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    Harbingers: Dark Tales of Speculative Fiction
    Harbingers: Dark Tales of Speculative Fiction
    Harbingers: Dark Tales of Speculative Fiction
    Ebook72 pages1 hour

    Harbingers: Dark Tales of Speculative Fiction

    By Icy Sedgwick

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    About this ebook

    These fifteen tales of the weird and wonderful are collected together for the first time, spanning fantasy, horror, sci fi and speculative fiction. Harbingers is a veritable Cabinet of Curiosities for fans of weird tales! If you enjoy the writing of Neil Gaiman or Ray Bradbury, then you might just see the wonder by strolling through these dark shadows.

    In the title story, 'Harbingers', portentous visitors try to warn a young woman who fails to grasp their importance; a washed-up actress seeks to prolong her pact with a Greek goddess in a hotel bathroom; a porcelain woman awaits the return of her maker on a lonely rooftop; and a Resurrection man rethinks his career choices in Victorian London. 

    Harbingers also includes the pulp adventure tale, One Woman Cure, and a Grey O'Donnell ghost story, A Christmas Ghost Story in the West. You can also get a complimentary copy when you sign up to my mailing list at eepurl.com/ftkoE.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIcy Sedgwick
    Release dateFeb 22, 2016
    ISBN9781524231019
    Harbingers: Dark Tales of Speculative Fiction
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    Author

    Icy Sedgwick

    Icy Sedgwick was born in the North East of England, and lives and works in Newcastle, where she teaches graphic design and illustration. She spends her non-writing time working on a PhD in Film Studies, considering the use of set design in contemporary horror. Icy is also a secret evil genius who enjoys good chocolate cake.

    Read more from Icy Sedgwick

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      Book preview

      Harbingers - Icy Sedgwick

      Foreword

      Twelve of these fifteen stories were originally published in a range of anthologies and have been collected here for your convenience and enjoyment. Three are stories that I think you’ll like. If you enjoy reading this collection, then please consider leaving me a review to help other readers find Harbingers! Have a good read!

      Harbingers

      I never knew if I really saw it, or if I simply imagined it. A body, draped across the low tide of the Thames. Bloated skin shone white against the black mud. Or did it? The train left the scene behind before I could look twice. Yet the newspapers, normally so exuberant about death and depravity, remained silent about any corpses washed up south of the Thames.

      I confided in my best friend.

      You probably just imagined it, said Claire. You have been under a lot of stress at work.

      I nodded over tea and homemade muffins, though I disagreed. Plenty of people have stressful jobs, but they don’t imagine dead bodies.

      My mother put it down to latent morbidity, reminding me of my teenage Goth phase and preference for crime novels. My boyfriend suggested that I mistook a pile of rubbish for a body. I hadn’t had time to look twice, so my brain made up the scene based on the serial killer book I was reading. I liked Patrick’s theory the best. Content that the corpse was just waterborne detritus, I resolved to think of it no more.

      The resolution held firm for three days. On the fourth day, I saw another dead body. This one hung out of the open passenger door of a burned out car, abandoned on waste ground. I saw it from the window of the bus, catching my eye as we pulled up at the traffic lights. I asked the man beside me if he’d seen it too, but all I got was a blank look. The newspapers kept their own counsel about dead bodies found in cars. I couldn’t remember which patch of waste ground it had been; I couldn’t go back to check.

      Claire advised I book a quiet holiday somewhere warm. She recommended a little village near Malaga. She still thought stress overworked my imagination. Patrick thought logically. He asked if maybe I hadn’t seen a body hanging out of the car, but rather I’d seen a dog trying to climb in. My mother threw a fit of hysterics and told me to see a shrink. I promised to book an appointment.

      I forgot to call anyone and three days later, I saw my third dead body. The taxi took me home from a late night at the office, rolling down quiet residential streets as the red numbers flicked higher on the meter. A silhouette of a body hung in the brightly lit upstairs window of a smart townhouse. I should have phoned someone, maybe tried to fetch help. But I didn’t. I said nothing to the driver, knowing he would have seen nothing. I told no one. I didn’t pause to check the newspapers, and the obituaries went unread.

      Two days later, I crossed the road near my flat and saw them all again, this time together. They stood in a row outside the betting shop. A woman; blue veins snaked across her wet and blotchy naked skin. A man; hideously burned, his teeth showing through gaping wounds in his cheek. Another woman; her face swollen and black, an electrical cord embracing her throat.

      I froze.

      I didn’t hear the car horn, or the squeal of brakes. I didn’t feel the impact of two thousand two hundred eighty eight pounds of steel, or the sickening crunch when I hit the tarmac. I didn’t see the growing crowd of morbid onlookers, and I didn’t hear the wail of approaching sirens.

      I did feel three pairs of hands help me to my feet. I thought perhaps I would go with them.

      The Resurrection Men

      Midnight mist swirled around my ankles. I stumbled, my foot caught under a tree root. At least, I hoped it was a tree root. I didn’t want to think what else might grab my foot in a cemetery.

      So what you’re saying is, you won’t steal, you won’t run any doxies, and you won’t get a job. How else do you expect us to make money? asked Will.

      I noticed he didn’t struggle with the sack. Perk of leading a gang, I suppose. We do all the hard work, he gets the glory.

      Well, not this. It’s robbin’ bodies, Will! Diggin’ up graves. It’s not right, replied John.

      I couldn't see him in the gloom but his reedy voice carried on the still air.

      It’s not exactly diggin’ ‘em up when the diggers leave the bloody graves open, is it? said Will.

      "Think about it, John. The

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