Volume 44/71

Fall/Winter 2023-2024

Biannual Online Magazine of SF, Fantasy & Horror

Original Fiction by

Rob E. Boley

Sean E. Britten

Neva Bryan

Evan Burkin

Scott Craven

John Guo

Steve Loiaconi

D. Thomas Minton

A.R.C. Mitra

Mark Stawecki

Alden Terzo

George S. Walker


Plus Stories & Previews by Staff Members

Ty Drago

Kelly Ferjutz

Carrie Schweiger

J. E. Taylor

Fiction

Showcase

That Room at Ardenwycke

Novel Excerpt

No sooner had Annette parked the car than they were followed into the driveway by another vehicle which slowly advanced toward them, overtook and then passed their rental car. The newcomer made a great sweeping circle and headed back toward them, slowly. Annette squinted through their windshield to get a better look.

“What on earth is it? Or was?” Tessa asked.

“I’ll be blamed if I know.” Annette responded. She tilted her head to one side as if that would enable her to see better. “I think it may, at one time, have been a jeep, or at least part of one. Parts, maybe. It’s unique, at any rate.”

“For the true sense of the word, I agree. I’d hate to think I’d ever see anything like that again, outside of a nightmare.”

The vehicle under scrutiny had the appearance of having been put together by a committee, each member of which contributed their part with no clear knowledge of the function or expectation of their finished product. It did indeed have the short wheelbase and high carriage of a jeep—the leftover World War Two kind of jeep— but from there it veered sharply into other worlds. As Californians, Tessa and Annette had experienced a wide variety of custom-made vehicles but this one completely defied description. The front fenders were sleek tear drops, lying on their sides, beginning nearly two feet in front of the wheels they were shrouding. Continuing back toward the rear wheels, the fenders changed into running boards in between the wheels. Each front fender also contained a side-mounted spare tire holder in shiny chrome.

Huge antique headlights, each nearly one foot in diameter, were placed on either end of a chrome-plated bar that extended from one side to the other across the front of the vehicle. Square yellow fog lights graced the middle of the bar and in the exact center was a set of small chrome-plated ahoogah horns.

As if all of this strangeness wasn’t enough, the left fender was painted in a blushing pink overlaid with black lace, whereas the right fender glittered with gold metallic flakes. The canvas top was a bright red and green plaid. The doors—and they were real metal, ordinary looking doors complete with roll-up windows—did not match either each other or either fender.

The left door was fairly plain, of an unexceptionable shade of red, which unfortunately clashed horribly with the bright pink fender immediately adjacent to it, as well as the canvas top. The other door was a three-dimensional masterpiece of swoops and swirls, resembling nothing so much as an artistic rendition of the surface of the moon and was accordingly painted in various shades of blue and green.

Obviously invention had worn itself out by time the rear of the vehicle was reached. A large wicker type crate was fastened to the rear, in lieu of a trunk. A large red bow adorned the basket but it was impossible to tell from a distance whether the ribbon served a more useful function than decoration.

The horn sounded as the vehicle rolled to a stop, “Ahoogah!” The drivers’ door was thrown open and the driver bounded out. Before he had shut the door again, however, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the seat coverings. They were of fake leopard-skin. Annette’s lips twitched as she studied the vehicle but Tessa did not possess so much discipline. After her first gasp of astonishment, she burst into giggles. Tears of hilarity squirted from her eyes and she hurriedly retrieved her handkerchief to mop them up.

Annette rolled down the window of her car door and looked out at the youngish man who was standing beside the rental car. He hunkered down to be on a level with her and, handing her his card, asked politely, “Mrs. deGroot?”