Additional Tales from Castle Balderstone
Ryan Veeder
2019 XYZZY Awards anthology castle Comedy cover art ECTOCOMP 2019 horror Le Grand Guignol multiple protagonists parser space
Another anthology of terror, edited by Ryan Veeder, again.
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]  Lounge

Good evening. My name is Ryan Veeder. It is my great pleasure, in this festive and frightening season, to welcome you once again to Castle Balderstone: America's legendary hotbed of horror, a treasure trove of the morose, macabre, and monstrous. Its crooked pinnacles continue to slash blasphemously against ever-present clouds; its grim silhouette is still a stain of absolute blackness in the midst of a black sky.

This year, as they did last year—as they do every year—the greatest spookcrafters working in the English language have assembled in Castle Balderstone's drafty halls to test their latest material on the only audience possessed of hearts so inured to terror as to withstand the absolute scariest stories—each other.

Tonight, once again, you are my plus-one to this wedding of the weird and the wicked.

You lie on the couch and look up at the stars. A little while later, you fall asleep.

Some unmeasured time later you awaken. The stars haven't moved; all is quiet.

You stand up, stretch, shake your arms and legs a little. The professor disapproves of your sleeping on the couch, so you have to enjoy the opportunity whenever you can get away with it.

This was designed to be a cozy hangout spot, with as many amenities as could be crammed into the limited space: a TV, a microwave, a decent couch. You still spend most of your time here, but you stopped actively enjoying it a while ago. Even the skylight has become so much wallpaper for you; the view never changes.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.
You examine the microwave
The microwave is a mess. You really need to clean it up before the professor has a chance to yell at you about it.
Examine tv
On the screen is the dim image of a sad battery. You must have left it on while you were sleeping! Now it'll need a few days to recharge. Darn.
You look at the couch
There's a distinctly you-shaped depression in the eidetic foam. Hopefully that'll flatten itself out before the professor notices.
You examine the skylight
A curtain of a million stars hangs outside the skylight: Always the same stars, never changing position. The view has become just as breathtaking as any cave wall.
You go east
Your quarters are so small that the professor can't even fit inside, which at least means they afford some privacy. This is the only upside of living in such a tiny little hole.

Since Professor Thezh went to sleep, you've been sleeping exclusively on the couch, so your bed is covered in a pile of clothes and trash. Above the bed, a lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Narrow passages lead east, west, and south.
Examine poster
It's not even that racy, but you can't imagine the professor would approve. Thezh has a low opinion of human anatomy in general, clothed or not.
You look under the bed
The bed is flush with the floor; there is no cool hiding place underneath.
You examine the clothes
Everything you haven't felt like dealing with is here: Dirty clothes, mostly, but also a lot of dishes and stuff that you couldn't be bothered to clean or throw away or whatever you're supposed to do with them.
Search clothes
That's a scary prospect.
Go east
Cramped tunnels worm their way through the asteroid, their paths dictated by the integrity of the surrounding basalt. Why would
they put an observatory in such a tiny hunk of rock? Because the astronomy department couldn't afford anything better. But why does
it have to be me stuck out here? Well, because of all those
decisions you made.

From this intersection, the passages go north, east, south, and west.
Go east
Cramped tunnels worm their way through the asteroid, their paths dictated by the integrity of the surrounding basalt. From this intersection, the passages go north, east, south, and west.
You go east
This was designed to be a cozy hangout spot, with as many amenities as could be crammed into the limited space: a TV, a microwave, a decent couch. You still spend most of your time here, but you stopped actively enjoying it a while ago. Even the skylight has become so much wallpaper for you; the view never changes.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.
Go south
This is where all the work gets done: This is where Professor Thezh analyzes data, tests theories, and mutters bitterly in Sadalbari about you know not what. You had hoped that being a research assistant would involve a lot of sitting in with the professor, bouncing ideas off each other. As it turns out, your assistantship mostly consists of performing chores and staying out of Thezh's way.

The professor's amphisbaena is situated in front of the chalkboard, taking up most of the space in this little cave. Tunnels lead north, east, south, and west.
You look at the chalkboard
You can understand maybe a third of the material currently on the chalkboard. It's not that you have any trouble reading the professor's writing (which is almost too precise), but certain equations and assumptions are still a mystery to you.

You're enough of an astronomer to understand the basic principles of Thezh's work. For as long as you've been at the observatory, though, you don't feel like you've learned anything new.
You examine the amphisbaena
This sprawling piece of furniture is ostensibly the Sadalbari equivalent of an easy chair, but the way the professor "sits" or "reclines" in it has never looked particularly comfortable.
Go east
The radio telescope's dish is almost as wide as the asteroid is long, and from outside it looks a lot like a soup bowl strapped to a potato. Inside, the bottom of the dish forms a convex ceiling for the chamber below, forcing you to hunch over and contort yourself to get around.

Some slightly more comfortable tunnels lead north, east, and west.
You look at the telescope
The dish has various components, but it's primarily a huge metal dome. Your first week at the observatory, you banged your head on it pretty hard, and the professor—who somehow has no trouble getting around in here—spent a few days reminding you that you'd be responsible for repairs if any of the equipment was somehow damaged by the impact of your skull.
You go east
Professor Thezh calls this rat's nest of cables and interfaces "the computer," as if it were a single, discrete, manageable object. The desk is a mess, too; that's partially your fault.

There are ways out to the north, east, and west.
Search desk
You lack the willpower.
You examine desk
You knew when you signed on for this assistantship that there would be a lot of downtime while Professor Thezh hibernated, so you prepared to embark on several stimulating new hobbies. Here at this desk are your abandoned poems, your abandoned origami, your abandoned watercolors, the first pages of a memoir...
You go east
This is where all the work gets done: This is where Professor Thezh analyzes data, tests theories, and mutters bitterly in Sadalbari about you know not what. The professor's amphisbaena is situated in front of the chalkboard, taking up most of the space in this little cave. Tunnels lead north, east, south, and west.
You go to the south
Professor Thezh floats in its tank of viscous sedatives, dreaming its incomprehensible dreams.

The rest of the asteroid is north.
Examine pod
Numerous pumps and monitors are hooked up to the professor's pod; a large chunk of the observatory's energy budget is devoted to keeping the professor asleep while also keeping it alive.
Keep going
The professor is still.

You must have imagined it.
You go north
At the "top" of the asteroid is its modest garage, where Professor Thezh's skiff is parked. The way out—out into space—is through the monolithic pressure gate; the way back into your prison of mazelike tunnels is south.
You examine the skiff
The shuttle must be a hundred years old. You're pretty sure it almost exploded a couple times while you were flying out here.

The trip seemed to take an eternity. You took the wheel while the professor slept in the back, rousing itself occasionally to criticize your driving ability. When you finally arrived, Thezh insisted on landing, so you wouldn't wreck the skiff's paint job.
Go east
This was designed to be a cozy hangout spot, with as many amenities as could be crammed into the limited space: a TV, a microwave, a decent couch. You still spend most of your time here, but you stopped actively enjoying it a while ago. Even the skylight has become so much wallpaper for you; the view never changes.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.

Somebody screams, and you almost jump out of your skin.
Clean microwave
You wobble a bit while your nervous system collects itself.

You hear the scream again, and again: It's an alarm, ringing somewhere in the observatory.
Go east
Your quarters are so small that the professor can't even fit inside, which at least means they afford some privacy. This is the only upside of living in such a tiny little hole.

Since Professor Thezh went to sleep, you've been sleeping exclusively on the couch, so your bed is covered in a pile of clothes and trash. Above the bed, a lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Narrow passages lead east, west, and south.

The beeping seems to come from everywhere.
You go south
The bottom of the radio telescope dish forms a convex ceiling for the chamber below, forcing you to hunch over and contort yourself to get around.

Some slightly more comfortable tunnels lead north, east, and west.

The caves echo with repetitive ringing.
You go south
You can't go that way.

The ringing is starting to make your head hurt.
Go east
Professor Thezh calls this rat's nest of cables and interfaces "the computer," as if it were a single, discrete, manageable object. The desk is a mess, too; that's partially your fault.

There are ways out to the north, east, and west.

The ringing might be louder in here.
You go east
This is where all the work gets done: This is where Professor Thezh analyzes data, tests theories, and mutters bitterly in Sadalbari about you know not what. The professor's amphisbaena is situated in front of the chalkboard, taking up most of the space in this little cave. Tunnels lead north, east, south, and west.

You need to find whatever is making that noise.
You go south
Professor Thezh floats in its tank of viscous sedatives, dreaming its incomprehensible dreams.

The rest of the asteroid is north.

The ringing is starting to make your head hurt.
Go north
This is where all the work gets done: This is where Professor Thezh analyzes data, tests theories, and mutters bitterly in Sadalbari about you know not what. The professor's amphisbaena is situated in front of the chalkboard, taking up most of the space in this little cave. Tunnels lead north, east, south, and west.

The caves echo with repetitive ringing.
Search desk
The sound gets even louder as you turn your attention to the messy desk. You shove your way through the clutter, searching more by touch than by sight. Your fingers curl around an oblong device, and you feel vibrations going up your arm in time with the beeping.

At last the offending object emerges from the mess: It's an alarm clock. So that's where that went!

It takes some effort to make it shut up. Did they design this thing to be as obnoxious as possible? But now it's quiet.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
an alarm clock
You examine the clock
You set this alarm when Professor Thezh entered hibernation. On its display is a message:

That means it's finally time to spin the observatory around. You'll have to turn on the computer.
You turn on the computer
You tap on one of the displays you can reach, and the interface slowly wakes itself up.

Professor Thezh's specialization (well, yours too, ostensibly) is in the field of Oscevotto emanations, interstellar signals that break down under the slightest interference. This makes them impossible to detect from any observatory in an inhabited system.

You scroll through menus until you find the reorientation protocol: It says the first step is to turn off attitude stabilization. Of course you have to do all of this manually.
You turn off the stabilization
You stomp across the room to the interface for the attitude stabilizer. First you click "Suspend Stabilization," and then "Confirm," and then you have to hold down the button for a while to prove you really mean it.

To have any chance of detecting Oscevotto emanations, Professor Thezh needed an observatory that was as far away from civilization as possible—so, in an asteroid cloud around a nameless, near-dead star. And to properly image these emanations, the telescope needs to take an extremely long "exposure" of interstellar space.

Something stops whirring, and the ground shudders a little bit.

With the first imaging session finally complete, it's time to begin scanning the other half of the galaxy. To do that you'll have to initiate RADA 29.
Initiate rada 29
You stomp back across the room to the RCS controls. This is the stupid part: Each thruster has its own throttle, and they all have to be operated in perfect unison, or else the new orientation will be off-target and you'll have to waste fuel making corrections. An easy enough task for the professor, but you only have two hands.

You lean over the control panel and try your best to push all the throttles forward the same amount.

The room rumbles as the engines come to life, and you sway slightly as the asteroid rotates.
the asteroid rotates.Something pops.

Everything lurches to one side, and you fall over the controls. The thrusters roar, and you're thrown off the control panel and onto the floor.
floor.You try to get to your feet—but the room goes sideways. You
fall
again, tangled in cables.
again, tangled in cables.You screw your eyes shut, covering your ears with your hands to muffle the screaming engines and suppress your nausea.

You may have blacked out for a moment. With no frame of reference, only unbearable noise and incomprehensible motion, it's difficult to tell.
tell.One by one the thrusters die, their fuel cells emptied. Now the observatory is silent again.

You crawl toward the nearest wall and stagger most of the way to your feet.

The room is spinning.
You look at the computer
The equipment seems to be okay, but you're having trouble telling one component from another. Possibly that panel over there is the attitude stabilization interface.
You turn on the stabilization
You push yourself along the wall toward the attitude controls. You click "Enable Stabilization," and then "Confirm," and then you muster your last reserves of bodily stability to hold down the button until the stupid thing actually starts.

You can hear the reaction wheels spinning and stopping madly as the stabilization system struggles to counteract the asteroid's gyration.

Eventually things slow down enough that you can stand unassisted.

Everything seems to be more or less where it should be, but all the interfaces are blinking with different warnings.

There are ways out to the north, east, and west.
You examine the interfaces
Most of the warnings are beyond your expertise—but the words "HIBERNATION TANK FAILURE" are pretty easy to understand.
You go to the west
The telescope seems to be intact, but you can't see much of it from in here.

Tunnels lead north, east, and west.
You go to the west
The professor's amphisbaena is upended, tossed into a corner. The floor is wet.

Passages lead north, east, south, and west.
You go south
The tank is empty. None of the monitors are active.

A trail of slime wends its way around the tank, up to your feet.
You go to the east
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.

"I didn't like you to begin with. I liked you less and less the longer you worked for me. Even before I felt the change coming, I was wishing there was some way to get rid of you. And while I was sleeping..."

Furious hissing, or sarcastic laughter, or an unnameable sound for an equally inhuman emotion fills the asteroid.
Wait
Time passes.

"I could hear everything. For months. All your snoring, sniffling, belching, crying, farting, whistling, muttering—whining
about
your cushy assistantship, whining that you had nothing to do—and when you finally had something to do, when you had just one job—"

The professor moans, and the asteroid shakes.

You can hear the professor's bulk slithering through the tunnels to the east.
You go east
You enter the tunnel, and something squelches up ahead.

"Ah. There you are," it says, and you hear it scuttling down the passageway. In animal terror you retreat—and the noise stops.

"Oh, don't be shy, you blithering waste of air. There's only
one thing left for you. No point postponing it."

You hold still, and try to breathe quietly.

"The upside is this: As long as the change is happening, I can't be held responsible for my actions. The university has all the paperwork." Parts of the professor's mouth that aren't busy speaking English start purring greedily. "I've never eaten a human research assistant before—and it sounds like you've gotten fatter since I've been asleep. Am I right about that?"
You go west
The stars above are still whizzing by wildly.

The couch has been torn apart: Slimy chunks of foam litter the floor. The TV and microwave have been smashed and tossed across the room.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.

"I'm getting tired of waiting..."
You go to the west
You take a cautious step forward, and you hear the professor scurrying toward you again. When you rush back to safety, you hear it retreating as well. Then it emits a familiar screech, one you recognize as a sigh of frustration.

"Don't be an idiot—At least, try to be less of an idiot. I can hear every move you make. You aren't getting out of here alive. There's nothing to gain from screwing around—You're just making me angrier." Why won't come out of those tunnels after you?

Because it knows that's the only way you could escape.
You get foam
That's not something you can carry around.

The professor's heavy breathing—or whatever that noise is—filters
in
through the west tunnel.
Go east
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.
Go east
Professor Thezh is just down that tunnel. You can hear it rubbing against the walls. And you don't want to meet it face to face.
You wait a while
Time passes.

The clicking of claws or fangs echoes through the east tunnel.
You get the poster
It's glued to the ceiling!

You hear the professor cough something up, then swallow it.
Go west
The stars above are still whizzing by wildly.

The couch has been torn apart: Slimy chunks of foam litter the floor. The TV and microwave have been smashed and tossed across the room.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.
Look around
The stars above are still whizzing by wildly.

The couch has been torn apart: Slimy chunks of foam litter the floor. The TV and microwave have been smashed and tossed across the room.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.

The professor's heavy breathing—or whatever that noise is—filters
in
through the west tunnel.
You go east
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.

"If you stop being such a coward right now, I promise I'll bite your head off first."
Search clothes
You can't think of anything in there that would be any use.

"Come here!"

The clicking of claws or fangs echoes through the east tunnel.
You get the trash
Nothing in there is worth taking.

You hear the professor cough something up, then swallow it.
You go south
The telescope seems to be intact, but you can't see much of it from in here.

Tunnels lead north, east, and west.

"I can hear you. What are you doing out there?"
Go east
Everything seems to be more or less where it should be, but all the interfaces are blinking with different warnings.

There are ways out to the north, east, and west.

"Do you think if you'll wait long enough, someone will come rescue you?"
Go north
Professor Thezh is just down that tunnel. You can hear it rubbing against the walls. And you don't want to meet it face to face.
You search the amphisbaena
You find nothing of interest.

"I'm so hungry... Please take pity on your poor old professor."
You go east
The telescope seems to be intact, but you can't see much of it from in here.

Tunnels lead north, east, and west.
You go north
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.
Go south
The telescope seems to be intact, but you can't see much of it from in here.

Tunnels lead north, east, and west.

"I'm getting tired of waiting..."
You look in the dish
You find nothing of interest.

"Come here!"
You look under the dish
You find nothing of interest.

"If you stop being such a coward right now, I promise I'll bite your head off first."
Climb dish
Little is to be achieved by that.

"Do you think if you'll wait long enough, someone will come rescue you?"
You take the dish
That's not something you can carry around.

"Come here!"
You look at the telescope
If the accident had been a little worse, the dish might have been flung off of the side of the asteroid, and this room would have its own skylight (and you'd be violently sucked into space).
You go to the west
The professor's amphisbaena is upended, tossed into a corner. The floor is wet.

Passages lead north, east, south, and west.
You look at the board
Something large must have scraped against the chalkboard, erasing several of Thezh's notes.

"If you stop being such a coward right now, I promise I'll bite your head off first."
You go south
The tank is empty. None of the monitors are active.

A trail of slime wends its way around the tank, up to your feet.
You look at the tank
Numerous pumps and monitors are hooked up to the professor's pod. They seem to have stopped working.
You go north
The professor's amphisbaena is upended, tossed into a corner. The floor is wet.

Passages lead north, east, south, and west.

"Come here!"
You go to the north
The stars above are still whizzing by wildly.

The couch has been torn apart: Slimy chunks of foam litter the floor. The TV and microwave have been smashed and tossed across the room.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.

"I'm getting tired of waiting..."
You examine the microwave
It looks like the professor threw this around a few times before moving on.

You can hear the professor's bulk slithering through the tunnels to the west.
You take it
That's not something you can carry around.

The clicking of claws or fangs echoes through the west tunnel.
You examine the alarm
The alarm clock is no longer set to anything.

You hear the professor cough something up, then swallow it.
Go east
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.

"Do you think if you'll wait long enough, someone will come rescue you?"
You turn on the alarm
A plan is forming in your head—but for it to work, you'll have to
take
the alarm to a place where Thezh can reach it.

The clicking of claws or fangs echoes through the east tunnel.
Go west
The stars above are still whizzing by wildly.

The couch has been torn apart: Slimy chunks of foam litter the floor. The TV and microwave have been smashed and tossed across the room.

Passages through the rock lead east, west, and south.
Go south
The professor's amphisbaena is upended, tossed into a corner. The floor is wet.

Passages lead north, east, south, and west.

"I'm so hungry... Please take pity on your poor old professor."
You go south
The tank is empty. None of the monitors are active.

A trail of slime wends its way around the tank, up to your feet.
You drop the alarm
Dropped.

"Do you think if you'll wait long enough, someone will come rescue you?"
You turn on the alarm
You fumble with the alarm clock's screen, and set it for some random number of seconds. Then you toss into the the far corner of the room.

"I'm so hungry... Please take pity on your poor old professor."

You'd better get a move on.
You go north
The professor's amphisbaena is upended, tossed into a corner. The floor is wet.

Passages lead north, east, south, and west.
Go east
The telescope seems to be intact, but you can't see much of it from in here.

Tunnels lead north, east, and west.

"If you stop being such a coward right now, I promise I'll bite your head off first."
Go north
It should be safe in here; the professor can't fit through the narrow passages.

On your bed is a pile of clothes and trash. Your lenticular poster is glued to the ceiling.

Tunnels lead east, west, and south.

Thezh sniffs: "Back in your hidey-hole? I wish you'd come out of there. Your uncooperativeness is tremendously frustrating."
You wait
A second ticks by.
Wait
"Would you stop that?" Thezh whines. You realize you've been
biting your fingernail.
You wait for a while
Another second ticks by.

The alarm goes off. It beeps incredibly loudly.

"Will you please turn off that insufferable machine?" Thezh groans.
You wait for a while
The noise is unbearable.

"Turn that off right now, or you will live to regret it," Thezh whines. The alarm keeps beeping, seemingly more shrill than before.
Wait
The noise is unbearable.

"Is this a trick? Are you trying to trick me?" Thezh hisses through the tunnels, struggling to be heard over the pings of the alarm clock. "You really are a stupid brat. And desperate. And cruel."
You go to the east
Professor Thezh is just down that tunnel. You can hear it rubbing against the walls. And you don't want to meet it face to face.

"This isn't—" Thezh wails in pain. "This isn't going to work. I'm going to outlast you. You'll turn off that alarm, and then I will find you, and then—" It howls again.
Wait
The noise is unbearable.

Its rage boiling over, the professor screams even louder than the alarm—and you hear it stampeding through the tunnels.

You strain your ears: The alarm goes on ringing, muffled by the limbs of something trying to rip it to pieces.
You go to the east
The web of tunnels extends in all directions—but the shuttle bay is just north from here.
Go north
Professor Thezh's skiff is parked here, beneath the gigantic pressure gate.
You enter the skiff
You jump into the driver's seat.

The key is in the ignition. The garage door opener is just above the windshield.
You turn key
You turn the key. The engines fire up—and then they sputter out. What's wrong?

Oh, the parking brake is engaged.
You disengage brake
You push the lever down, and the skiff shifts slightly.

Then the whole asteroid shakes.

Something has collided with the shutter between the garage and the tunnels.
7
Okay. Noted.
Okay. Noted.Now it is time for the next author to step forward and share the next of the evening's unbearable entertainments. It is Victor Atencio—and he looks great!

While he's approaching the podium I try to explain, quietly: Victor Atencio is an absolute genius of gruesomeness. They call him "the van Gogh of Gore." But he suffered from debilitating weight problems, to the point that he had to stop writing while he pursued various treatments and underwent various surgeries. I also heard—Why is someone shushing me? Oh, he's starting.

"It's been a while since I visited Castle Balderstone," Victor says, and people start applauding him, but he waves it away. "I'm excited to get back in the game, and I hope you'll forgive me if I'm a little rusty."

Everybody chuckles. I try to whisper to you the juicy rumor that I heard, but Victor goes on:

"What I've brought tonight is a new piece, in a classic format. I don't aim to surprise—Only to terrify."

We all chuckle again, now a little nervously, and Victor begins to read...



Wayne and Yvette are a little bit late, but that just means more quality time for you and little Rowan.

The walls are painted with mountains and pines. The wide window fills the room with sunlight.

Rowan is asleep in his crib, his brow furrowed by the itty-bitty concerns that trouble babies.

Your oxygen concentrator hums away. It's not bothering the baby at all. He probably finds it very soothing.
You examine Rowan
He's beautiful. He looks more like his mother than his father, but you won't tell Wayne that.
About yourself
You're through accomplishing things of your own-you kept yourself busy for long enough. These years are for resting, and enjoying the accomplishments of others: Of your children, and your grandchildren and your beautiful great-grandson.
You look at the window
Outside the nursery is a lovely April day. It's no wonder Wayne and Yvette are taking so long.

Wayne and Yvette's cat strolls into the room.
You examine the cat
Yvette loves this cat, and the loves her—and it hates everything
else.
You look at the crib
Rowan's little kingdom.
You look at the oxygen
Wherever you go, your oxygen follows, and every minute of the day, you have a tube stuck in your nose. You tell the kids you've gotten used to it.
You look at Rowan
He's beautiful. He looks more like his mother than his father, but you won't tell Wayne that.

The cat darts between your legs, hisses furiously, and digs its fangs into your calf. Then it disappears.
You examine the calf
Four little pinpricks on your calf. It looks like you're starting to bleed.

There's a dark shape in the crib: The cat is sitting on Rowan.
You take the cat
As you lean over the crib, the cat leaps away.

You place a hand on Rowan's forehead. He seems to be fine.

Then a horrible hissing noise fills the nursery, and Rowan starts squirming.

You turn and see the cat, toying with your oxygen concentrator: The tube connected to your nose has been knocked loose.
You take the tube
That cat is between you and your machine.

The cat arches its back, puffs out its fur, and seems to grow several inches. It hisses at you, almost screaming.
You open the window
The cat rushes around you to block the window.

The cat continues to grow, its screeches getting louder, its claws and teeth becoming longer. You stagger to the floor; your chest feels tight.
You take the tube
The cat jumps back in front of the oxygen concentrator.

The cat towers over you, growing larger and larger. You can't get up. You can't breathe.
You wake rowan
The cat leaps between you and the crib.

The cat is huge. It fills the room.

Your vision swims. Your heart is going so fast—Your throat is so tight.

You die of fright.
About you
The cat steps over your body, over the crib, toward the window.
You examine the cat
It bats at the window, and shatters it effortlessly.
You ask the cat about the cat
The cat squeezes out of the window, destroying the surrounding nursery wall.
You look at Rowan
You can't get any closer to the crib.

The cat steps outside. As it walks across the lawn, it goes on growing until it's as tall as the house.
About yourself
The cat walks into the street, trampling Wayne's car. A child screams.
Exit
Rowan stirs, but does not wake.

You are dead.

The cat continues along the street, heading downtown.

"

Naturally the author sitting right next to us has to raise her hand. "Is Mittens the name of the cat?" she asks. Of course it's the
name of the cat you ridiculous woman.

"Uh, I guess it must be!" Victor answers. Everyone laughs, ha ha ha. Anyway, what I was gonna say was—"How did you find your way into the character of the protagonist, a great-grandparent?" asks an incredibly loud author sitting behind us.

"Ah. Well, that's kind of personal," says Victor, and everything gets quiet.

The silence is so complete that I can't whisper anything to you.

"How about another round of applause for Victor Atencio?" asks the moderator, and everybody claps, and Victor bows again, and now I can finally tell you: There was a rumor that Victor got his nose done while he was having all those other surgeries, and now that I see him in person he definitely did get his nose done.

So, how much, on a scale of 1 to 10, did you like that story? The one Victor told, not the one about his medical history.
4
Okay. Noted.
Okay. Noted.Now it is time for the next author to step forward and share the next of the evening's insidious entertainments. It is Eddie Carlyle! I gasp, and grab your wrist. You tug at your hand until I let go. I am too anxious to apologize.

None of these authors scare me like Eddie Carlyle does. No avenue of horror is off-limits to Carlyle. He sniffs at taboo; he rolls his eyes at the critics every time they say he's gone too far. I've only read the Wikipedia synopses of his works, and they still give me nightmares.

Ed looks down at the lectern and coughs.

"I heard that at this year's meeting, we could share stories that weren't, you know, Halloween-spooky." Wait, what?

"And, well, the invitation said that one of the themes we could pick instead was Día de Muertos, or, Mexican folklore and
mythology in general. So I chose to write something along those lines. And, it's based on one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs."

The other authors are glancing around the room. You and I are glancing at each other.

Ed swallows loudly, still looking down at the lectern. "So, I guess, for a Castle Balderstone story this is kind of... experimental, but I hope you'll enjoy it." Well, it's an Eddie Carlyle story. It's probably at least a little scary.

He coughs again, and then he begins to read...

Adapted by Eddie Carlyle
from a song by Bob Dylan

The horse paces slowly across the sands, worn out from a long day of riding. You clutch Roberto's cape and screw your eyes shut. You are weary for sleep, but sleep is impossible under this bright sun, atop this staggering horse.
About yourself
Your eyes are red from sleeplessness, and strained from so much squinting. Your face and your dress are coated in dust. You feel lucky that Roberto cannot see you.
You examine roberto
Roberto is a handsome man, with gentle eyes and a curly beard. But, sitting behind him, all you can see are his hat and his cape.

You don't remember him wearing that cape before.
You look at the cape
The cape Roberto wears is covered in dust.

But why isn't his guitar strapped to his back?
You examine the horse
This horse appeared with Roberto last night, when he woke you up and begged you to leave with him. The animal seemed just as surprised as you were to be rushing out of town in the middle of the night. Now, it seems just as tired as you are.
You ask Roberto about the guitar
You ask Roberto what happened to his guitar.

"Ah! I sold that guitarra to Pablo, the son of the
panadero—for this!"

With a triumphant flourish, he produces from his cape a fist-sized loaf of bread. "I was saving it for la noche, but you have
had such a long viaje. Here you go, mi amor." He
presses the bread into your hand.
You examine the bread
How much was Roberto's guitar worth? How much food will the two of you need to reach Durango before you starve to death? You can't focus on these questions. You're starving.
You eat the bread
You gobble it down. You feel a little less exhausted—but even sleepier.

And now the sun, which had seemed to hang just overhead for so long, finally seems to be descending.
You examine sun
Roberto chides you: "Don't look directly into el sol,
Magdalena. It will hurt your ojos." How did he know what you
were looking at?
Clean dress
The blue dress is fine.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a blue dress (being worn)
You ask Roberto about the horse
Roberto clicks his tongue nervously. "A friend lent this fine
caballo to me. I don't know when I will be able to repay him,
after we reach Durango. But he already owed me un favor,
so..."
You ask Roberto about the durango
Roberto sighs blissfully. "When we reach Durango, we'll—First, we'll go to the corrida, and sit in the shade drinking
tequila, and we'll watch the young torero at his
violent work. And the very next day, we will find the padre
at his little church, and we'll finally be married."

You hold Roberto tightly around his waist, and he pets your delicate hand.
You ask Roberto about the marriage
Roberto cocks his head. "What was that, my little one? I'm not sure I heard you correctamente." (Usually this means Roberto doesn't
want to talk about something.)

You lurch to a halt. "Magdalena!" whispers Roberto, pointing across the brush: A few crumbling walls sit in the shadow of a hillside. "We can make campamento there."

He urges the horse toward the ruins.

The sun is very low, casting long purple shadows over the dust. There was a city here, centuries ago.

Roberto ties the horse to a withered tree, eyeing the hills above warily.

One nearby building seems more or less intact.
You examine the building
Nothing about the building gives any clue as to what it might be.
You look at the tree
The tree would snap easily if the horse decided to run off.
You ask Roberto about the building
As you're wondering how to bring up the subject, Roberto speaks.

"Querida, you must find a place where we will be
escondidos. Take this linterna, and I will keep
watch." He hands you a dented lantern and resumes scanning the horizon.
You enter the building
The sagging walls lean over an altar. There is no roof, and the stone glows indigo under the stars.

In the back wall is a narrow archway.
You examine the altar
A slab of mottled stone, carved with pagan icons. The only shape you recognize is a snarling, wide-eyed jaguar.
You turn on the lantern
It takes a few tries, but you manage to light the lantern.

Maybe this was the apartment of the temple priest.

In the center of the room is a stone stairway, descending into darkness.

Your lantern's light catches on something in the corner: A black shard.
You examine the shard
The flat side seems polished, like a mirror, but the material is completely black. Even in the darkness you can see that the fractured edge is deadly sharp.
You take it
You lean down and reach for the shard, as carefully as you can—but it slices your fingertip just the same. A drop of blood splashes on the mottled floor.
Go downwards
The stairs go on longer than you had expected.
Go downward
You thrust your lantern forward uncertainly, half expecting to see walls piled high with skulls—but the tunnel is empty, except for some loose gravel and some footprints in the dust.

At the far end of the tunnel is a low archway, blocked by fallen rocks.
You enter the archway
(first opening the low archway)
You push the rocks out of the way easily; they're only painted styrofoam.

In a few seconds, the archway is clear.

Bright lights surround you on all sides. A giant camera is pointed at your face.

Behind you is a low archway of painted canvas.

Now, I need you to think about Roberto, and whether you can trust him. And you're thinking about Ramón, and which one you really loved. Are you in the right place?

We'll be cutting between this and Roberto's scene outside where he stares into the sunset and thinks about kind of the same questions. You're both wondering if you're going to stick together.
You think
What a good idea.

Maybe put your hand up to your neck. Yeah. You're in distress. And you could almost run away. But then you steel yourself.

Perfect.
You examine the camera
You stare down the barrel of the camera, projecting sadness, confusion, devotion, and strength.

Now you've made your decision, and you turn around, and you find your way back to Roberto.
Look around
Bright lights surround you on all sides. A giant camera is pointed at your face.

Behind you is a low archway of painted canvas.

Come on, we're wasting film.
You enter the archway
The dusty tunnel is mostly empty. A cool breeze issues from the stairway.

At the far end of the tunnel is a low archway.
Go up
A tenuous sliver of moonlight falls over the stairs.
Go up
The temple is quiet.

A narrow archway leads out to the main chamber.
Leave
The sun is gone; the moon and stars shiver overhead.

Roberto will be outside, waiting for you.
Go outside
You emerge from the ruin, and Roberto rises to greet you.
You hug roberto
You walk over to Roberto—There is a flash of light on the hill, and a crack like thunder splits the air.

Roberto crumples to the sand, a bullet in his chest.

You run to him, kneel over him, cradle his head in your hands. His gaze is focused on the hill above.

"Ramón?" he gasps. He draws his pistol, but it falls from his fingers.

"Magdalena—mi prado de brisas frescas—" His eyes close.
"Aim
well, mi linda."
You take the pistol
You pick up Roberto's pistol.

Something catches your eye—Something disappearing over the hill.
Kiss roberto
You can only do that to something animate.
You climb the hill
You crawl up the hill—your dress snags on a cactus—your lantern
goes
out. You toss it behind you.

When you reach the hilltop, you hold very still to search the valley below.

A jaguar is running away, leaping like quicksilver over the rocks.
You enter the valley
Climbing down the rocks takes a long time. The jaguar sits calmly, waiting for you.

The jaguar is a man, standing over the stream that cuts through the valley. He carries a rifle.

He coughs violently, and blood spatters on the sand. He takes a second to recover.

"Well?" he asks.
You examine man
He wears the bloody face of Ramón, but behind his mask are eyes of glittering obsidian. This is Tezcatlipoca, god of murder, embodiment of strife.

He has nothing to say, and the desert is silent.
You ask the god about Roberto
He licks his bloody lips.

"Magdalena," he says, smiling. "Doesn't your lover cry out for revenge? I am here, I have taken Roberto from you—Destroy me."
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a pistol
a shard
a blue dress (being worn)

He looks up at the sky. "This is not going the way I had planned."

He runs his hand through his hair and grimaces. "I had hoped something more interesting would happen."
You cut the god with the shard
Cutting him up would achieve little.

"Tezcatlipoca grits his teeth in frustration. "This is embarrassing," he says.

Then he approaches you, puts his hands on your shoulders. "Next time, you must be willing to kill—to murder me—to appease my bloodlust.
Next
time, Magdalena, you must be blind with hatred, ready to do anything to avenge Roberto. Will you do that? Will you be ready?"

You nod.

"Good. I look forward to it."

The jaguar slithers down the creek, into the moonlight, leaving you alone in the desert night.

 On a scale of 1 to 10?
Shoot god
You raise your gun. He smirks, and glances behind you, at the hilltop.

You spin and see Magdalena raise her rifle. You try to scream—she fires—and you are Magdalena again.

Roberto crumples to the sand, and the jaguar disappears into the desert night.

 On a scale of 1 to 10?
6
Okay. Noted.
Okay. Noted.Now it is time for the next author to step forward and share the next of the evening's dreadful entertainments. It is oh
my gosh it's Allison Chase.

She is rapturous. She is heavenly. I mean, obviously I appreciate her as an author first and foremost. Allison Chase is unmatched in her literary command of suspense, anxiety, and trepidation. From page one to page six hundred forty-seven, she has the reader's amygdala wrapped around her little finger.

But look at that little finger! Look at her hands, her willowy arms—Look at that neck. Oh, that neck. Allison Chase's neck.

Around that impossible neck is a pendant. Does she always wear that pendant? Maybe she wears different pendants. Maybe I should give her a pendant, and then when she wore it, my pendant would be around
Allison Chase's neck.

"I happened upon this story while browsing through some old cabinets," she says. Her voice is like a church bell echoing across a field of fog. I close my eyes, the better to drink in that voice.

"I found it utterly horrific. I wondered, what sort of sadistic monster could possibly have composed something so deliriously awful?" I open my eyes, so that I can look at her neck.

"But when I turned back to the first page, the name I saw beneath the title..."

I lean further forward. I have stopped breathing. I have completely forgotten that you, my guest, exist.

"...was my own!"

As far as I'm concerned there is no one else in the room. I am aware only of the lips of Allison Chase as she smiles wickedly, and begins to read...

A tale of terror by Allison Chase

The creature was monstrous to behold.
You examine creature
His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was stringy and unctuous. His teeth were chipped and yellowed. His chin protruded like a bent nail.
You examine the eyes
Caked around his bloodshot eyes was a vile crust, of which minute crumbs had scattered over his clammy cheeks.
You examine the hair
Matted ropes of hair hung a tangled rat's nest over his ears and down his back.
You examine the teeth
Each of his teeth was a unique sculpture, chiseled by decades of decay. Each depicted its own tale of neglect—except for those mercifully veiled by his awful tongue.
You look at the tongue
His tongue hung from between his lips like a fat worm emerging from its slimy burrow.
You examine the chin
His bony, pointed chin seemed to dangle like a pendululm beneath his shriveled lips, or else to erupt like an escaped prisoner from his overstretched neck.
You examine the lips
His chapped lips hung open mutely, revealing discolored teeth and a lolling tongue.
You look at the neck
Every muscle in his neck stuck out like a pencil beneath his wretched skin, drawing his shoulders forward involuntarily, stretching out his back and chest like leather on a tanner's rack.
You look at the belly
Between his ribcage and pelvis was his sallow stomach, swelling and stretching whenever he managed to draw breath, shrinking and shriveling with each exhalation.
You examine the pelvis
His hips were set at a crazy angle, upsetting the trajectories of his spine and everything that radiated therefrom. The posture of his legs, though by no means recognizable as human, had in it nothing of animal grace.
You examine the legs
His grimy legs, interrupted by rickety knees, struggled to remain erect over his malformed ankles.
You examine knees
Well, his knees, like knots—obscene, ineffective, oblique—separated messily the halves of his legs: and really two different worlds, two different sexes, are not so different as were the two halves of his horrible, horrible legs.
You examine the ankles
Those objects which conjoined his feet to his legs were as shapely, as sturdy, and as wet as lumps of clay dredged from the bottom of a tainted creek.
You look at the feet
His feet were slick with moisture, and beneath his skin I saw greyish veins snaking toward his toes.
You examine the toes
Cracked toenails protruded from long, bony toes, and as he teetered under his own diseased bulk, his toes produced minute ripples in the puddle of fluid that surrounded him.
You examine the puddle
The fluid that pooled around the creature's feet was composed of the same liquid that had formed rivulets running down the entirety of his repulsive body, currents which began in the corners of his sickly, overstrained eyes—for the creature was standing in a puddle of his
own
tears.

"

"I'm impressed that you remember that far back!" Allison says, and now I get to nod and mutter modestly.

She goes on: "Of course, all of us here are authors, and we know that not every word we put to paper is one that we earnestly believe. I have sworn no oath to Truth, but to Art, and in service to Art I readily will wield a true sentence in one hand and a falsehood in the other. Besides, as we all know, sometimes lies can tell us the truth of things too terrible to be broached by the prim and proper facts."

There are murmurs of patient assent; all of this is obvious to us authors.

"In writing 'Lights Out,' as is so often the case, it was my mission to terrify my reader. And so I wrote that love is only a chemical reaction: Not to teach the reader an uncomfortable truth, but because that sentence—the meaninglessness that wears that sentence as its hideous mask—is the scariest thing I can think of."

I have goosebumps.

"Thank you, Miss Chase," I say, and she thanks me, and the moderator thanks me, and I sit down. My knees are shaking.

So anyway, how much did you like the story? On a scale of 1 to 10?
5
Okay. Noted.

Okay. Noted.Awkward muttering fills the chamber. Everyone is wondering who the next author will be.

The moderator rises and speaks: "With that, our evening is concluded." Well, that answers that question. "On behalf of the Balderstone estate, I would like to wish you all a wonderful year to come, and a safe trip home."

"Hold on!" I say, and I jog up to the dais. The moderator is smart enough to get out of my way. I lean over the lectern and grin.

"Some of you may know that I've brought a guest here tonight." I wave toward you, and everyone looks at you. "And, for each of the stories, I've been asking my guest to score the story, based on how good it is, or how much you enjoyed it. Which was it again?"

You are unable to answer.

"Anyway, I thought everybody might like to know the results. Each story got a score from 1 to 10. And... it looks like..."

I quickly do some math in my head.

I quickly do some math in my head."It looks like my guest's overall enjoyment of the evening amounted to 22 out of 40."

The authors look you over. "Is that all?" someone asks. "Really?"

"Hey, it's not that bad," I say. "Maybe my guest is just, you know."

"Just what?"

Oh dear. "Just, discerning?"

The moderator decides this is a good time to step in.

The moderator decides this is a good time to step in.Then there is a crash of thunder.

crash of thunder.The fireplace is snuffed out—

crash of thunder.The fireplace is snuffed out——And Castle
Balderstone
is plunged into darkness!
cheapglulxe quit with exit status: 0