Arterial Bloom Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Welcome

  FOREWORD - Linda D. Addison

  THE STONE DOOR - Jimmy Bernard

  DOG (DOES NOT) EAT DOG - Grant Longstaff

  KUDZU STORIES - Linda J. Marshall

  DEAD LETTERS - Christopher Barzak

  THE DARKER SIDE OF GRIEF - Naching T. Kassa

  WELCOME TO AUTUMN - Daniel Crow

  STILL LIFE - Kelli Owen

  THREE MASKS - Armand Rosamilia

  DOODLEBUG - John Boden

  HAPPY PILLS - Todd Keisling

  WHAT REMAINED OF HER - Jennifer Loring

  BLUE WAS HER FAVORITE COLOR - Dino Parenti

  IN THE LOOP - Ken Liu

  THE MAKING OF MARY - Steven Pirie

  MOUTHS FILLED WITH SEAWATER - Jonathan Cosgrove

  ROTTEN - Carina Bissett

  About the Authors

  More from Crystal Lake Publishing

  A Letter from Joe

  COPYRIGHT

  ARTERIAL BLOOM

  Anthology copyright © 2020 Crystal Lake Publishing

  Individual stories are copyrighted by their respective authors.

  Foreword © 2020 by Linda D. Addison

  Illustrations © 2020 by Mercedes M. Yardley

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-64669-310-8

  Cover & Interior Design by Todd Keisling | Dullington Design Co.

  Proofread by Paula Limbaugh, Guy Medley, Andi Rawson, and N.M. Scuri

  “In the Loop” by Ken Liu was originally published in War Stories, edited by Andrew Liptak and Jaym Gates, Apex Book Company, 2014.

  “Dead Letters” by Christopher Barzak was originally published in Realms of Fantasy, 2006.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Crystal Lake Publishing – Tales from the Darkest Depths

  www.crystallakepub.com

  Join the Crystal Lake community today on our newsletter and Patreon!

  FOREWORD

  - Linda D. Addison -

  Before I met Mercedes M. Yardley in person I knew her work, not just excellent fiction, but constructive essays on writing and other subjects that touch her heart. Spending a weekend with her at a convention I discovered an intelligent, caring, talented, and fun human. This book is her first step as an editor in the anthology arena.

  I’ve been in more than thirty anthologies and only a handful didn’t have a theme. People like themes: it gives them something to identify with quickly (an anthology of Goldfish Who Transform Into Demons or Terrifying Stories Using the Word “Red”, etc.). What would possess a first-time anthology editor to do a book without a clearly defined subject? The book you’re reading proves that the editor is in rhythm with some dark, wonderful magic!

  I don’t know how Yardley did it, but there is such poetry and unease in these stories. Even though each one is different in voice, story concept, characters, their openings put me on the edge of my seat, pulling to the next page. The stories cover a wide gamut of surreal, apocalyptic, miracle cures (not), beyond dysfunctional families/relationships, surviving loss (personal and world-level), and aggressive life forms.

  There are titles that seem innocent and titles that definitely let you know no innocence will survive. The protagonists are courageous humans, serial killers, monsters, planets (yep, I said planets), objects and fire. I know some of these authors, excellent authors who shine in this anthology, others are new to me, but somehow they each have some poetic prose in their piece.

  Everything that exists starts as an idea and comes into existence through working imagination into reality. One day I will sit with Yardley to listen to the first time she conceived of doing this book, to try to understand how she enticed the authors to create such beautiful darkness, with endings that made me shudder in wonderment.

  Life is a crooked road, unexpectedly branching from first breath to last, seasoned with joy and loss; breaking us sometimes, strengthening us other times. Looking back over my life so far, I would say the theme of mine has been to survive and thrive; there is no one way to describe it.

  I stopped after reading each of the stories in this anthology to sit and marvel over the language, story, characters, and endings that set my imagination on fire with their graceful horror. These stories, like life, actively branch into somber, unexpected beings, things, and places. Now it’s your turn, go on, flip the page and enter these ravishing shadows that Yardley has gathered…

  THE STONE DOOR

  - Jimmy Bernard -

  It was a clear day, with a hot sun shining down on the valley. The house built here was small, but the sisters didn’t need a lot. They each had their own bedroom, and out back were vegetable gardens and a chicken coop. The only sound came from Billie riding the wooden bicycle. Its entire frame rambled, and she often worried it might break, though the chain running to the lever in front of her was still strong, which mattered most.

  “I think I’ve found a way,” Charlotte said. She was twelve, and the youngest of the three. Billie was sixteen, and Agatha, who still slept after her night shift, was fourteen. Charlotte sat at the table, bent over a pile of papers filled with sketches.

  “No,” Billie said.

  “Just hear me out,” Charlotte said, as she came to stand beside Billie holding a large piece of paper in her hands. Billie didn’t look; she just stared at the chain running from the bicycle toward the lever built above the stone door laying in the hill. A large weight stood atop the door which was being held down by the spinning chain. A chain that only spun because Billie had been cycling for four hours already.

  “I don’t want to hear it. I never want to hear it again, not after last time.”

  “Last time was a mistake. This can work,” Charlotte said. Billie pointed at the clock.

  “My shift is done. Get ready to take over.” Charlotte put her plans on the table. She took a drink of water before coming to stand next to the bicycle. Billie started cycling faster, then she lifted her right leg over the frame, while Charlotte placed her foot on the pedal.

  “Ready?”

  “Go,” Charlotte said. And just like that Billie was off, and Charlotte had taken over. The weight didn’t even budge.

  Billie walked to the table and sat down, rubbing the soreness out of her legs.

  “We need to use sticks,” Charlotte said.

  “Take a good look at that weight. Do you really think a few sticks can hold that sucker down?”

  “Yes, if we can use them to board up the door. It’s worth a try.”

  “I’m done trying,” Billie said. She stood up and went to the house.

  “Don’t wake Agatha, but if you do, tell her about my idea.” Billie left Charlotte atop the bike and headed to her room. She had one more shift coming up, from six to ten P.M. She’d have to prepare dinner, so Agatha and Charlotte could eat, but that could wait. First, she needed a moment to herself.

  She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The rumbling of the bicycle was still buzzing in her ears, like an incessant bug. Birds chirped outside, and Agatha snored in the other room. It was just the three of them, nobody else. The woods surrounding their valley
had several wild animals living within it, but they didn’t dare come close to the stone door. Because that’s the only sound that mattered. It was all Billie listened for. Sometimes she’d stop hearing the bicycle, and her heart would skip a beat. But then she’d look out of the window and see Charlotte or Agatha going at it. And the door was still locked, keeping it inside.

  Maybe she’d walk down to the river before dinner, enjoy some alone time. Billie went outside and Charlotte turned to her.

  “What if we use the sticks to create a counterweight?” Charlotte said.

  “You keep thinking about that. I’m heading out to the river.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “It’ll be ready, don’t worry,” Billie said as she walked away.

  “It better be! I’m not covering for you again,” Charlotte called after her, turning her gaze back toward the door. A shiver crept through her tiny body. Yes, a counterweight had to work. All they needed was a cage filled with rocks.

  As Charlotte occupied her mind with her latest idea, Billie walked toward the river. It came out of the woods and flowed down, only to disappear among the trees once more. The water was clear and cool, with smooth rocks visible at the bottom. The sunlight reflected off the surface, creating untouchable diamonds. Fresh air filled the entire valley, but here it was cold like it could only be near water. The running sound of it drove the noise of the bicycle out of her head. It was beautiful here, yet her fears remained. Because no matter how tranquil the river was, or how good Charlotte’s ideas were, that door could not open. Not again, at least.

  Billie looked at the scars that ran from her elbow to her wrist. There were others that ran across her legs though she kept those hidden. Tears came to her eyes as Billie tried to forget everything. She hated these scars. They were symbols of what happened here once that door opened, and they would never allow her to be carefree.

  Billie sat down and put her feet in the water. She often imagined jumping in and going under. The river could take her into the darkness of the forest, and whatever lay beyond. But she’d find no happiness there either, for the stone door would always be in the back of her mind.

  After a while, she went back to cook dinner. Billie ate, keeping the rest of the food on a small fire.

  “Want me to go wake Agatha before I start?” Billie said, after finishing her meal.

  “No, let her sleep. She looked pale this morning,” Charlotte said.

  “Pale? How pale?” Billie said.

  “Don’t worry. A good night’s sleep was all she needed. I bet she’ll be jumping out of bed and eating all the food in no time.”

  “I hope so. Let me put this away and we’ll switch.” Charlotte nodded, puffing and sweating profusely.

  “I think we need to oil the chain again. It sounds strained,” Charlotte said.

  “The chain’s fine. It doesn’t need oil for another month.”

  “Can’t we do it earlier, just to be safe?” Charlotte said. Billie switched seats with her and stared at the stone door.

  “Alright, we’ll do it tomorrow.” Charlotte thanked Billie and went back to the table. They kept to themselves for two hours. Charlotte drew her ideas out on paper, and Billie rode the wooden bicycle. Then, when the sun was already setting and the first of the cool air was coming, Billie leaned back on the saddle.

  “Go wake Agatha. She’s slept enough and needs to eat before starting her shift.” Charlotte walked into the house and left Billie alone. Her gaze remained fixed on the door, as the sun cast an orange glow over the valley, illuminating the evening beauty of their home.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Charlotte cried out from inside the house. Billie turned around.

  “What is it?” she said, momentarily forgetting to cycle. The chain stopped spinning, and the weight lifted ever so slightly. Suddenly, something massive slammed against the stone door, followed by a high-pitched shriek. Billie shook and started cycling faster than before. The chain started spinning again, and the weight dropped back down.

  “What was that?” Agatha said, standing in the doorway. Billie’s heart raced and her lips trembled. The weight was back in place, but she kept on going fast, just in case. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Her nerves slowly calmed down, and Billie took a shaking breath.

  “Nothing, I just slipped.”

  “Well, don’t do it again,” Agatha said. She grabbed a plate of food and sat down at the table. Billie glanced at her. Agatha looked pale, there were dark circles underneath her eyes, and her nose was runny.

  “Will you tell me what the problem was already?” Billie asked. Agatha rolled her eyes.

  “She’s sick,” Charlotte said, coming out of the house with the medicine box in her hands.

  “I’m fine. I’ve got a cold, that’s all.” As Charlotte and Agatha argued, Billie laughed. She’d nearly allowed the door to open. She ran her fingers over the scars on her arm. That one lapse in attention had almost been enough to add fresh scars. All because these two didn’t get along.

  “Will you shut it?” she lashed out. Charlotte and Agatha stared at her.

  “What crawled up your ass and died?” Agatha said.

  “You two, and this stupid bike, and that door, and your ideas that never work,” she said, pointing at Charlotte. “Answer me this, Agatha: can you do your night shift?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Charlotte said. She frowned and crossed her arms. Billie knew she was upset, but right now she couldn’t care less. She had little more than an hour to go before finally getting some rest. The last thing she needed was emotional drama or worries about Agatha not making it through her shift.

  “I can do it. I’m not sick.”

  “We can’t risk you becoming too weak to ride the bicycle,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m stronger than both of you, I can handle it.” Charlotte groaned and turned to Billie, who still had her eyes fixed on the weight.

  “It’s your call,” Charlotte said.

  “Let her ride. What else is she going to do?” Billie said.

  “Exactly. Now get out of my face.” Agatha stood up and went back inside. Charlotte followed her but stopped at the door to look back toward Billie.

  “My ideas might not work, but at least I haven’t given up.” She went inside, leaving Billie alone for the last hour of her shift.

  Soon, she’d sleep. If she was lucky she could dream of visiting the ocean. It had to be long ago, back when Mom and Dad were still alive. Charlotte had been a baby, and Agatha barely two years old. But Billie had been old enough to remember it. Though she couldn’t always tell if they’d actually gone there or if it was just a dream. This house and that door had been their reality for so long it felt strange to think of a life beyond any of it. She didn’t even remember how they’d come to live here. She remembered Mom and Dad, just as she remembered their cries when the door opened and the thing inside took them. It was one memory she pushed back as deep as possible, yet it always found a way out.

  “She’s just worried,” Agatha said. She stood next to Billie, holding a tissue to her red nose.

  “Charlotte thinks too much. She’s always mulling over one thing or another. It drives me nuts,” Billie said.

  “What do you expect? You remember what happened last time.”

  “I try to forget.” The sisters were quiet for a moment, allowing the rumbling of the bicycle and the chain to fill the void of conversation. “Are you going to manage?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Agatha said.

  “I can take over half of your shift.”

  “You need sleep.” She glanced at the small shed beside the house. “Are the torches ready?”

  “I’ll check before going to bed,” Billie said.

  “Thank you.” Billie looked at the clock and saw her time was up. Agatha knew as well, and the girls switched places.

  “If you need anything, call me,” Billie said.

  “I will, just check the torches, please. I like know
ing they’re ready.” Billie did so right away. She opened the shed and saw three torches leaning against the wall. Some sheets and a canister of oil stood next to them, along with matches to light them up if need be. It had been seven months since they’d last used them. Seven months of peace and security.

  “Goodnight,” Billie said, before going inside. She went up the stairs and found Charlotte brushing her teeth in the bathroom, already wearing her pajamas and averting her gaze. Billie joined her sister and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Get off,” Charlotte said.

  “Your ideas aren’t stupid. I shouldn’t have said that.” Charlotte spit and glared at Billie.

  “I’m just trying to find a way out of here.”

  “I know. Me too,” Billie said, thinking back to their last supply run. The village wasn’t far, and they’d been building a railroad line last time. If she was lucky, the tracks would be finished by now. Billie hugged her sister and wondered if she could truly leave them behind. She could board a train and ride it until she reached the ocean. Then she might find a nice house along the beach and live there. Though it would never get better, Billie knew that. No matter how far she ran, or how beautiful her beach house was, she’d always remember her abandoned sisters. And whatever happiness she found would be buried underneath a new door, visible only to her.

  Her life was here, and there was no escaping it. If she wanted happiness, she’d have to build it atop that door.

  Billie went to bed and fell asleep, dreaming of the ocean. In her dream, she didn’t hear the rolling of the waves but instead the spinning of the bicycle. The wheels turned round and round, pulling the chain that kept the weight in place. Then the sun disappeared, and only darkness remained. There was no beach, no happy life beyond. There was only a door, and a monster waiting on the other side.

  Billie shot awake. She sat upright in her bed, trying to figure out what this creeping feeling of dread was that crawled up to her. Something was wrong, but what? Had Agatha become too sick to ride and had Charlotte taken over? Or had Billie slept through her own shift? No, that wasn’t it, it was still dark outside and her shift wouldn’t start until morning. Then what was it?