Very happy that my weird story “Baby, cold outside”, has found a home in Breach magazine, and will appear in Breach #08 in August. More details to follow …
… meanwhile, while you are waiting, you can read (or listen to) my latest published story, “The gods of the gaps”, here at Three-lobed Burning Eye magazine.
… we have to be careful of our own disposition to irony. There is tradition, even for scientists. Spilled blood pays strange bills, and we have our fingers in so very many pies…
Nonetheless, feel free to click on the link to read my story which appeared in the Winter 2017 edition of Kaleidotrope, edited and published by Fred Coppersmith. I still like the opening (self-praise is no recommendation, as Mrs Carver used to say, the teacher who told me there was no Santa):
When he heard the cracking before the lights had even been doused — a noise he would later realize was the sound of small facial bones breaking — when he looked up and saw the man’s face turning into someone else’s, the boy stopped paying attention to the stuffed horse he had been pulling hair from all afternoon.
I loved that film! From a time before Superintendent Ted Hastings was running down bent coppers and anyone who doesn’t do things by the book. See the picture, Adrian Dunbar can smile. “I’ve been born in peace time. I haven’t been where you’ve been. I haven’t seen what you’ve seen.”
I digress, we’re talking about MY song. But not really.
Podcasts. If you prefer to read with your eyes closed, or with your hands free, or some such thing or combination, three of my stories are available for your ezy-listening pleasure. Just click on the links to be taken to the horror destination of your choice.
“If he looked out of the window now, into the night, he knew that there would be no street, no sky. Just a dim hallway, thin walls rattling with the wind tunnelling though it, rain dripping from a soggy ceiling. This is all that there is.” Good Boy
“His shame was exposed, the scar where a shell splinter had torn through his groin and ripped away his manhood. Albert no longer cared. He was counting the moments until he died.” Some corner of a Dorset field that is forever Arabia
“Transformation by force: a man enters the shop at noon. He walks through the door to the tinkle of the bell. Once inside, he reaches around and throws the bolt of the lock. He twists the sign from Open to Closed. He faces the woman in the store as she stands alone — the power of the words ‘in broad daylight’.” The gods of the gaps
Or perhaps you are an odd sort of bird, the type who actually wants to hear a song. Well, I suppose there is this:
David Stevens (usually) lives in Sydney, Australia, with his wife and children. His stories have appeared amongst other places in Crossed Genres, Aurealis, Three-Lobed Burning Eye, Pseudopod, Cafe Irreal, Not One of Us, Kaleidotrope, some Australian literary magazines, and the anthologies ‘Love Hurts’, ‘At the Edge’ and ‘Chthonic’. His short story, ... Continue reading →
