The Year's Best Horror Stories, Series XI
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“Horror is enjoying a period of unparalleled popularity. Horror novels regularly make the bestseller lists. Horror films, whether big budget or bargain basement, rake in the bucks. In short fiction, the horror genre continues to prosper and develop, as older writers perfect their art and new writers come along to lead the genre in new directions.
“Horror stories have a way of springing up everywhere—not just in science fiction/fantasy magazines and anthologies, but in amateur publications and in any sort of periodical that might publish fiction. Trying to read all the horror stories published during each year and then select the best of them is no easy task. You are holding the result of a year’s reading and selecting.”
football body. The other tall, bearded, neat, sophisticated looking. We’ll have to do them credit.” “Well, there’s a bottle of port out, and some of those cheese biscuits I made.” Claudia studied the table in the lamplight. “We’ll be all right.” From outside they heard footsteps on the porch, and hesitant whispering. “They’re beautiful,” said Garland. Silence for an instant. Then a guarded tattoo of knocks on the panel of the door. A knock, Garland guessed, taught them by good old Uncle Whit.
as polished productions as any newsstand periodical. Another old reliable, Gordon Linzner’s Space & Time, has gone to a semiannual double-size format with two of its best issues last year. Crispin Burnham brought out another fine issue of Eldritch Tales, always a treat for fans of H.P. Lovecraft. Also in its eighth issue was Michael Ambrose’s The Argonaut. A number of amateur magazines had impressive first issues in 1982, among them Threshold of Fantasy, Oracle, Grimoire, and Celestial Visions.
have written.” “I’m surprised your mom didn’t let you know.” “So am I.” The timer on the oven began ringing, signaling that dinner was ready, and they rose together to rescue it. Cross Creek High was forgotten for the time. But that night, after Elaine had fallen asleep beside him, Richard Hall lay in the darkness with the hum of the clock and the creaking of the walls, and thought about high school and the friends he had lost track of, and felt alone. He eased out of bed without disturbing
Tnen-Ku watching him from behind the wheel. His first impulse was to stop in shock and surprise, but instead he forced himself to walk naturally, even waving and smiling as he approached the car. Better, he thought, not to let the little shit think she had rattled him. He would take the element of surprise and twist it back into her face. Surely the girl would not expect him to act so naturally. He tried to keep thoughts of Mitzi from his mind, tried not to think about what that young brat might
when they saw he wasn’t scared of them. Perhaps he could chase them and find their secret entrance. For a long time he heard nothing. Buses passed downhill, growing emptier and fewer. Through their growling he heard faint voices, but they were fading away from the pub, which was closing. Now the streets were deserted, except for the run-down grumble of the city. Wind shivered the window. The edge of the glow of the last few buses trailed vaguely over the storeroom entrance, making the outlines