Deeps 2 Preface

Benjamin Vandersluis

Some years ago, when my affinity for horror was fresh and vigorous and I was still becoming acquainted with the who’s-who of the horror community, I came across an anthology by Scott J. Moses called What One Wouldn’t Do. Described as an anthology of “grief horror,” What One Wouldn’t Do channeled the mutual pain of the COVID pandemic (along with other deep emotions that we, in Western culture, are often loath to express) into a number of horror stories and poems that embodied that theme. Taken individually, each piece packed a punch into the gut of the reader, placing a finger on the pulse of a particular fear, hardship, struggle, or remorse. Collectively, What One Wouldn’t Do forced its reader to reckon with the raw energy of desire, passion, sacrifice, and loss. To this day, What One Wouldn’t Do remains a favorite on my shelf of anthologies and collections, a reminder of the rich well of significance that can be found in this genre, and the impact it can have.

I’ve thought a lot about What One Wouldn’t Do during my time working on this issue of The Deeps. I didn’t specify a theme when I opened the submission window for this issue, and yet each of these seven stories taps into the same deep well that I fondly associate with What One Wouldn’t Do, addressing issues of mortality, grief, and resilience. In this issue you will find stories of death and reckoning, of betrayal and revenge, of love and remorse, of the utmost sacrifice and the deepest regret. These are dark tales—some darker than I tend to prefer—but they touch upon such a raw, heartfelt nerve that I find every one of them more than earns its place in this issue. Yes, even the darkest of them. Perhaps especially the darkest of them.

The first story in this issue is “The Living at Eyminster,” a gothic tale set in a remote village. When Reverend Siller is sent to replace the previous vicar at the church in Eyminster, the village folk are wary of the newcomer, but nonetheless rely on him to discreetly fulfill a vital role on the final Sunday of each calendar year. Plagued by the burden of his secret knowledge, Reverend Siller becomes increasingly unsettled. Where do his loyalties lie: to the living, or to the dead?

In our second tale, “Dead Horse,” Ruster is a migrant farm-worker who has found temporary employment working on the Steinway family ranch, one of many agrarian and pastoral enterprises struggling to endure the recent years of drought. When a horse dies unexpectedly, Ruster is tasked to dig a grave for the beast—but while he digs, he learns that all is not as it seems at the Steinway ranch. Thrown into events that defy Ruster’s knowledge of the world, the ranch hand quickly discovers exactly how dangerous a drought can be.

The next story is “Haunted,” the tale of two women whose spirits linger among the living after their violent deaths. As they adjust to their new reality as spirits, they are forced to reckon with the nature of their deaths, and to decide what path to take now that they have passed through death’s veil. There is an injustice to their deaths that remains unresolved. Revenge is at their fingertips, if that is what they should choose.

In “Amoret,” we meet a girl who lives in the walls of a most inhospitable house, and has fallen prey to the ill will that dwells there. When another girl enters the house, Amoret resolves to spare the newcomer from the fate that she befell, but doing so will require tact, patience, and careful planning. Amoret knows all about the malevolence that dwells in this house—and the consequences of attracting its attention. She will race against the clock to rescue her companion before the house claims the both of them, forever.

“After the Fire” is a story of a young man’s grief as he struggles to accept the sudden death of his friend, who perished with his family in a tragic house fire. When he hears a rumor that the ruins of the house harbor a supernatural connection to the past, the young man rushes to investigate, uncertain of what he will find. His grief-filled mind craves resolution in the face of life’s most unanswerable questions. He dreams of a world beyond this one, behind this one, a world that has answers and meaning. Perhaps, in the burnt-out husk of his friend’s home, he will find what he seeks.

The penultimate story in this issue is also the only flash piece among this group of stories. “It’s Not So Bad Living in the Zombie Apocalypse” is a story that offers a startling glimpse of a world plagued by the ravenous undead. Through the eyes of a survivor, we see the struggles that must be faced to stay alive in this broken world. In the midst of such turmoil, it can be tempting to think that death might bring relief from the suffering . . . but death has its own surprises, and a mind of its own.

In our final tale, “Estranged,” we come home to a quiet house, where a letter has been left for us on the mantelpiece. There is something familiar about this handwriting, isn’t there? Something from long ago; something we’ve worked very hard to forget. But while we have gaily carried on with our lives, our mysterious visitor has returned on the dark winds of fate to deliver a judgment long overdue. We will be forced to remember the sins we once buried so deep, for not all skeletons remain buried. Sometimes they grow wings, and fly home.

The stories in this issue are not entirely uniform. Some deal with death directly, like “Eyminster,” “Haunted,” and “Zombie Apocalypse.” Some focus more on grief, like “After the Fire.” Still others wrestle more with themes of resilience and hardship, like “Dead Horse,” “Amoret,” and “Estranged.” But the one thing all of these stories have in common is this: in each case, the main characters are forced to confront themselves, and to determine what they are willing to do to protect their sense of self. Their plots and settings vary widely, but at their core, each story attempts to address the questions: What am I willing to sacrifice to remain ‘me’? If I lose myself, what do I become, and how do I get myself back?

I hope you enjoy the crop of stories in this issue of The Deeps. More than that: I hope they haunt you, that they linger in your mind for days, that you rise to the cognitive and existential challenge each one presents. I hope they speak to you.

May they be your dark companions in this autumnal season.

B. V.

12 September 2023

“Editor’s Preface” by Benjamin Vandersluis © 2023