Aggregate: Stories at the Intersection of Science Fiction and Horror
Independently Published 02/10/2020
What, exactly, are stories at the intersection of science fiction and horror?
Science fiction stories often look to worlds bursting with imagination, or exploring the impact of a speculative future. And while horror stories can be written for superficial spooks, the best ones dig deep and compel an introspection that may be uncomfortable. There’s an overlap that ties the two genres together, where sociology meets terror, and where technology collides with the human condition.
This collection of thirteen stories explores have the potential to make you reflect on the world and on your place within it. Each story deals with human nature, and what it means to live in this complex and changing world at this strange time in history.
* Joanne Anderton – Ten Thousand Gates
* Avra Margariti – Meat and Sugar
* Keith Rosson – This World or the Next
* Erica Ciko Campbell – Macrophages
* Casey Reinhardt – Koru
* Claire Davon – Acceptance
* Dona McCormack – Stars in her Eyes
* Lee Clark Zumpe – The Luxury of Helplessness
* Eric Nash – April Showers
* Peri Dwyer Worrell – Tongue
* Lillie E. Franks – Catechism in the House of the Great Father
* Rebecca Ruth Gould – Like a Cavafy Poem
A melody came to her; something soft and sad, appearing to waft toward her on a gentle breeze, except there was no wind inside her house. The melody was just a snippet, and fell at the glass. She strained her ear for the beautiful lilt, catching a whisper of it before it faded.
The tree seemed to move. Frances’ heart beat faster and she blinked, and then realized it was just the after image of having gazed at something for too long. Adrenaline surged through her. She could go out there. She could go out again and…do what? Her earlier attempt had been bold, yet foolhardy. She had fled rather than face the asshole, had run instead of packing and leaving and had lost everything as a result. She had been afraid then just like she was now.
She had to force herself to look away from the window, turning to the clock. 3:06. It would be light in a few hours. Maybe if she just stared at the tree the whole night the tapping wouldn’t start again. She felt weirdly reluctant to do that and yet was loath to turn away. She wanted it to stop even as she found the rhythm repeating in her head, and her fingers tapping in time on the mattress. She did want it to stop, didn’t she?
Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap.