The Dark Issue 55 by The Dark Magazine

Author:The Dark Magazine
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Horror, magazine, dark fantasy
Published: 2019-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

When Tobi Ogundiran was a youngster he unwittingly summoned a spirit from the Maelstrom. Now he’s indentured, and can often be found working off his debt with stories, some of which have appeared in The Dark and Beneath Ceaseless Skies. He is currently hard at work on his first novel. Tweet him @tobi_thedreamer.

Joss Papers for Porcelain Ghosts

by Eliza Chan

“Nothing followed you?” Harriet’s mother said, peering up and down the corridor.

“No, Mum,” Harriet replied. She looked pointedly at her suitcase, hair clammy around her forehead and neck. She hadn’t slept in nearly twenty hours thanks to the baby next to her on the plane. “Can you let me in?”

She had to duck under the white banner draped above the doorway: the Chinese calligraphy done hastily, acknowledging death within, the spidery script dripping black ink downwards. Like raindrops on car window, growing heavy as they merged. There had been so many long journeys in childhood.

Her mother finally nodded, ushering her in, notching the double locks behind her before she acknowledged her daughter. “Shoes off ah!”

Harriet was halfway to the enticing fan before shuffling back to remove her footwear. She had fallen out of the habit. Steven had been brought up in a household that only removed their shoes before bed.

“Who would be following me anyway?” she asked.

“Not who—what,” her mother said over the hissing kettle from the diminutive kitchen.

Time had stood still in the last four years since Harriet had visited her por-por’s flat. Or more likely, the last three decades since gong-gong had passed away. The wall of family photos had grown slightly. She recognised her daughters, Lucy and Mia from last year’s Christmas card. Next to it was her own faded school photo: face beaming under thick rimmed plastic glasses and badly cut fringe. None of Steven. It was bad enough her mother moved overseas and married a gweilo, but Harriet had gone one step further and had kids with one without even stopping to marry him first.

Harriet went to the household shrine to light her joss sticks before she got told off. The imposing mahogany unit had a carved roof like a tiered pagoda and shelves underneath filled with books and knick-knacks. Por-por had brought Guanyin with her when she came to the UK. No crucifixes and hymns needed but instead food and flowers. Egg tarts, fresh fruit, and hot cups of tea were left daily. Today there was a pyramid of oranges, a large pineapple and flowers in a blue and white vase. She remembered that vase. Por-por had moved over when Harriet was nine and things started to go wrong for her parents. Slept in Harriet’s bed, whilst she fumed on the floor, listening to the motor of an old steam train heaving in her sleep. But to make up for it, at the Chinese supermarket, her por-por had let her choose her own chopsticks and rice bowl, even pick the vase for Guanyin’s flowers that her gran took back to Hong Kong nearly a year later.

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