The Children of Old Leech: A Tribute to the Carnivorous Cosmos of Laird Barron by Ross E. Lockhart, Justin Steele
Authors: Ross E. Lockhart, Justin Steele
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Chinaman doctor of yours wouldn’t know his ass from an aspirin, Miss Sung. Whatever potion or poison he gave you won’t work, not on me.”
“Why did you come here?” Wah demanded, rolling the larva around on her tongue as Mr. Kernochan came closer. He could reach up and touch her slipper now, if he wished. “Why me? I don’t think you needed us to recover your book.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said the pale man, his face rippling as he spoke, as though his skin were coming loose from his jawbones. “It’s all a question of potency, Miss Sung. In Old Cathay, sorcerers believed the strongest toxin came from shutting up several venomous creatures in a jug or box. They devoured one another in the dark, and whichever one remained in the end would have the combined strength of all. The concentrated poison of such an animal could have all sorts of applications.”
“If I go with you, you’ll leave my father alone,” Wah said, tightening her hand on the medicine secreted in her skirts. “You hear me? You leave him alone.”
“Don’t worry on that account.” Mr. Kernochan smiled, his yellow teeth squirming like pupae. He rested a long-fingered hand on the banister, set a foot on the bottom step. It was bare, his toes even paler than the rest of him. “Your father will never be alone again, Miss Sung.”
Dr. Yam’s prescription came free of her skirts, but her elbow knocked the lantern over, its already pitiful light snuffed out as it fell. In the blackness she could hear Mr. Kernochan panting, her own heart pounding, and the silkworms squirming, but not the lantern landing on the next step. It seemed to be falling forever. Just like Wah.
“What do you have there?” Mr. Kernochan’s voice blew warm and wet against her exposed ankles, stirring the edge of her skirts. “Whatever herbs that quack gave you won’t help.”
“No herbs,” she said, steadying one hand with the other, focusing on the spot where his rich, earthy breath emanated from the inky basement.
“Taoist witchcraft, then? Or wushu?” Fingers that felt like worms brushed against her ankle, leaving a tacky trail as they pushed up her calf. “Some other ancient Chinese secret?”
“Something like that,” said Wah, the iron digging into her thumb as she levered the hammer back.
“Wait,” he said, perhaps recognizing the tell-tale click, but she didn’t stop. The first muzzle flash illuminated something quite different from what she expected, and it filled her stomach with warmth… warmth and eagerness for what lay ahead. The next shot filled the basement with white light, and he was only Mr. Kernochan again, his body flopping like a landed carp as the second bullet struck. The breast of his black suit flapped wetly with the third shot.
And the fourth.
And the fifth.
Then it was quiet in the basement for a very long time.
Wah groped her way up the stairs and stumbled into the dim shop. She steadied herself against a shelf and looked longingly toward the table where she and her father had drunk so many cups of tea. It wasn’t too late. The only voice she now heard drumming in her head was her own. It wasn’t too late…
Then she went to the third aisle, inspecting the knives on the top shelf. Wah Sung took her time selecting one that seemed ideal for skinning, and then she went back down into the sweet and silken darkness.
Walpurgisnacht
Orrin Grey
O n the train, Nicky told me about the Brocken Spectre. “It’s a sort of optical illusion,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Nicky was younger than me, and prettier, and his dark hair fell in front of his face whenever he slouched, which was often. “The sun casts a giant shadow of you on the clouds below, right, and your head gets this prismatic halo. Like an angel.”
“I hear the sun only shines here like sixty days a year,” I said. “Besides, it’s night.” I was only half-listening anyway, my head lolling against the cool glass of the
“Why did you come here?” Wah demanded, rolling the larva around on her tongue as Mr. Kernochan came closer. He could reach up and touch her slipper now, if he wished. “Why me? I don’t think you needed us to recover your book.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said the pale man, his face rippling as he spoke, as though his skin were coming loose from his jawbones. “It’s all a question of potency, Miss Sung. In Old Cathay, sorcerers believed the strongest toxin came from shutting up several venomous creatures in a jug or box. They devoured one another in the dark, and whichever one remained in the end would have the combined strength of all. The concentrated poison of such an animal could have all sorts of applications.”
“If I go with you, you’ll leave my father alone,” Wah said, tightening her hand on the medicine secreted in her skirts. “You hear me? You leave him alone.”
“Don’t worry on that account.” Mr. Kernochan smiled, his yellow teeth squirming like pupae. He rested a long-fingered hand on the banister, set a foot on the bottom step. It was bare, his toes even paler than the rest of him. “Your father will never be alone again, Miss Sung.”
Dr. Yam’s prescription came free of her skirts, but her elbow knocked the lantern over, its already pitiful light snuffed out as it fell. In the blackness she could hear Mr. Kernochan panting, her own heart pounding, and the silkworms squirming, but not the lantern landing on the next step. It seemed to be falling forever. Just like Wah.
“What do you have there?” Mr. Kernochan’s voice blew warm and wet against her exposed ankles, stirring the edge of her skirts. “Whatever herbs that quack gave you won’t help.”
“No herbs,” she said, steadying one hand with the other, focusing on the spot where his rich, earthy breath emanated from the inky basement.
“Taoist witchcraft, then? Or wushu?” Fingers that felt like worms brushed against her ankle, leaving a tacky trail as they pushed up her calf. “Some other ancient Chinese secret?”
“Something like that,” said Wah, the iron digging into her thumb as she levered the hammer back.
“Wait,” he said, perhaps recognizing the tell-tale click, but she didn’t stop. The first muzzle flash illuminated something quite different from what she expected, and it filled her stomach with warmth… warmth and eagerness for what lay ahead. The next shot filled the basement with white light, and he was only Mr. Kernochan again, his body flopping like a landed carp as the second bullet struck. The breast of his black suit flapped wetly with the third shot.
And the fourth.
And the fifth.
Then it was quiet in the basement for a very long time.
Wah groped her way up the stairs and stumbled into the dim shop. She steadied herself against a shelf and looked longingly toward the table where she and her father had drunk so many cups of tea. It wasn’t too late. The only voice she now heard drumming in her head was her own. It wasn’t too late…
Then she went to the third aisle, inspecting the knives on the top shelf. Wah Sung took her time selecting one that seemed ideal for skinning, and then she went back down into the sweet and silken darkness.
Walpurgisnacht
Orrin Grey
O n the train, Nicky told me about the Brocken Spectre. “It’s a sort of optical illusion,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Nicky was younger than me, and prettier, and his dark hair fell in front of his face whenever he slouched, which was often. “The sun casts a giant shadow of you on the clouds below, right, and your head gets this prismatic halo. Like an angel.”
“I hear the sun only shines here like sixty days a year,” I said. “Besides, it’s night.” I was only half-listening anyway, my head lolling against the cool glass of the
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