Datlow, Ellen (ed) - Darkness / Датлоу, Эллен (ред) - Тьма [2010, epub, ENG]

Jacqueline Ess: Her Will and Testament / Её последняя воля novelette by Clive Barker Dancing Chickens / Танцующие цыплята short story by Edward Bryant The Greater Festival of Masks / Большое празднество масок short story by Thomas Ligotti The Pear-Shaped Man / Человек-в-форме-груши novelette by George R. R. Martin The Juniper Tree / Можжевельник novelette by Peter Straub Two Minutes Forty-Five Seconds / Две минуты сорок пять секунд short story by Dan Simmons The Power and the Passion / Сила и страсть short story by Pat Cadigan The Phone Woman / Телефонная женщина short story by Joe R. Lansdale Teratisms / Тератизмы short story by Kathe Koja Chattery Teeth / Щелкун novelette by Stephen King A Little Night Music / Музыка маленькой ночи short story by Lucius Shepard Calcutta, Lord of Nerves / Калькутта, властительница сил short story by Poppy Z. Brite The Erl-King / Лесной царь novelette by Elizabeth Hand The Dog Park / Собачий парк short story by Dennis Etchison Rain Falls / И разверзнутся хляби небесные short story by Michael Marshall Smith Refrigerator Heaven / Небеса в холодильнике short story by David J. Schow █████ short story by Joyce Carol Oates Eaten (Scenes from a Moving Picture) / Съеденный (сцены из фильма) poem by Neil Gaiman The Specialist's Hat / Шляпа Специалиста short story by Kelly Link The Tree Is My Hat / Моя шляпа — дерево novelette by Gene Wolfe Heat / Жара short story by Steve Rasnic Tem No Strings / Без ограничений short story by Ramsey Campbell Stitch / Стежок short story by Terry Dowling Dancing Men / Пляшущие человечки novelette by Glen Hirshberg My Father's Mask / Маска моего отца novelette by Joe Hill

IT IS A school yard in my Midwest of empty lots, waving green and brilliant with tiger lilies, of ugly new “ranch” houses set down in rows in glistening clay, of treeless avenues cooking in the sun. Our school yard is black asphalt — on June days, patches of the asphalt loosen and stick like gum to the soles of our high-top basketball shoes. Most of the playground is black empty space from which heat radiates up like the wavery images on the screen of a faulty television set. Tall wire mesh surrounds it. A new boy named Paul is standing beside me. Though it is now nearly the final month of the semester, Paul came to us, carroty-haired, pale-eyed, too shy to ask even the whereabouts of the lavatory, only six weeks ago. The lessons baffle him, and his Southern accent is a fatal error of style. The popular students broadcast in hushed, giggling whispers the terrible news that Paul “talks like a nigger.” Their voices are almost awed — they are conscious of the enormity of what they are saying, of the enormity of its consequences. . . .