Editor's Preface to the First Issue

Benjamin Vandersluis

When I opened the submission window for this inaugural issue of The Deeps, I thought I might receive a total of roughly eighty submissions. That sounded like a good number for the first submission call of an unknown press. With eighty submissions, I reasoned I could select the best ten or so works and use them to produce the magazine’s first issue, which a handful of people might buy, and I would be happy with that. Eighty submissions, fingers crossed.

I received forty on the first day.

By the end of the submission window, I had received nearly five hundred, of which I accepted fourteen pieces that simply ensnared me in the most delightful ways. “Send us your hauntings,” I had written as the slogan of the submission call, and that’s exactly what these tales are: hauntings of the mind, the body, the soul, the shadowlands. I say that I “accepted” these pieces, but the truth is that they would not let me forget them. I am beyond delighted to share them with you in this first issue of The Deeps.

We begin our journey with “A Cautionary Tale,” a flash fiction that captures the essence of what it means for a place to be haunted. You may think you know hauntings, but you don’t. The shadows were here before you, and they will be here long after. The best you can hope for is to make it out alive.

Next up is “In the Thundering House,” a poem about an abandoned house that is not, and has never been, truly empty. When a storm forces you to take shelter, the Thundering House will welcome you eagerly, that much is certain. Getting out, however, is a different matter altogether.

If you think that’s strange, you haven’t seen anything yet. “Stranger than Shitty Sheets and Rubber Ding-Dongs” follows the account of Gwen, who cleans rooms at a cheap rural motel. You’d expect that Gwen has seen some unusual things in her line of work, and you’d be right—but you don’t know the half of it.

The next tale marks the first of several stories that participate in a theme of feminine agency that organically arose in this issue. “Consent” is a story about the power a woman has—and doesn’t have—in a world dominated by men. While I consider the story to be one of psychological horror, I found that this one haunted me in ways that are difficult to categorize. It is not an easy story to define, nor easy to forget.

“The Leaking Faucet” is a poem of psychological horror that evokes the atmosphere of that campfire classic, “Drip, Drip, Drip.” But as the story unfolds, you’ll find that this is not at all the campfire tale you remember. The dripping sound is enough to drive you insane—even, perhaps, to kill.

We return to our theme of feminine agency with “The Female Pygmalion,” a flash story that toys with your understanding of mythology, of free will, of power dynamics in a patriarchal society. Many developed nations claim the label of “freedom,” but as many of us already know, some bodies enjoy that freedom more than others. Attempting to subvert those norms is an act of insurrection, one that comes with a price.

Similar questions of agency and patriarchy are pursued in “A Hollow Comes Before the Sting,” the story of a woman named Linna, who finds herself unwittingly in a relationship that takes from her far more than it gives in return. Feeling cornered, Linna copes with her situation in an unusual way, and in the process finds an unexpected ally. But one can only cope with the loss of oneself for so long before there is a reckoning.

In the next tale, a woman lives by a strict set of “House Rules” that keep a ghost at bay and make her existence bearable. But as each rule is added to the one before, a story begins to take shape, and we begin to understand the nature of this haunting. So if you want to keep the ghost at bay, keep your mirrors covered and be careful not to listen to thatsong, not ever. You’ll be safe, at least for a while.

In the poem “genius loci,” a woman wrestles with an existential examination of her most imminent haunting—the woman who lives in her bathroom mirror. Which of them has control over the other? Who is the puppet master, and who wears the strings? As the riddles swirl, a deeper question lingers: What does it mean to be haunted by yourself?

Of course, not all of these tales are about a haunting, per se. Some horrors are all too real, like the rising of the oceans. In “The Sea-Change,” a family of four seeks shelter from the rising tide in a government facility that promises them safety, perhaps even a future. But as time wears on, the hope of a future slowly sinks with the rising sea level, and the things that swim past the windows are not the marine wildlife you remember from the aquarium. You knew your move to the facility would change you forever—but you didn’t understand exactly what the stakes were.

Creepy dolls are a staple of gothic storytelling, but the dolls in “Inner Dark” reimagine this trope with a new twist. The story is set on a summer day when young Loreen amuses herself by defacing three heirloom porcelain dolls that have been in the family for generations. But as the day passes, it becomes apparent that other forces are at play, and Loreen’s actions are far from inconsequential.

We return to the ocean in “Blood of the Sea,” the story of a woman named Marina who is tormented by urges she doesn’t understand. Her quest for answers takes her to a reclusive hermit who has found something strange in the waters near shore, the origins of which threaten to rewrite everything Marina thinks she knows about who—and what—she is.

In keeping with a coastal setting, “The Widow’s Cottage” is a sorrowful poem about a seaside cottage that endures as a reminder of grief and loss. Its previous owners are long gone, but would-be buyers of the estate know all too well that the stain of death has a way of lingering.

The final tale in this issue is a gothic fantasy, one that explores the allure of dark sorcery—and the cost of allowing such Low Arts to thrive unchecked. “The Sins of Scrivel” follows the story of Greta, a servant of Master Twofour, who believes she can correct the errant ways of an old servant named Scrivel. She takes the man under her wing, but his proclivity for the Low Arts proves more deeply ingrained than Greta first believed, threatening to bring the Master’s estate to its knees.

These, then, are the fourteen tales presented for your enjoyment in this inaugural issue of The Deeps. Each tugs at a different dark thread, and each has haunted me in various ways and for various reasons. By my estimation, the mark of a truly excellent tale is that it lingers in your mind long after you’ve ceased to read. I hope these tales haunt you as well, in the best way imaginable.

And for the love of all things monstrous and grim, please share them.

B. V.

22 May, 2023

“Editor’s Preface” by Benjamin Vandersluis © 2023