Inferno: New Tales of Terror and the Supernatural

Inferno: New Tales of Terror and the Supernatural

Ellen Datlow

Language: English

Pages: 384

ISBN: 0765315580

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

As stated in her introduction to Inferno, Ellen Datlow asked her favorite authors for stories that would "provide the reader with a frisson of shock, or a moment of dread so powerful it might cause the reader outright physical discomfort; or a sensation of fear so palpable that the reader feels compelled to turn on the bright lights and play music or seek the company of others to dispel the fear."
Mission accomplished. Datlow has produced a collection filled with some of the most powerful voices in the field: Pat Cadigan, Terry Dowling, Jeffrey Ford, Christopher Fowler, Glen Hirshberg, K. W. Jeter, Joyce Carol Oates, and Lucius Shepard, to name a few. Each author approaches fear in a different way, but all of the stories' characters toil within their own hell. An aptly titled anthology, Inferno will scare the pants off readers and further secure Ellen Datlow's standing as a preeminent editor of modern horror.

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with bits from the weeds and tall grasses that cloaked our sin, with the wind in our faces and our lives yet to be lived. For want of anything to say, I scooted forward and hung my head down so I could see beneath the overhang. Just below the lip, a chunk of earth had been ripped from the cliff face, laying bare a tangle of roots, some thick as a child’s arm, from which sprang the spindly shrub that poked up beside me, producing from its topmost twig a single pink bloom, the sum of all that

is to be commended for her body of work, and this latest collection of hers deserves to be widely read.” —Dayton City Paper “Datlow’s Inferno is a legend-in-the-making anthology that should find a home on your bookshelf between Prime Evil and The Descent of Horror. This is the real deal, folks.” —J. L. Comeau, “This must for fans of horror is a strange and motley array of stories. While there is no theme per se, there is a pervasive sense of loss, vengeance, and horror

their writhing and a deep, resonant vibration traveled through it and into them where it yammered through their blood and bones. She kissed him fiercely, viciously, and locked her thighs over his hips and squeezed until he gasped and kissed her back. She did not relinquish her fistful of his hair and she did not close her eyes. He stared into them and saw a ghost of a girl he knew and his own gaunt reflection, which he did not know at all. They were sinking. Nadine stopped sucking at him and

the wet pull of her life; to save her. She unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out. “There we go, honey, that’s what I’m talking about. Ain’t you something.” After a couple of minutes she released him and stood up. He tucked himself back in and zipped his pants, afraid to make eye contact with her. “Maybe you just had too much to drink,” she said. “Yeah.” “It ain’t nothing.” “I know it isn’t,” he said harshly. When she made no move to leave, he said, “Will you just get the fuck away

correct angles around my head so that I could see the progress of the operation clearly. An injection of 2ccs of lidocaine in my forehead served as an anesthetic. I cut a V-shaped flap of skin, drew it back to expose the skull beneath, and proceeded to drill through bone and marrow. The noise and the vibration were terrible. The drilling went on for an hour. Often I had to stop in order to wash away the blood running down my face and into my eyes. I felt as if my head would split apart before I

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