And Then I Woke Up

by Malcolm Devlin

She once told me when you say you’re going to tell people a horror story, they sit up in their chairs defensively, waiting to see you fail. When you tell them it’s a love story, they relax, they open themselves wide. Macey used to write horror stories she sold as love stories. She took a certain pleasure in seeing her audience find themselves out of their depth.

People who work in bookshops are the worst. They’re . . . I dunno, capitalist librarians.”

“They’re monsters. Everywhere,” she said. “Macey, it’s Family Day. They’re only kids, high on sugar—” “No, Spence, they’re monsters. Literally. They’re eating the customers.” I looked at her. “They’re not eating the customers,” I said. “They are! Jesus Spence, what do you think that noise is? People are screaming.” And she was right, they were.