The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror by Stephen Jones

Author:Stephen Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Robinson
Published: 2010-10-24T22:00:00+00:00

RICHARD CHRISTIAN MATHESON

Venturi

RICHARD CHRISTIAN MATHESON IS a film and television writer/producer/director. He has worked with Bryan Singer, Steven Spielberg and Roger Corman, among others, and has written/produced three mini-series, eight feature films, thirty pilots and hundreds of comedic/dramatic television series episodes for HBO, TNT, NBC, CBS, ABC, Showtime Networks, Fox Network and Syfy. He has also published two short-story collections and a novel.

Matheson is a studio musician who studied with Ginger Baker of Cream and has played drums with The Smithereens and Rock Bottom Remainders. He has worked as a paranormal investigator for UCLA, and is considered an expert in parapsychology. He runs his own production company in Los Angeles and the Matheson Company with his father.

“Nineteenth-century physicist G.B. Venturi discovered a compressive phenomenon which effects fire, moving through a canyon, causing the flames to be intensified, feeding upon themselves,” Matheson explains. “This acceleration, called the ‘Venturi Effect’, is as apt a metaphor for paranoia as I have encountered.

“When my own house in Malibu burned down, some years back, my senses altered. As fires ate hillsides and smoke drowned sun, I was forced to evacuate in twenty minutes and ultimately lost everything. I even watched my house go up in flames, on the TV news – a surreal pain.

“The loss awakened me to signs of oncoming fire – rising wind, distant scents of smoke, angry glows on mountains that rim the bay. To this day, even a burning cigarette, anywhere nearby, triggers a vigilant circuit within me.

“I still live in Malibu, aside its dreamy spell, but am never as completely at ease here as I once was. When winds convulse and fire engines wail, my heart races and I know everything could change.”

3:34 P.M.

“When did you first notice this?”

“Week ago,” said David. “Three days after the fire.”

“Any pain?”

“No.”

The doctor’s gloved fingers probed shoulder blade. It was soft, egg-sized; under skin.

“. . . saw the fire on TV. Did you have to evacuate?”

David watched smoke swarm the medical building, tall flames lash, wanting in.

He looked at the doctor.

“You still up in that canyon in Malibu? I hear they don’t give you much time to get out.”

Banshee winds hammered the glass, black plumes muting sun. The room darkened, the doctor’s face a feral shadow.

“I had fifteen minutes. You take what you can.” His mouth was dry. Body numb. “My house didn’t burn. But the neighbourhood’s gone.” He felt ill. “Thirty-eight houses.”

The doctor stopped. Tried to picture it. “My God.”

Dense smoke suddenly filled the examination room; gushing through vents; seeping under doors. Grimy ash swirled; sick snow.

“Fire creates its own wind,’’ said David, “. . . it’s called the Venturi Effect.”

The doctor’s breathing deepened.

“The flames feed on themselves. Like a frightened animal.”

“Venturi . . .” the doctor repeated.

David could see his next door neighbour’s house clawed by apricot blades, cooked black. “Got to ninety-six miles an hour on my hill.”

The doctor fell silent. “Awful. Gotta be exhausted. Getting any sleep?”

“Not really.”

He nodded, re-washed hands. Voice apothecary calm. “Far as I can tell, this thing feels like a muscle spasm.

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