The Year's Best Horror Stories, Series XIII
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"So. You survived 1984, did you? Now then, let’s see if you can survive The Year’s Best Horror Stories: Series XIII—presenting eighteen of the best horror stories published during 1984."
lies in discovering a new writer. On the advice of Rosemary Pardoe, I hunted through the children’s books section of Foyle’s to find a book entitled Catch Your Death and Other Ghost Stories crammed in beside books about Fluffy the Bunny and the like. While the characters in these stories are often adolescents, there is nothing childish about John Gordon’s fiction. This is one of the finest collections of horror stories in many years. John Gordon was born in the North of England, the son of a
off.” At the sound of her voice the dog moved forward and they went with it to stand in front of her. She looked down at them and they saw that the blue of her eyes seemed to have widened with the moisture on her face. “Miss,” said Sally, and fell silent, suddenly shy. Ron had to speak. “We thought we’d like to give you something,” he said in a rush, and was going to go on, but the cottage door opened and distracted them. “Mary!” The voice was peevish. “What you doing standing out there with
like real, living, wet eyes. Artificial substitutes, he thought, and his missing right leg sent a wholly imaginary local wince up to his brain. “Say hey,” he said. The dude from the Omicron looked up. As his face was hit by the combination of the sputtering fluorescents above and the dirty gray daylight sneaking in off Hollywood Boulevard, Jack thought maybe the guy had mononucleosis or something; superficially he looked like mere hippie fallout a decade and a half out of step with the real
for the blue ribbon winner, Homer?’ “ ‘I guess so,’ I says. “ ‘At least it’s the blue ribbon winner so far,’ she says. ‘Do you know, Homer, that a man wrote an article in Science Today in 1921 proving that no man could run a mile in under four minutes? He proved it, with all sorts of calculations based on the maximum length of the male thigh-muscles, maximum length of stride, maximum lung capacity, maximum heart-rate, and a whole lot more. I was taken with that article! I was so taken that I
matter of the haunted chamber in the Cafe Royal, where the shade of Oscar Wilde is said to (at the very least) walk . . .” Borderland by John Brizzolara John Brizzolara was born in Chicago on December 11, 1950. He grew up in that city, where he read avidly the works of authors ranging from Poe and Lovecraft to Conan Doyle and H.G. Wells to Franklin W. Dixon and Micky Spillane. During the late sixties and early seventies he traveled and recorded with various rock bands— “now defunct and