of the weird and wonderful, the monstrous and the macabre – a book of awesome literary weird fiction – and I'm honored to be a part of it. Check it out, marvel at the beautiful cover, and consider getting a copy, because I truly believe you won't regret it.
Well, this is it as far as recent publications go. Thanks for reading. Now go read something else (a hint, indeed), and as always, I would love to hear what you thought of my newest contributions to the smog of words, phrases and ideas engulfing our world.