The Dark Issue 91 by James Bennett

Author:James Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dark fantasy, fantasy, horror, magazine
Publisher: Sean Wallace
Published: 2022-11-29T21:26:04+00:00

H. Pueyo (@hachepueyo on Twitter) is an Argentine-Brazilian writer of speculative fiction. She’s an Otherwise Fellow, and her work has appeared before in F&SF, Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Fireside, and The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, among others. Her bilingual debut collection A Study in Ugliness & Outras Histórias is out by Lethe Press, and can be found at hachepueyo.com.

Y is for Yesterday

by Steve Rasnic Tem

For he would be thinking of love

Till the stars had run away

And the shadows eaten the moon.

—W.B. Yeats, “The Young Man’s Song”

The house is a small 1930s bungalow in a neighborhood in decline. The yard with its flower bed and a few tidy bushes is well-tended by the landscape company your firm has hired, and a caretaker comes regularly to make exterior repairs. No one has been inside since Mikołaj Dworkowicz left in 1945, except in 1991, when a storm-damaged roof resulted in a leak into the kitchen. Permission was granted for some quick interior repairs, and nothing else could be touched.

A dog yaps nearby. You adjust your skirt and blouse. You’ve made it a practice to be presentable even for casual assignments. You always wear a skirt, a feminine blouse, matching earrings, and great shoes. Your makeup is pristine.

You wear latex gloves to protect your nails. You smile and try to look friendly. Someone in these neighborhoods is always watching from behind the curtains.

You walk up to the house carrying a shopping bag containing a note pad, cell phone, hand sanitizer, keys, makeup, and new shop rags. The brick is clean and repointed, the wooden porch recently painted.

A large wooden Y lies in broken pieces stacked by the front door. Some of the other houses display similar wooden letters originally intended to please the local children, although many letters are missing. This saddens you.

The curtains in the front window are closed, but there is a gap. You walk over to the window, the glass streaked and yellowed on the inside, and you lean in for a peek.

The furniture is draped in gloom. You move closer to the glass. A young man in a beige shirt and baggy brown pants sits in a chair, staring at you, motionless. You put your hand over your mouth afraid to make a sound. You don’t move, and the man fades away. This has happened before, your brain filling the gaps between light and shadow to create an image.

You walk over to the door and unlock the deadbolt, then use a different key in the knob. You turn the knob and push, but nothing happens. You try again, using your shoe to press against the brass kickplate. Good thing you wore your black pumps. But you can’t afford to ruin them. Your size is expensive and only available online.

The bottom of the door gives a little, but the top remains jammed. You turn the knob again, but this time you ram your shoulder into the door. You feel it give and pop open. For once you’re thankful you still have broad shoulders.

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