Out There Screaming: An Anthology of New Black Horror

by Jordan Peele

dead women file no lawsuits.

Original: dead men tell no tales. Cleopatra's tutor

sometimes a baton is just a baton,

Original: cigar... Freud?

Listen! Or she’ll snatch you and leave a shell in your place. The story goes on, but I always covered Lovelie’s ears after that part. She got too caught up in stories, especially if she’d heard them before, and would have nightmares for weeks. We’d heard enough to know the truth in the tale: tragedy can strike without reason and leave no meaning in its wake.

Not-Marie stared up at the two of us on land, and I understood. Depth. Time. Air. All that didn’t matter to her. I stopped counting.

“Your eyes…they’re so…blue.” The fear and wonder in his voice dripping with contempt. Covering my mouth with his, he forced his tongue into my mouth. Still cold from the ice cream, I numbly felt it wriggling around in there. Drawing away, I slapped the living shit out of him so hard my ice cream scoop toppled from my cone and onto his shoe.