The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, 2014 Edition

by Paula Guran [editor]

  “Food.”

  The nth wonder of the universe and you’re all, food. “There are marvels in the rotunda, and you can get food and drink in the gift shop on the exit side. Beef jerky, volcanic stew, moon pies.” I invent, to keep you quiet. “Whiskey singles, Palamountain wines . . . ”

  (“Restaurant!”)

  About the restaurant. There is no restaurant, which is not my problem. And there’s more, and this is what I’m dreading, laying out the more.

  I could tell you outright, but you don’t want to hear. You bang on your chests like uncaged gorillas in the fading light, yelling “Top of the world,” and “Bring it on,” like our lost girls will hear what big men you are and swarm out of the woods all warmed up down there and waiting for you to come out when the tour is done. Well, I can tell you about that. Your women are over you, and our girls . . . You don’t want to know. You don’t need to know that there have been Incidents, not to mention the lawsuit, so whatever you thought you heard about Troop 13, you’re wrong.

  There is no Troop 13, trust me, there are no wild girls out there, get it? But if you see them coming, run! Shit, who am I to tell you rich, ravenous pigs what to look out for when you can’t even be bothered to field strip your cigarettes? You and your hidden desires can rot in hell. I waste my life hauling you up here by the busload, with your fat wallets and I-can-buy-and-sell-you squints and I am done with you.

  Ebersole straight-arms me. “I want in!”

  I want him dead. “And on this level, the Waiting Room.”

  This is bad. The observatory’s dark, just the one light over the keyhole to the double doors to the Waiting Room. I check my phone: no texts, no missed calls. Usually I unlock the doors and give a little speech in the Waiting Room while you file in, saying this is the air lock, the last chamber between you and the wonders of space, which is Gavin’s cue to come out and give his speech and unlock the rotunda, but the observatory is dark and Gavin isn’t here.

  Where is everybody?

  So I stall. “Before we go in, you need to take the circular staircase up to the observation deck and get your vanity shots. Snap the wife and kids in front of the Palamountain dome.” Good thing you’re easily distracted. Every one of you tenses up, like, where to pose them and who’s first. Like the family matters. You’re all about getting off your crap screen shots so the homefolks can start feeling bad right now because you’re here, and they can’t afford it. I pretend to consult my watch. “And be back here in um. Oh, fifteen.”

  By that time, Gavin had better be here. There’s the Evanescent regulation for late arrivals like us, and I want you toured and gift shopped before I break the news.

  As soon as you guys tramp up the steps to the observation deck, I pull out my phone, but even Lionel isn’t picking up.

  Where is everybody anyway?

  “Problem?” Ebersole is back, all suspicious and mean.

  “No problem.” I lock my face up tight and throw away the key. “Better hurry or you’ll lose the light.”

  Randy slutgrubbers, you’re back in five, agitating to get inside the rotunda and get your tour because you can’t wait to get out. You expect to ditch me and the family when you’re done and go have your way in the woods. Well, good luck with that. I hear it in your ugly laughter and your muttered asides, all rank and gross. I can smell it on you. I want to yell into the microphone, but, company regulations: I’m not allowed to say shut up, shut up. Whether or not Gavin shows I need you inside, where I can keep track, so I say, “Welcome to the world-famous Palamountain Observatory, the largest and finest in the world.” I unlock the doors and herd you into the Waiting Room with a tired “Ta-DA.”

  You damn near trample me, getting in. Good thing you don’t hear the clang as the doors behind you shut. I switch on the lights and the women relax a little bit but you guys bang on the doors to the rotunda like you bought and paid for it, “Open up!”

  “Sorry for the delay, folks. The keys . . . ”

  “Let’s get this over with.” You turn into a monster with twenty heads, teeth bared in angry growls and your flabby bodies bunched like that’s all muscle: big men. Used to getting what you want.

  Sooner or later, I have to break the news.

  Nobody gets into the rotunda unless Gavin shows up with the keys and nobody leaves until Lionel fires up the telescope after which the docents talk, after which there’s the light show so when I explain that we’re stuck here until morning, at least you got your money’s worth. See, after the tour I let you into the gift shop so you can load up on junk food before I lock you into the Waiting Room. If you’re eating when I tell you what happens next, it will soften the blow. Except Agatha’s in New Mexico and we’re waiting for Gavin, and Gavin isn’t anywhere.

  I’ve looked.

  The Lost Girls

  —Now

  My my, where did the time go?

  Day is done, gone the sun and we’re still rollicking, laughing and frolicking in our special place, eating the catch of the day while Marcia toasts a yummy batch of s’mores over our sweet little fire. We’re down to our last mini-marshies but nobody really cares, nobody worries because that cute Claude from the valley brought another busload up the mountain today. They stopped at the Overlook, and, Melody saw. You can see practically everything from there!

  Melody’s the oldest, but she wears the tattered badge sash with pride, over a sweet pink dimity something she snatched from a clothesline back in the day. Melody sees everything, and Melody knows. That girl runs these woods.

  “Freeze dried eggs and fresh orange juice on that bus,” she says, “Lots of good things!”

  “And Clyde’ll leave them off when he goes.”

  He will, he’s never seen us but he must love us, he always puts leftovers on the rock at the Overlook when the bus goes back downhill.

  Patsy giggles. “Plus whatever they’re carrying, if . . . ”

  “If . . . ” It’s catching, like music. “Whatever they’re carrying if . . . ” If we happen to want.

  Day is done, yay for fun!

  It’s not Ida Mae’s fault how she talks, she didn’t get much education; she goes, “And whoever they brung.”

  Stephanie is all, “Girls, let’s hold back on this one,” but nobody listens, because she’s only been in this troop since her folks’ car broke down and she replaced Sallie Traub that was in the bear trap accident, even Melody couldn’t save her.

  Marcia is like, “Stephanie, shut up,” and Steph goes, “No, you shut up,” which is not to say that Girl Scouts fight among themselves, because that would be a violation of the Girl Scout code, so Melody goes, “Girls, shhhh!”

  Melody is in charge and for a minute, we do.

  But Stephanie’s all this and Marcia’s all that, and people are taking sides because when we finished the BBQ tonight, enough wasn’t, well, quite enough. Melody’s extra worried because there’ll be tourists at the observatory tonight, and it’s after hours. If anything happens, she has to say who and what we take and if we take somebody, what we do with them, which is a lot, so she sings:

  “Day is done . . . ”

  And we all sing, “Gone the sun,” and by the time we finish we’re pretty much chill, because that’s what Melody really means when she starts singing, she means, “Chill.”

  We all lay back with our heads on our Sit-Upons and Melody’s all happy to see us settled in the firelight so she starts our most favorite, favorite story to keep us settled. It’s “The Bloody Finger of Ghostine Deck,” about something awful that happens on a boat. She strings it along and strings it along until the moon is high and everyone but Ida Mae Howells is snuggled down in the canebrake and sound asleep because Melody put Ida Mae on guard. She has to wake us all up if one of them strays down here, it’s so exciting!

  She kind of whispers, just like this, it’s so low and so sharp that we know it even in our sleep:

  “They’re here.”

  Clyde Pritchard

  Back off,
assholes. It’s hard to breathe without you all up in my face. Rich fat pricks closing in, all puffed up and pushy with your needs, you’re overflowing the space.

  “Sorry for the delay, folks. In the old days the telescope was hand operated, staff here around the clock. These days it’s all computerized, and our research assistant . . . ” I don’t know where Lionel is, but I can tell you what Lionel is. Lionel is late. “ . . . will be with you after he does a couple more things.”

  I fill some time with a little spiel about the Bleeding Heart restaurant on down in the Elbow, at which point you all perk up because you’ve been agitating about the no-restaurant ever since we arrived. You finished your last pork rinds and candy bars on the Overlook and I can hear you gulping drool. I hit the high spots on the Bleeding Heart menu, from Mountain Ash Venison all the way down to Palamountain Passion, Mag’s sensational dessert, to distract you until Gavin comes, which should be any minute now except it isn’t and yeah, I know where your minds are wandering, it’s stuffy in here and it’s getting late.

  Too late. Okay then. Break the news. Tour or no tour, you will not be leaving the observatory tonight. Whatever you think you heard about Troop 13 and those wild girls, for your safety and mine, you’re socked in here until it gets light. I pull out the card and read the Evanescent Night-time Regulation: Late arrivals must remain on the premises until 8 a.m. It’s my job to lug thirty bedrolls out of the lockers when the tour’s done and we’re back in the Waiting Room, show you the toilets and vending machines and lock you in for the night.

  Break it gently.

  “Okay folks, you’ll eat well at the Bleeding Heart, but it won’t be tonight. Trust me, you’ll get your tour tomorrow morning as soon as Gavin, comes in. We’ll be back in Elbow by noon, but right now . . . For your comfort and safety, we’re bunking here.” The women groan but you . . .

  “The fuck we are.”

  “Where it’s warm and safe.”

  Ebersole. “We’re not paying for safe.”

  I know what you want. You stink of it. “Bathrooms and vending machines down the hall to your left, soft drinks, Slim Jims and Pocky Sticks so you won’t starve. Gavin’s always here by eight. You’ll get your your private tour.”

  The noise you make is ugly, ugly.

  “ . . . out of here.”

  Oh hell, I go, “I know you’re sick of waiting, but trust me, it’s worth waiting for.”

  Your minds go running along ahead to the dirty place. There are things I could tell you about Troop 13, but you don’t like me any more than I like you, so why should I? As the Evanescent tour driver, I am forced to add, “People, it’s not safe out there!”

  But you’re all stampeding, threatening legal action or worse.

  Okay, in situations like this, the foyer is the safest place to sleep, but no way am I bedding down with you ignorant, flatulent, loud-mouthed fools. You want out? Okay, you asked for it.

  You’ll bitch when I fill your pockets with food from the machines and frog-march you down the steep staircase to the ledge, but the bus is almost as safe as the Waiting Room, so get used to it. See, I don’t mind your women or the kids but I can’t stand another minute of you, and don’t go thinking I don’t have the power. You backed off when I pulled my gun? Now the Evanescent taser shows its teeth. You’ll let me shovel you back onto the bus and lock you in for the night, which I am obligated to do, because even though you signed off on the liability clause before you came on this tour and I don’t like you, I am responsible, so sleep safe and fuck you.

  By the time you look for me I’ll be laying out my bedroll back here in the Waiting Room, drunk on the silence, happy as a rat in a barrel of rum.

  Edwin Ebersole III

  One more sleepless night on that toilet of a tour bus, one more dinner of crap freeze-dried packets supplied by Evanescent Tours, no way am I walking back into that.

  Why are we still here? I’ll tell you why. The technician never showed up. Docents never showed up. We jammed that retard driver’s face into the surveillcam and an old lady came. It took forever and she was mad as a cow in heat, but she unlocked the gift shop so this Clyde could herd us out past astronaut T-shirts and bogus moon rocks, shoving us through like a bunch of mountain mice. Six figures blown on this excursion and not one shot of us looking through the giant telescope or any other damn thing and Serena is even more pissed at me because I can’t call a taxi and I damn well won’t fake a heart attack so Life Star will come and lift us out of here.

  As if this dumb hick marching us down a hundred steps in the dark could get Life Star to do anything but take a piss on him and besides, how’s Life Star landing on this Godforsaken crag which I don’t mind, because . . .

  I am damn well not leaving until I get what I came for. Just watch me boogie, all fake-walking down the steps with you, marking time while everybody follows this Clyde like lemmings to the slaughter. Well, fuck you Clyde, while you herd my family down the steps I’m fake-walking backward, up the steps, and I’ll hide at the top until you’ve loaded them on and locked everybody in. No way am I piling into that rolling garbage can they call a luxury coach. I’ll luxury you, Evanescent Tours Incorporated, I’ll sue your brains out as soon as I get what I came for and bring her back at which point you might as well know, Serena, you and I are done.

  I came up the mountain to get me a sweet, sexy, grown-up Girl Scout. I know she’s out there, like, you think a babe like her wants to stay up here all funky in the woods when she can have me, and everything that comes with? E.g., the little diamond something-something that I brought to lure her out of the hills. It’s in the security pocket in my cargo pants, and in case you were worried about me hunting sweet pussy all alone out here in the dark, I came prepared. Cavalry boots laced up to the knees under the leg extensions I zipped on while you were all flopping around the Overlook, so if there are snakes out there, no worries, this beekeeper’s hat with a see-through veil thing will keep me safe.

  I rolled it down like a theater curtain as soon as the hick led us out into the dark. Winners get what they pay for and I’m here to get mine, so don’t think you can stiff me. The minute you slam the door on that death trap and run for the waiting room I hum a few bars to let her know that I am here and I love her already, and everything good will happen, all she has to do is show herself.

  Do you hear me, sweetheart?

  This is me not-singing, not-crooning this love song that I wrote inside my head on those long, terrible nights in the luxury coach, I’m rolling it out right now, for you.

  “Are you lonely, do you miss it, do you want it, do you hate running wild and sleeping in the dirt, would you like something pretty, see I brought it, just for you . . . ” going into a sort of ooo oooo ooooo . . . as I come down the steps and I let it get a little bit louder after I pass that stinking sardine can full of losers and head downhill into the parking lot by the woods where I happen to know you’re hiding out. I get a little bit louder because I love you already and I want to hear, how old are you now, sweetheart, twenty? Eighteen?

  Babe, listen to me singing, see me crouching low like a tiger romancing his mate, come to me, sweet baby, let me show you diamonds, and if you like them, I’ll buy you a diamond collar and lead you out of these filthy woods on a diamond leash, and the first thing we’ll do when we get off this stupid mountain is get you into a nice hot shower and scrub you down until your nipples lift and all your skin turns pink and then, you and I can . . . and then . . .

  Ida May Howells

  —Now

  I’m a Scout and I have sisters now, and Uncle, Martha, and them can go to hell. It’s sad what happened to Miss Tracie, but they gave me her Girl Scout pin after it happened because she didn’t need it any more, and then we sang “Day is done” and gave her a really nice funeral before we put her in next to Ellie DeVere and some girl named Sallie inside the lime cave under the ledge on the Last Incline.

  I love my troop and, you know what? After Uncle Martha and all, I love
that there’s only us sisters around. We live together and we play together and we belong together and when one of us gets too big for what we were wearing, Melody sees to it, and Martha makes alterations and if there’s nothing on hand Stephanie goes out with the raiding party and they bring back such cute things! Melody’s the oldest, and Melody knows what we need and who gets what when we’re one short, and she knows if a girl is lost in the woods and she knows if that lost girl needs us, and after we find her or if she finds us, Melody decides whether or not this girl belongs, and if not, Melody knows what to do about it, and if something worse happens, she knows what to do and how, and Melody decides when.

  Melody decided and now it’s my turn to be up on the hill all by myself, she gave me the Midnight Watch. This is so cool! Me, hiding on the slope by the parking lot keeping watch, so my sister Scouts can sleep safe.

  She trusts me to stay awake and be vigilant, so they can’t sneak up on us while we sleep.

  Like, these guys come crunching into the woods in the dead of night acting all heroic, like they’re here to be nice, but we know they all want to Do Things to girls in the woods up here where nobody sees it and nobody can hear. Twice we caught men hunting us for the reward, like they could drag us back down the mountain in their teeth, back to our boring, stupid old lives. Well, we took care of them.

  Sleep safe, girls. Nobody gets past me. I’m watching them people in the bus away up the Last Incline, no problem. Clyde marched them down and locked them all in the bus. They’re asleep, so I can relax.

  Wait! What’s that? Did I dream it? Did I accidentally fall asleep? Who’s out there anyway?

  Ooooh nooooo!

  And why am I all weird right now, thinking about all those outsiders, this close. We all hung back today when the bus left the Overlook, and when Clyde drove past, up the Last Incline, we were glad. See, in the parking lot, they get out and bop around and sometimes one gets lost. Then Stephanie warns us so low that only we can hear, “Run!” So we pick up and run.

  We can’t let them find us. If they find us, it will be bad.