The Mammoth Book of the Best of Best New Horror (Two Decades of Dark Fiction)
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For twenty years The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror has been recognized as the world's foremost annual showcase of horror and dark fantasy fiction. Now, with one story from each year in which it has been published, from 1989 to 2008, representing the work of dozens of authors, many of them acknowledged as the foremost practitioners of the genre, multi-award-winning editor Stephen Jones looks back on two decades of superb writing to bring readers the ultimate horror fiction anthology.
With names such as Ramsey Campbell, Christopher Fowler, Neil Gaiman, Michael Marshall Smith, Paul J. McAuley and Lisa Tuttle, this collection represents a true landmark in horror fiction publishing.
trade, physical punishment of a female subject invariably begins with the act most associated in the feminine mind with humiliation of the most rigorous sort. With males the same is generally true. Neglect this step, and you lose an advantage which can never be regained. It is the foundation without which the structure cannot stand, and the foundation must be set in place even when conditions make the job distasteful, which is no picnic, take my word for it.” He shook his head and fell silent.
reflections, to infinity. It seems at last that he is simply not there. Dissolve 12. Int. Dracula’s Crypt – Faint Dawn – 1885 A very long shot of Dracula’s enormous catafalque, silhouetted against the enormous window. Dissolve 13. Int. Dracula’s Crypt – Faint Dawn – 1885 An eye. An incredible one. Big impossible drops of bloody tears, the reflections of figures coming closer, cutting implements raised. The jingling of sleigh bells in the musical score now makes an ironic reference to Indian
concluded, almost sadly. “Gené, I have never been accused of lack of ego. My largeness of spirit, my sense of self-worth, is part of my act, as it were. The armour I must needs haul on to do my daily battles. But I am not blind to my situation. No producer in his right mind would bankroll me to such an extent, would offer me such a deal. Not even these kids, this Spielberg and that Lucas, could get such a sweetheart deal. I am as responsible for that as anyone. The studios of today may be owned
from it, gazing at her coolly. “We’re none of us working on our PhDs anymore.” Janie shrugged. “That’s all right.” “It’s not even all that interesting. I mean, it can be very repetitive. Tedious.” “I don’t mind.” A sudden pang of anxiety made Janie’s voice break. She could feel her face growing hot, and quickly looked away. “Really,” she said sullenly. “Suit yourself. Coffee’s over there; you’ll probably have to clean yourself a cup, though.” He cocked his head, staring at her curiously, then
hell – this was 1987, wasn’t it? “Yes,” Geoff finally answered. “Together.” “Ah!” the other nodded, grinned, appraised Gwen again with a raised eyebrow, before stamping her passport and handing it over. Wall-eyed bastard! Geoff thought. When they passed through the gate in the barrier, the other wall-eyed bastard had disappeared . . . Stepping through the automatic glass doors from the shade of the airport building into the sunlight of the coach terminus was like opening the door of a