The Lesser Dead

by Christopher Buehlman

I’m going to take you someplace dark and damp where good people don’t go. I’m going to introduce you to monsters. Real ones. I’m going to tell you stories about hurting people, and if you like those stories, it means you’re bad.

“There comes a time when loneliness is stronger than fear.” “Well, that’s depressing.” He nodded.

The Yorkie’s name was Solly, but you don’t give a shit. Other people’s dogs are boring. Suffice it to say that a dad, a cook, and a dog can just about make up for a mom.

Nearly identical in appearance to gentler honeybees of European origin, the African bees quickly dominate the hives of the less aggressive strains. But that’s nature, isn’t it? Nice guys really do, really always finish last.

Then he said something I didn’t understand. It sounded like Many, many tickle a parson. But it wasn’t in English.

was half-scalped, the fucking can of hair spray dislocated my hip and tore the bejesus out of my coat pocket but somehow didn’t pop and got so twisted up in my shirt it didn’t come loose.

Dang. I thought he was going to use it in the kids. Like an action movie.

The most solid thing on my person was the hair spray can, and I was so dazed I stuck that can down the front of my pants like I was shoplifting it.

the weak ones so badly frightened we’d never dream about returning, except perhaps years later, after they were gone again, to write a warning on the wall. NO, REALLY, DON’T TRUST THE CHILDREN.

After mooring at the Sandy Hook Yacht Club for several weeks, the Étoile Mordante made