Dark Moon Digest Issue 19 by Lori Michelle & Stan Swanson

Author:Lori Michelle & Stan Swanson [Swanson, Lori Michelle and Stan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
Publisher: Dark Moon Books
Published: 2015-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

“Horror High School is a creepy fun collision of teenage angst and apocalyptic dread. Two decaying thumbs up!”

—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Rot & Ruin and Code Zero

The First Book in the Horror High School Series is Now Available!

THE WOLF GATE

Alessandro Manzatti

There are yellow eyes in the sewers, peering behind the borders of sidewalks. Oval wells that observe shoes, legs, consciences; souls ready to emigrate. The wolf licks the edges, the drain of the rain. He holds on the order of its owner: attack and chase. Sinks its teeth in the soft filling of the predestined. The list of the day, the customers of the Reaper.

The Reaper is hidden in the sewers, sinking her fingers into the black waters. She sucks experiences processed by human kidneys. Her wolf is back into the center channel. The great whore has been working in Milan for ten days, and is taking it too easy this time. They need to change the flock, canals and drains more quickly. The list is long.

So, skipping too many lines, going back and forth, you risk making mistakes. Someone who lives for too long, creating a short circuit in the patterns of predestination. The congested corridors of Hell, whips directing an impossible traffic. Soft stuff crushed, before the time. Trembling jellyfish, souls who drag their long guts, still remembering everything of the past life. Unforeseen torture, floors of simmered neurons

It should not happen too often.

The wolf approaches the mistress, rubs its muzzle on her black robe; it wants to be reassured. A white hand touches its ears, then dwells at length on the rump. The scythe begins to groom the fur of the wolf, breaking the old blood clots, the sketches of the craft.

It’s time to go back to work. The muzzle of the wolf seeks the mouth of the lady: waiting for a sign. The muscles of the legs are loaded. The Reaper lingers. She sucks the black water again, flowing smelly gas puffing breathlessly. Ectoplasmic shit, green dreams come out from the assholes of millions of people. The Reaper seems to be decided, at last. She grabs the wolf by the neck, breathing in its senses. She gives him a map of scents, a dartboard without forms.

The wolf flies into the tunnel, its sharp nails digging horizontal shots on the rotten brick walls. A final check from the window of the sewers. It sees a lean woman seeking shelter from the rain, white ankles, red hair on her face.

The wolf growls, chews thoughts of cells, accompanied by the storm that sweeps the city, without stopping. The time of the hunt, of the blood, the prize of the mistress. Excitement. The wolf comes out, follows the smell of the woman, runs to the predestined. A subtle shadow, stagnant puddles, a sudden wind, ghosts’ clippings. All that human eyes can’t see: the special view of the Reaper’s wolf.

The two sides of the avenue are combined, the speed breaks geometries, forming large inverted pyramids. A flight on all fours, towards the prey.

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