“Disquieting and at times terrifying, SUSPENDED IN DUSK shows that horror can, and should, have substance.” ~ Kaaron Warren, Shirley Jackson Award winner, and author of Slights, Mystification, Walking the Tree.
“SUSPENDED IN DUSK offers a delicious assortment of chills, frights, shocks and very dark delights!” ~ Jonathan Maberry, Bram Stoker Award winner and New York Times bestselling author of Fall of Night and V-Wars
Our lovely editor was interviewed by Ian McHugh if you want to check it out here (the anthology had a bit of a rocky start!)
Table of Contents:
Alan Baxter – Shadows of the Lonely Dead
Angela Slatter – The Way of All Flesh
Anna Reith – Taming the Stars
Armand Rosamilia – At Dusk They Come
Benjamin Knox – The Keeper of Secrets
Brett Rex Bruton – Outside In
Chris Limb – Ministry of Outrage
Icy Sedgwick – A Woman of Disrepute
J C Michael – Reasons to Kill
John Everson – Spirits Having Flown (Reprint)
Karen Runge – Hope is Here
Ramsey Campbell – Digging Deep (Reprint)
Rayne Hall – Burning (Reprint)
Sarah Read – Quarter Turn to Dawn
Shane McKenzie – Fit Camp (Reprint)
S. G. Larner – Shades of Memory
Tom Dullemond – Would to God That We Were There
Toby Bennett – Maid of Bone
Wendy Hammer – Negatives
So excited to be part of this project, and I hope you enjoy reading the stories! Here’s a snippet from “Shades of Memory”:
Patrick reined Constance to a halt to study the bent metal sign. It should have said ‘Miriam Vale’, but some unknown vandal had gouged at the paint, so that it now proclaimed: M an Vale. Beside the sign, an upside-down, blackened ute rusted by the crumbling highway. Black sand drifted against the useless vehicle, carried on scorching winds from the endlessly burning coal seam gas fields to the west.
The tightness in his chest might have been from anxiety or exhaustion. This was the first town he’d seen in the past three days of horseback travel under a blazing Queensland sun. Razed homesteads littered the verges of the highway, remnants of the Upheaval. Patrick licked cracked lips, his throat dry, and longed for decent food and a bed.
Patrick gave Constance a gentle kick and her hooves thud-clopped on the disintegrating road.
They passed a rotting old Queenslander, its roof missing, lantana strangling the walls. Parched dust and spiky weeds filled the space once occupied by lawn.
Down the road a mangy yellow dog barked and then disappeared behind a large black object. Patrick squinted through the orange haze of sunset, but couldn’t make it out. As he approached it resolved into a giant fibreglass crab, charred and twisted and riddled with bullet holes. It blocked the doors of what had once been a petrol station, but was now a burnt husk. The bowsers had melted into blackened lumps from the heat of the conflagration.
A tiny smear of yellow caught his eye. He nudged Constance closer, although she snorted and trembled. A scraggly dandelion flower lay between the crab’s claws.