By Nerine Dorman
This variation released in 2013.
ISBN 978-1920532-31-4 (ePub)
ISBN 978-1920532-32-1 (PDF)
ISBN 978-1920532-30-7 (print)
Bloody Parchment: the foundation Cellar and different tales brings a clean crop of horror and darkish literature from the latest South African HorrorFest Bloody Parchment brief tale pageant. From dreary subterranean chambers and angelic visitations to the many-legged horrors of alien invaders and a gathering with the satan himself, this number of stories bargains readers the chance to acquaint themselves with the likes of Toby Bennett (winner), and runners-up Anna Reith and Chris Limb. Finalists comprise Diane Awerbuck, Simon Dewar, Zane Marc Gentis, Stephen Hewitt, Benjamin Knox, Lee Mather, Glen Mehn, S.A. Partridge, and Icy Sedgwick.
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Additional info for Bloody Parchments: The Root Cellar and Other Stories
She had short gray hair and looked maybe sixty, but I thought she recognized what I was saying. Did I sound crazy? Like those poor Manson girls with their tattooed foreheads and unwashed hair? Surely not. Surely people could recognize what I would still—even then, in spite of everything—characterize as a relatively normal, married person’s crush. By the time I got my cell block assignment, I was already something of a celebrity. Not that people welcomed my arrival, just that they were aware of it.
Every time I opened my book to read, I touched it and thought, What cat? We’d never had one. Paul loved animals but was allergic to so many things we never dared venture into adopting pets, not even as a replacement for the children we didn’t have. I thought of my older sister, Claire, who worked at an animal rescue center and talked about animals in a way that sometimes seemed dangerously eccentric. I wondered if she was trying to say that my plight was nothing next to some cats she knew. It occurred to me only later, doing sit-ups with my cell mate: Linda Sue had a cat.
Empty. It’s hard to guess what she was afraid we’d see. “She probably felt a little self-conscious. ” Marianne looks at me. “What was I, Martha Stewart? ” “She thought I didn’t like her. I did, though. I was interested in her. ” Marianne is right. We were all interested in Linda Sue. We drive for a little while in silence. ” She’s already told me there’s a party waiting for me back at her house. “Just a few of your old friends,” Marianne says, which makes me more nervous the closer we get. Which of the many friends who never wrote or visited me in prison will be there?