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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contaminate his own. He had asked Rhonda to perform

a purification spell on him, claiming he was

coming down with flu, as soon as he got home.

Above him a scorpion shaped cloud curled its heat envenomed

tail like it meant to strike him down forever,

amen.

You shall be my vindication - he felt both

blessed and repulsed by its icy touch; was it the voice

of the Sun, of God, of Death itself? Perhaps it was just

his brain simmering in its own juices. Rhonda had not

mentioned voices.

‘Who are you?’ he asked aloud, frowning faces

turning toward him away from the dried husk of the

preacher and the desiccated hole with the coffin by its

edge.

Jeff stumbled away, heels bleeding in his uncomfortable

new shoes. He could not suppress a wave;

waving at the mercy circus by the grave, waving at the

wilting wreaths, waving at the two men smoking by

the digger at the cemetery gates.

We be the echo, says the voice, blowing him

back out into the car park, the sun glaring down upon

him brighter than the Devil’s eye.

It must be working. Surely the voice indicated

that all was in motion. No time to waste. He stripped

off his suit, standing naked in the cauterising heat, naked

as the day he was born - no, more naked than that,

for he was clean.

No caul enveloped his face, no placental rags

tangled his limbs. Rhonda told him she had eaten that

caul; it’s what big sisters encumbered by the sight

were supposed to do. There would be blood and filth

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