The Haunted Traveler Vol 1 Issue 2

weaselpress

Kick in Halloween with the latest issue of The Haunted Traveler. We opened up and looked for the strangest and the most horrific tales from this universe, bringing them here in a single collection for the readers to get a little twisted. The Haunted Traveler is a horror and science fiction literary anthology that releases twice a year. Published through Weasel Press, the anthology seeks to roam around with the stories you'll never forget. Those dark little tales that are sort of etched in everyone. We love the dark and twisted and we really want to be scared. Check out our website to see when we're open next. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more.

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‘It’s not just the fat who are greedy,’ said Sandra,

pushing out her chest until it brushed against his

immaculate whites. ‘We’re all obese in our desires.’

She watched his face burn ever brighter. ‘You talk the

talk, Sonny Boyle, but I reckon you’re all mouth and

trousers.’ She sauntered off giggling, leaving him feeling

vulgar, disgusting, inept, leaving him feeling like

one of the corpulent clientele.

It was the Fatties fault, those obese Orcas,

those bilious blimps; just being near them made him

break out. He must be allergic to the foulness that

lived in their sweaty folds. He stormed back into the

Day Room to take out his humiliation on their flabby

hides. It was the one saving grace of this god awful

job, and the anticipation of retribution almost made

him forget the itch that now inflamed his spine.

He entered the Day Room like a gunfighter - a

gutfighter, he chuckled to himself - quickly identifying

his target; Bob; Bob the Blob. Yeah, plenty to chew on

there.

‘Hey, Blobby!’ said Boyle, slapping the hapless

lump somewhere on the rippled dunes of his back

then recoiling; it was like sinking your hand into a vat

of warm wet dough. ‘Been to the toilet lately?’

Bob looked up at him warily, shaking his head,

the energy needed for such a manoeuvre causing a

cascade of perspiration to stream down the plateau

of his forehead and momentarily blind him. Boyle

winced - Bob had been at the sweeties again, his

mouth ringed with a chocolate goatee; he appeared to

be wearing the rest. His unique odour, a heady blend

of B.O. and pickled onions, was stifling this close.

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