I wrote Seems Only Right for entry into the 12th  Chiaroscuro short story contest back in 2006, which was won by Gemma Files. Chiaroscuro, or Chizine, is a great online horror and weird fiction magazine sponsored by Leisure Books in the US. There were first, second and third placed stories, and Seems Only Right was given an Honourable Mention along with five others, out of a total of 307 entries, so I was pretty pleased. For a moment; until I realised it wouldn’t be seen by anyone, as only the first 3 stories were published. So near and yet so far!

The story sat on file as I considered what to do with it until I joined the BFS last year. I decided to enter the annual competition. Then silence. Then a congratulatory email from Andrew Hook of the BFS. I immediately went about finding an illustration to accompany the story, and artist Robert Elrod came up trumps for me. A big thanks again to him.

In May I attended the first couple of dates in London on the Horror Reanimated tour with Joseph D’Lacey and Bill Hussey. I read Seems Only Right in front of REAL people for the first time. I re-wrote the story for the readings, shortening it, leaving certain details out, whilst keeping the chronological chain of events, and making the decision to change the sex and name of the main character – as I am not a girl, seven years of age, or American…

Then it occured to me that I’d written the story taking liberties with the accurate grammatical way of doing things, and tried to develop a more phonetical representation of how the character would think – okay, I dropped the ends off some of the words. But this did mean I had real difficulty reading the story aloud, so they had to be reinserted for the readings.

Here’s a picture of us at The Big Green Bookshop in Wood Green, North London on May 6th. From right to left: Lee Casey (who designed the Horror Reanimated: Echoes chapbook we gave away); Joseph D’Lacey, me, and Bill Hussey.

The next evening we read in front of a whole bunch of people at Borders on Oxford Street in London. Nerve-wracking, but we think it went pretty well.

So now Seems Only Right will be in the third issue of New Horizons, out this month. I hope you can track down a copy and let me know what you think of it.

Here’s an excerpt from Seems Only Right:

We’re like mice hidin up here inside the walls. Louisa talks to me in whispers, like she don want her pop to hear us talkin together. Talkin in whispers is plain silly cause he can be inside her head if he wants to. I hear him walkin around downstairs, peein, walkin around again. Louisa’s House is always quiet and the walls we’re in are paper-thin and us mice can be heard if we talk too loudly. So I whisper to Louisa, even though it is silly. “Why don we talk outside?” Louisa looks at me like I’m stupid, which I am. I’m only seven so I must be. Only grown-ups aren’t stupid. That’s what they tell us in class. Louisa, who has a bit of green pokin from her nose and who is in my class, tells me what she knows. “It’s because they say so.” Louisa looks happy she’s got that straight with me and she whispers some more, “it’s because grown-ups do what they want and we do what they want.” And she’s right. I know the answer before I ask the question and I am trickin her. None of us talks outside our Houses. The bible class makes that rule. I decide not to tell her about the green on the end of her nose, which makes her look stupid in another way, but she must be able to feel it cause she picks it and eats it. To me, it seems only right that Louisa is as stupid as me: she is seven too. When I’m grown-up I’ll make lots of rules and do whatever I like, pee a lot. If I can I’ll look into the heads of my children to see if they’re happy. I want to ask Louisa if her pop can be in her head like my daddy and mommy. But I don. First I need to get my question right, cause mommy can see in my head, but daddy is inside my head, and sometimes he ain. If I’m ready I will ask Louisa next bible night. Or I won, cause then she will know my secret, and she will most likely tell on me. Louisa is the Teacher’s pet.

Mommy and Elizabeth say nothin to me or to Louisa’s pop. He stares at all of us until we have left him alone on his porch. Louisa is upstairs bein a mouse cause she don like Elizabeth’s hair. Mommy’s face is red. The road is dusty with no rain. There is William Reed standin by the side of the road. Mommy and Elizabeth don spot him. If they did they would stop and take him home. As we go by I look at William Reed and he looks away. He ain in my class so he ignores me, as he always does. His hair is yellow as the fields we go past. He don care about that dust in his face or on his baggy clothes. William Reed shouldn be outside and alone like he is. We don go out alone, not near the woods.

***

It’ll be published in New Horizons in June, but I wanted to show you the illustration that will accompany the story – as I’ve only just received it today and am incredibly happy with it.

Due to the unavailability of a friend or two, I recently put up an announcement on LinkedIn that I was looking for an artist to have a go at illustrating the story, in a very traditional pen and ink style that suits the tone of the piece. I was fortunate enough to receive a great response from several artists, but I opted to go with Robert Elrod, and boy am I glad I did, as I hope you’ll agree.

Robert read the story and fortunately liked it and came up with a pencil sketch for my comment.

He then inked it and finished it off in Photoshop. Robert’s also written a little blog piece on the process.

It was a satisfying experience all round and I like to think that Robert and I will work together in the future. He also produces bespoke Monster Portraits…

And, thanks to Andrew Hook, Editor of New Horizons, for letting me share this artwork in advance of the magazine’s publication.

The cover of the magazine can be seen on the Stories page, but I though I’d share the accompanying illustration with you, which was inked by my friend and ex-colleague Owen Priestley, a great artist, illustrator and graphic designer whose work you can check out in the appropriate Links section. Owen’s also illustrated a couple of my other stories and I’ll pop those up too, when they see the light of day.

The story is the first of several that are inspired by the subway systems and tunnels beneath New York, employing them both as a location, and as a character. It also revolves around the idea that once the darkness of the tunnels has seen you, got inside you, it’s difficult to make the break and return to the surface of the City.

Here’s an excerpt from Everything He Touched, Burned:

“That, my friends, that is why we lives like we lives. Ain’t nobody giving none of us a ball contract. What we got is a complete lack of talent. That’s what God gifted us. What you waitin for? Go git it little man!”

Milton’s barked order awoke Julius from his sun-induced stupor. He jumped to his feet and went after the rogue basketball that bounced down the slope surrounding the decaying court.

“Hurry UP half-breed! It only a bit of plastic, it CANNOT be faster than you! Man that was one poor attempt…”

Julius heard these last words trailing off in disgust, thankfully aimed not at him, but at Will who’d made the awful shot. The other boys laughed and echoed their leader’s jibes. Julius sensed their impatience with the quality of their game, and with him. He was fourteen, a Latino, neither black nor white in a predominantly black neighbourhood: the youngest, newest, and smallest of the crew. These facts of his life meant he often sat out the game, reduced to the lowly task of ball boy. He hoped to earn their trust and respect gradually, on his own terms. He’d learnt his first lesson fast: do not argue with Milton, even when you are in the right. His arm was still bruised where Milton had proved his point the week before.

He scurried towards the broken concrete path that traversed the park’s baked mud flats. The ball was gaining speed, gravity and rubber outpacing him. If he’d been paying attention this wouldn’t be happening. The damn thing was rolling into the storm drain! If he let that happen he’d take another beating and be expected to come up with a new basketball in time for the next game. Which was something he knew he wouldn’t be able to do: he couldn’t ask his mom for a loan; she had other priorities these days, and he certainly wasn’t one of them.

The basketball bumped into the storm drain with a hollow thump. Julius reached it one second too late, but the ball didn’t disappear from view as he expected it to. Instead it wedged itself into the space between the discoloured concrete lips and sat there, waiting for him.

Please, please stay right there…

“Man you IS lucky.”

Julius ignored Milton’s distant observation, luck was something he was sure he’d never experienced, and bent down to retrieve the basketball. He linked his hands behind it, and felt something lick or breathe or both on the backs of his hands. He ripped the ball towards him, scrabbled backwards as fast as he could and fell onto his backside. He heard his crew laughing even harder behind him, but their merciless taunting quickly faded into the background ambience of the City.

Julius sat on the path with the ball in his lap, and stared at the face that watched him from the drain.

***

The story was partly inspired by reading The Mole People by Jennifer Toth which gave me a great deal of  ambience, which would otherwise have necessitated a trip down a sewer system. A viewing of the film Dark Days also helped set the tone once the story moves beneath the surface. Finally, I would like to thank Rick Kleffel and Kealan Patrick Burke for their advice and comments.

If you’re interested in reading more then I believe you can purchase Dark Horizons from the British Fantasy Society by emailing Helen Hopley at store@britishfantasysociety.org. The issue looks pretty good judging by the diversity and interests of the contributors, all of whom are detailed on this page.