Whispers from the OUTER SHADOWS, Issue 1

Outer Shadows is Outland Entertainment’s horror imprint, featuring work created by and curated by Cullen Bunn.

Welcome, welcome, welcome to the first issue of the WHISPERS FROM THE OUTER SHADOWS newsletter! Simply by subscribing, you’ve established yourself as a reader of impeccable (though perhaps somewhat twisted) tastes. You’re in for a treat, as each issue will bring you news of upcoming OUTER SHADOWS projects, horrifying short stories, thoughts on the horror genre and much more.

I’m Cullen Bunn… and horror is my jam.

When I first started out as a writer… at least when I first started seriously writing and submitting stories… it was with a keen eye on the horror genre. My first short story sale was a “cosmic horror in the Old West” story titled “The Followers of the Serpent.” It sold to the magazine Eldritch Tales. Sadly, the magazine folded before the story was published. My first published story was “Night Lessons,” a horror tale inspired by Kuttner’s “Graveyard Rats.” It appeared in the ‘zine Heliocentric Net. My first sale for “real” money was a non-fiction article… about horror in role-playing games. That one ran in Fangoria.

Right out of college, I worked as a sports editor for a small newspaper… and that was a truly terrifying experience.

So horror has been with me as long as I’ve been writing.

At some point early in my writing career, I founded Undaunted Press and started publishing the horror ‘zine Whispers from the Shattered Forum. I edited the magazine and published a bunch of issues, along with numerous horror chapbooks.

The joy of editing those stories… of bringing new horror to readers… has stayed with me ever since.

That was the driving force behind initial talks with Jeremy Mohler at Outland Entertainment. I love Outland. I love the books and comics and games they publish. I love the energy and care they put into every publication. And I thought that they would be the perfect home for a horror line. Thus… after many conversations… OUTER SHADOWS was born!

This horror imprint will feature novels, short story collections, anthologies, comic books, board games, and more—some created by me, others curated by me—all with a foot solidly planted in horror.

Below, you will find news on our first project (SWORDS IN THE SHADOWS) as well as some new short horror fiction and some thoughts on the horror genre from a genuine horror host bogeyman! I hope you enjoy it.

We’re really just getting started, and it has already been a blast.

SWORDS IN THE SHADOWS features twenty-two stories with a bloody stake driven into the heart of both the horror and fantasy camps. Herein, you will find fantasy worlds, brave warriors, fabulous creatures, wondrous magic. But you will also uncover bloodcurdling chills, spine-tingling horror, and an examination of those things that truly terrify.

And now, we’re sharing the Table of Contents for the Anthology! Keep in mind, the TOC could change a bit, especially in terms of the order the stories will appear, but I think you’ll agree this is one heck of a line-up!

SWORDS IN THE SHADOWS TABLE OF CONTENTS

• THE ATOLL OF SYRASH, Wile E. Young

• THE SHADOW IN THE SWAMP, Brian Keene

• RED ROSE REIGN, Glen Parris

• THE PRINCE OF DUST AND SHADOWS, Jonathan Maberry

• WOLFEN DIVINE, Hailey Piper

• THE SEVENTH QUEEN, Heath Amodio

• THE 19^th LEGION, Josh Roberts

• PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN, Allison Pang

• DOBROGOST, Jonathan Janz

• THE SUTURE KINGS, Mary SanGiovanni

• THE CASTLE CAUCHEMAR, L.C. Mortimer

• THE BEAST OF BEL’HAMI, Mike Oliveri

• SHADES OF RUIN, Scott Schmidt

• BONES AND ALL, JimmyZ Johnston

• THE DOG IN THE CORNER, Stephen Graham Jones

• OSANOBUA’S GARDEN, Justin C. Key

• THE SHADOW FROM THE VAULTS, Charles R. Rutledge

• THE GOD OF ROT, James A. Moore

• THE WAYFARING STRANGER, Steven L. Shrewsbury

• TIGER CLAWS AND CROCODILE JAWS, Rena Mason

• THE SCORPION AND THE CROW, Aaron Conaway

• WRENCH AND SORCERY, Joe R. Lansdale

THE MURDER TREE by Josh Roberts

Tom starts hearing voices the third night he is in the house.  They are whispers, like aspen leaves being blowing in the breeze, turning into creaks and groans like bones breaking.

Ate..our children…drank our blood…chopped off limbs…burned…skinned…kept as trophies…

Tom is paralyzed with fear at first but then thinks logically about the situation. “This house is over a hundred years old.  Old houses make noises.  It could be the wind, or the pipes, or the creaks and groans of an old house.”

Exhaustion overtakes his fear, and he wakes thinking he needed rest more than he realized. 

Up and dressed, he heads to the kitchen.  Most of the work he is doing on the old house is in the kitchen, and just to the right of the door outside is the door to the root cellar.  The previous owner said he had given up on it because the old tree in the front yard had grown into the foundation, and it was so dank and rotted down there that it was a lost cause.  Tom bought the house cheap because of that problem.

As he stands at the window of the kitchen, staring at the door to the root cellar, his eyes catch a glimpse of movement outside.  Turning to look out the window to his left, he sees the big old tree, but there is something strange about it…it seems to be bleeding.  There is a thick, red, viscous liquid running down the trunk from a rotted-out knothole five feet above the ground.  Tom watches the sanguine ooze bubble and spurt from the tree, then suddenly a small animal skull pops out of the knothole and rolls to the ground.  Tom looks around as if to ask someone if they saw it too.  Alone, he ventures outside to get a closer look.

As he gets within a yard of the tree, the faint smell of rotting flesh fills his nostrils.  He gags a bit but shakes it off and bends down to examine what fell from the trunk.

It is the skull and partial spinal cord of a squirrel, evidenced by the bucked teeth in the upper jaw.  He pokes it with his finger, but the gunk on the bones is sticky and repulsive, and he pulls away in disgust.  The opening of the trunk, no longer oozing, is stained like a crimson beard.  He considers touching it, but swiftly returns to the house instead.

Upon entering the house, he hears the faint rustle of aspen leaves, and the whispers start again.

Ate… our children… drank our blood… chopped off limbs… burned… skinned… kept as trophies…

Tom whirls around, realizing the voices are coming from the root cellar.  Fear will not allow him to open the door, so he bolts from the house and speeds off to town in his car.

Calmed from the drive, Tom stops at the local diner.  After coffee and bacon, he asks Flo, the waitress who seems almost as old as his house, what she knows about the place.

“Not much to report, used to be a timber mill, but that closed after all the trees were harvested.” 

“Did anything horrible happen there?  Any accidents or deaths?” he reluctantly asks.

“None that I remember.  And no, it isn’t built on an Indian burial ground either.” Flo chuckles

Tom returns home at sunset.  As he passes the big old tree, he notices another chunk of something oozing out of the knothole.  He stops abruptly to see it.

The skeletal remains of a bird are being pushed out of the tree trunk on a stream of bright red syrupy goop.  Tom shakes his head in disbelief and trudges into the house.

As soon as he enters the kitchen, the whispers become a moan.

Ate… our children… drank our blood… chopped… burned… skinned… kept as trophies…

Tom covers his ears but can still hear it.  He rips open the root cellar door.

A flood of rotting stench envelopes him and he doubles over, heaving and retching.  Tom stumbles down the narrow uneven stairs to a dirt floor room.  He gropes for a light, finding a single lightbulb hanging by a wire.  He pulls the cord and can barely fathom what the light reveals.

The corpses of animals litter the floor.  Mice, groundhogs, squirrels, raccoons, chipmunks, birds.  Many are rotting and putrid, others are lying in pools of fresh blood.  All are impaled on the roots that have consumed the foundation of the house.  As he glances around the room, he realizes that they cover the entire floor and have started up the walls. 

He stares blankly as the trunk envelops a chipmunk body.  A small trickle of red ooze drips on the floor.  Tom turns to leave in disbelief but realizes his left foot won’t move.  He looks down to see it stuck in the fold of a tree root.  As he tries to pull it free, the root tightens, crushing his tarsal bones and ankle.  Just as suddenly, a root spike pierces his right foot as he cries out in agony. 

Slowly, the roots envelope Tom, twisting and crushing his limbs with their own as they draw him closer to the main trunk.  His screams go unheard, but the rattling sounds of aspen leaves on the breeze fill his ears as his blood spills on the floor.

Josh Roberts is a writer and editor from Missouri. His work has appeared (or soon will appear) in A PASSAGE IN BLACK and SWORDS IN THE SHADOWS.

Here’s what OUTER SHADOWS has in store for you… SO FAR!

• SWORDS IN THE SHADOW, a Sword and Sorcery and Horror anthology edited by Cullen Bunn

• RAZE, a horror/fantasy novella written by Cullen Bunn

• CROOKED HILLS, a middle grade horror novel written by Cullen Bunn

• I’LL KILL YOU LAST, a horror anthology fusing 80s action movies with pure terror, edited by Cullen Bunn

• CROOKED HILLS II, a middle grade horror novel written by Cullen Bunn

• And much, much more…

With Scream VI coming at us like a shark wielding a machete on a subway during rush hour, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to slashers lately. So, even though you didn't ask for it, here is my unbiased scientifically-proven assessment of the greatest slasher of all time…Michael Myers! That’s right, folks! Halloween is the franchise to end all others. “Why?” you ask. It’s simple. He’s indestructible, perhaps immortal, only attacks one night a year on the best holiday, and dedicated to one woman for 40 years.

Come on, ladies. That's pretty romantic.

Mr. Macabre is a freelance boogeyman, Kansas City’s Worst Horror Host, hack comedian, novice writer, semi professional race car driver, and amateur tattoo artist.

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