2015 World Fantasy Award for Best Short Fiction, and “Eyes Exchange Bank” was selected for the inaugural (2014) edition of The Year’s Best Weird Fiction . He hosts “The Outer Dark,” a weekly podcast on Project iRadio featuring interviews with writers and artists in the ongoing Weird Renaissance. His second collection, And at My Back I Always Hear , approaches completion. For more information, visit www.scottnicolay.com.
Also by Scott Nicolay
Ana Kai Tangata
The Bad Outer Space
Do You Like to Look At Monsters?
after
The Croaker
For the stolen children
Noctuidae
. . . it’s easy enough to think of most of us as deep-sea fishes of a kind.
CHARLES FORT
The river flowed right over the road in places but they crossed it barely slowing. A trickle only a few inches deep right now, Sue-Min knew it meant the folks who lived in this canyon were stuck here during floods, maybe months at a time.
They probably didn’t mind.
If you lived here of your own free will, you had to be happy here. You probably weren’t that interested in human company, at least not from outside. You probably had supplies laid in to last a while. And a generator.
She could see the appeal. Deep in and well down Forest Road 281, the Blue River Canyon opened eventually into a narrow valley, widest on the west side of the river, such as it was. There the view stretched to near green hills rising right to green mountains, behind these a higher rolling row of purple mountains— majesties! —her backbrain sung the full phrase on its own, fragment from her earliest encounters with English—and beyond and above these a line of blue-gray peaks higher still in the haze, the sort of range one might mistake for clouds in the twilight, if the twilight were the sort in which one might also mistake clouds for mountains.
Sue-Min let her head slump back against the weathered seatback’s cracked black leather, willing to let the scenery settle her edginess. It really was a damn fine day, despite her half hangover and shitty mood. As much of the sky as she could see overhead was unbroken turquoise. Maybe their day, their hike, would go okay despite it all.
So far, nothing went the way they planned on this trip. First Pete’s date cancelled and left them three instead of four. Sue-Min tried to hint to Ron her discomfort with this configuration but he remained oblivious. What could she do? If Ron went, she was going too.
Then the ranchers.
What their topo map failed to show them was how 281, the only road down the Blue River, led straight onto a private ranch, ended there in fact, wide open cattle gate but handpainted NO TRESPASSING signs nailed to the grooved and massive cottonwood trunk beside it. Red paint. Their intended trailhead into Forest Service land and the Middle Blue lay somewhere beyond this private holding.
Though Pete never slowed as he passed the signs, Sue-Min saw them clearly on her side despite the overhanging foliage and shade. She drew in breath to call attention to the warnings, then exhaled. Pete must know what he was doing. Perhaps he met with the landowners in advance, squared things away. She hadn’t paid much attention when he and Ron were planning—as a rule, she avoided Pete as much as possible—though she had to admit she was curious to meet his date for this backpacking trip, wanted to see what kind of girl would agree to a remote overnight hike with such a creeper. Only she wouldn’t meet the mystery date, not this time. Easy to see why she cancelled—if she ever existed in the first place.
Pete drove on past a squat weathered ranch house, torn orange gingham curtains hanging askew in the windows, fabric likely once red now paled from long sun. They passed
Also by Scott Nicolay
Ana Kai Tangata
The Bad Outer Space
Do You Like to Look At Monsters?
after
The Croaker
For the stolen children
Noctuidae
. . . it’s easy enough to think of most of us as deep-sea fishes of a kind.
CHARLES FORT
The river flowed right over the road in places but they crossed it barely slowing. A trickle only a few inches deep right now, Sue-Min knew it meant the folks who lived in this canyon were stuck here during floods, maybe months at a time.
They probably didn’t mind.
If you lived here of your own free will, you had to be happy here. You probably weren’t that interested in human company, at least not from outside. You probably had supplies laid in to last a while. And a generator.
She could see the appeal. Deep in and well down Forest Road 281, the Blue River Canyon opened eventually into a narrow valley, widest on the west side of the river, such as it was. There the view stretched to near green hills rising right to green mountains, behind these a higher rolling row of purple mountains— majesties! —her backbrain sung the full phrase on its own, fragment from her earliest encounters with English—and beyond and above these a line of blue-gray peaks higher still in the haze, the sort of range one might mistake for clouds in the twilight, if the twilight were the sort in which one might also mistake clouds for mountains.
Sue-Min let her head slump back against the weathered seatback’s cracked black leather, willing to let the scenery settle her edginess. It really was a damn fine day, despite her half hangover and shitty mood. As much of the sky as she could see overhead was unbroken turquoise. Maybe their day, their hike, would go okay despite it all.
So far, nothing went the way they planned on this trip. First Pete’s date cancelled and left them three instead of four. Sue-Min tried to hint to Ron her discomfort with this configuration but he remained oblivious. What could she do? If Ron went, she was going too.
Then the ranchers.
What their topo map failed to show them was how 281, the only road down the Blue River, led straight onto a private ranch, ended there in fact, wide open cattle gate but handpainted NO TRESPASSING signs nailed to the grooved and massive cottonwood trunk beside it. Red paint. Their intended trailhead into Forest Service land and the Middle Blue lay somewhere beyond this private holding.
Though Pete never slowed as he passed the signs, Sue-Min saw them clearly on her side despite the overhanging foliage and shade. She drew in breath to call attention to the warnings, then exhaled. Pete must know what he was doing. Perhaps he met with the landowners in advance, squared things away. She hadn’t paid much attention when he and Ron were planning—as a rule, she avoided Pete as much as possible—though she had to admit she was curious to meet his date for this backpacking trip, wanted to see what kind of girl would agree to a remote overnight hike with such a creeper. Only she wouldn’t meet the mystery date, not this time. Easy to see why she cancelled—if she ever existed in the first place.
Pete drove on past a squat weathered ranch house, torn orange gingham curtains hanging askew in the windows, fabric likely once red now paled from long sun. They passed
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