A few summers ago, I gave myself permission to spend almost two weeks in June free writing -- the act of putting pen to blank page and just allowing my writer's imagination to wander. From those weeks, a plethora of completed first drafts emerged -- a Western for one of my publishers in Germany, a dystopian tale that sold on its first time out to another, and several flash tales. In and among that wonderful time of creativity, I penned a story about a woman who'd suffered from blood cancer, declared healthy following a radical procedure but with little memory or proof of the actual treatment. At night, she's haunted -- and taunted -- by images of a man in a cage with silver bars. "End of Nights", like the other stories written during that warm, bright spell, jumped from pen to page, and then its first draft went into my filing cabinets for possible future submission.
Two summers later, I pulled out the manuscript and submitted it to Lycan Valley Press's newest anthology, Final Masquerade. The project's wonderful editor, Stacey Turner, accepted "End" with a request for a little tweaking to the ending. That was a gray and humid Sunday. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed, and, rarest of rarities in this part of New Hampshire's North Country, we lost power. And so, by the waning battery charge in my laptop, I tackled that minor rewrite -- and actually scared myself as the storm raged outside!
Several of my talented co-authors shared the back-stories behind their stories in Final Masquerade.
Joshua Chaplinksky on "Mummer's Parade": "I wrote the original version for a different themed
anthology, one about clowns. I figured there’d be a lot of Pennywise-inspired
killer clown stories and I wanted my piece to stand out. I had the idea of
mummers in my head (probably from reading Game
of Thrones) and discovered there was
an actual thing called the mummer’s parade, so I started doing research into
that. That led to the idea of masks and ‘animals with human faces.’ The opening
came to me pretty early on -- Triboulet
was known throughout the realm for having the King’s ear. He wore it around his
neck on a silver chain -- and it just got weirder from there. Ultimately
the story was rejected, which was fortuitous, because it was too short and I am
much happier with the final product. When I came across the Lycan Valley
anthology call, I knew it was a perfect fit. I’m glad they agreed!"
Samantha Lienhard on "The Artist": "When I first wrote ‘The Artist,’ it was a very different
story. I’d heard a criticism of someone as not being a ‘real artist,’ and that
inspired the initial version of Ian -- a bitter, arrogant man out to ruin the
artist whose work got more attention than his. I wrote this story, and while it
covered the same basic beats as the version in Final Masquerade, it had one major problem: neither character was
likable. I took ‘The Artist’ to a critique session at Seton Hill University,
where I was working toward my MFA in Writing Popular Fiction. During that
critique, I not only realized this flaw, I also saw how Ian could be
sympathetic. I altered his past and revised the story through that lens, which led
to the version you see today."
Brian C. Baer on "Make Believe": "My girlfriend is a big fan of scary stories. Anytime she is
doing homework or housework or just dozing on the couch, she's listening to
them. Her phone is constantly playing the spooky, supposedly real life tales
read aloud on podcasts like "Creepy Pasta". I decided to write a
story for her but quickly ran into trouble. She was only scared by gritty
stories of psychological torment and life-or-death panic, and those were well outside
of my creative wheelhouse. As I kept hammering away at the various drafts, more
and more of my own interests leaked in. I added all-night dive bars, a noir-ish
sense of sarcasm and cynicism, and a love of the schlocky slasher films of the
1980s. The disparate elements all merged together in an unexpected way. ‘Make
Believe’ became a story of existential horror, of being terrified of the
randomness of real life. It explored what bizarre lengths mankind will go
through to find some kind of order. I finished the final draft, and I loved it.
Then I read it to my girlfriend. She said it wasn't scary enough."
Naching Kassa on "Hero": "‘Hero’ is a story near and dear to my heart. My
father was an Army veteran and a dog trainer. When he passed away in 2014, I
became involved with a charity called Operation Dog Tag. The purpose of ODT is
to provide veterans who suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and
other disabilities, with a dog who will assist them in routine activities. Not
only is the dog a helper, he is a companion and friend. I wrote ‘Hero’ to honor
these service dogs as well as the veterans they love. Sarge, the narrator of
the story, is a German Shepherd dog. He’s based on my dad’s dog, Ranger. Ranger
was one of the best dogs I have ever known. He was brave, strong, smart,
mischievous, and loyal. Sarge is loyal too, loyal to a fault. And, it’s his
love for his master and his mistress that leads him into the final masquerade.
I hope you enjoy reading this story and that you will take time to honor all
veterans, whoever they may be."
D. S. Ullery on "Delivery": "In the grand tradition
of EC Comics titles such as The Vault of
Horror or Tales from the Crypt,
my stories are frequently morality plays disguised as horror. I was wondering
what to write about next when I saw a news item about a serial rapist. I got to
thinking what sort of Hell would await a man like that. Once I began to apply
the notion of ironic justice to the equation, all manner of wonderfully dark
things started cooking inside my frankly twisted imagination. I hit upon the
notion of having him experience the same degree of torment he exposed women to
from their perspective, while feeling helpless the entire time. From that, my
little monstrosity was born."
Sheldon Woodbury on "The God of Flesh": "I’ve always been attracted to characters that engage in horrible acts,
but do so out of an emotional need we can all relate to. Stories that are just
about a mindless monster or a cartoon villain are easy to dismiss. But real
horror is when you realize you’re never truly safe, because bad things can happen
in the most innocent of places, and the cause might even be you. I came up with the title first, then the
idea of a surgeon as the main character came next. If you want guts and gore, they’re
bloody warriors fighting death every day. That takes more than a little
arrogance to believe that you have the godlike skill to cheat death. The story began
with a simple question. ‘How far would you be willing to go for the person you
love?’ ‘The God of Flesh’ is a horror story, but it’s also about the power of love."
Adrian Chamberlin on "Urban Renewal": "The Green Man and its mysteries is a
subject that has long fascinated me, as can be seen in my 2011 novel The Caretakers and the short story ‘The
Spirit of Summer’ (in the 2013
collection The Dark Side of the
Sun). I also love writing post-apocalyptic stories, and exploring how
humanity either thrives or destroys itself under such extreme conditions, when
new standards of morality have been established. With this story, I wanted to
put a new spin on the Green Man mythos and explore what really lurks beneath
the mask of civilisation when the bombs have long since dropped and mankind believes
itself to be redeemed. ‘Urban Renewal’ takes place in a post- apocalyptic
Britain where social divisions are stark, and the few areas that survived have
raised barriers -- real and imagined -- between their prosperous lands and the
industrial areas blighted by nuclear destruction. The relationship between
humanity and the natural world has become perverted, twisted; a promised land
for those who believe themselves to be superior, even blessed. This new
civilisation is merely a mask that hides the dark nature of humanity, and as is
always the case, it is the innocent who suffer -- we see this in the alienation
of the orphan boy from the wasted lands who arrives at the new boarding school
in this seemingly bucolic paradise; he is alone, alienated and isolated, but
has a unique artistic talent that peels back the fake mask of beauty and order
to reveal a primal force of nature that too has become corrupted. It is the eve
of May Day, and the schoolchildren have been tasked with creating models of the
Green Man, an iconic image that appears in churches and cathedrals throughout
Britain; it is an archetype of humanity’s connection to the natural world. What
the boy creates reverses that. It is a mask of the Green Man in retreat,
composed of scrap metal and dangerous materials from the devastated lands of
the apocalypse that he once called home, and an act of malice from one of his
schoolmates awakens the power within the icon -- and himself."
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