Nightmare Magazine Issue 5 (February 2013)

In our February 2013 factor, now we have unique fiction from Ted Kosmatka ("Cry Room") and Sarah Langan ("Sacred Cows"), besides reprints through Margo Lanagan ("The Goosle") and Norman Partridge ("Blackbirds").

We even have the newest installment of our column on horror, "The H Word," plus writer spotlights with all of our authors, a exhibit on our hide artist, and a function interview with Caitlìn R. Kiernan.

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Extra info for Nightmare Magazine Issue 5 (February 2013)

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For God’s sake don’t . . . ” It used to be a tiny voice. unlike Mr. Rogers’ voice in any respect. probably not. one other tiny faucet, like father’s spoon on the breakfast desk. A crack rippled around the floor of the second one egg. The smallest egg. Gordon’s egg. “Billy . . . “ Billy jerked the canteen out of the backpack and doused the nest and all 3 eggs with fuel. The field of protection suits used to be in his pocket. quickly they have been in his hand. quickly the nest used to be a funeral pyre. It crackled and crackled. Blood boiled within the eggshells and sizzled away to not anything. Mrs. Rogers’ measuring tape and Mr. Rogers’ toupee have been crisped to wonderful ash, and shortly all that remained of the nest was once Gordon’s charred and blackened Slinky, which didn’t circulation in any respect. every thing was once quiet back. the guy in black screamed. Sparks erupted from his shoulders and ignited the blackbird’s feathers and the chicken screeched and took wing and crashed to the floor in a flaming, twisted heap whereas the fellow watched in soreness. yet he didn't look forward to lengthy. Fiery tongues leapt from his trouser cuffs and licked at his ankles. He ripped off his burning coat and tossed it within the nook. Hurriedly, he labored on the steel buckle of his flaming belt, his hands blistering on the contact of sizzling steel. after which, simply that fast, the fireplace was once long past, and he scooped his winged better half from the ground and smoothed its black feathers, and he knew that there were no fireplace in any respect. No. That wasn’t rather exact. There have been a fireplace. It had now not been right here, in spite of the fact that. the hearth had happened in other places. the fellow in black and his winged better half have been in basic terms being proficient of it. Reconnaissance. occasionally it used to be unreliable, and occasionally it struck a bit with regards to domestic. the guy in black picked up his coat, absently plucked lint from the sleeve, and slipped it on. The blackbird regained its perch on his shoulder. the fellow sighed. The boy was once no longer silly. That a lot was once sure. if truth be told, the boy was once extremely smart. yet Billy Peterson was once now not approximately clever adequate to tangle with a military of 1. the easy fact of it used to be that Billy had seemed on the Rodgers’ family at a such a lot inauspicious second. He had visible the blackbird lay 3 eggs in a nest made up of a Slinky, a measuring tape, and a man’s toupee. And he had heard the guy in black utter phrases over that nest. an analogous phrases the fellow now uttered over a nest made of a tub towel, and a baseball, and a size of bounce rope. A nest like 100 others, all throughout city. Billy stared on the blackened continues to be of the Rogers’ nest. The eggs have been cracked and open, like damaged black cups. The issues that had grown inside of have been lifeless. That used to be excellent. Billy loaded his BB gun. He didn't consider like a assassin. nonetheless, he felt he may still take the scorched nest to the cemetery and bury it. perhaps he may still do this with the red chook, too. Billy had spotted the chicken simply this morning. He had watched it take flight from a nest at the Jefferson’s roof, tiny veined wings fluttering. The purple chook used to be demanding to overlook. And the sounds it made. a chain of shrill skreeghs.

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