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    The Dark Issue 25: The Dark, #25
    The Dark Issue 25: The Dark, #25
    The Dark Issue 25: The Dark, #25
    Ebook73 pages1 hour

    The Dark Issue 25: The Dark, #25

    By Hadeer Elsbai, Kristi DeMeester, Karolina Fedyk and Ray Cluley

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    About this ebook

    Each month The Dark brings you the best in dark fantasy and horror!
    Edited by award winning editors Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Sean Wallace
    and brought to you by Prime Books, this issue includes two all-new
    stories and two reprints:

    “In Your Wake We Sin” by Hadeer Elsbai
    “The Beautiful Thing We Will Become” by Kristi DeMeester (reprint)
    “Seams” by Karolina Fedyk
    “Hans” by Ray Cluley (reprint)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPrime Books
    Release dateMay 29, 2017
    ISBN9781386615682
    The Dark Issue 25: The Dark, #25

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      Book preview

      The Dark Issue 25 - Hadeer Elsbai

      THE DARK

      Issue 25 • June 2017

      In Your Wake We Sin by Hadeer Elsbai

      The Beautiful Thing We Will Become by Kristi DeMeester

      Seams by Karolina Fedyk

      Hans by Ray Cluley

      Cover Art: Zombie Apocalypse by Lonely

      ISSN 2332-4392.

      Edited by Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Sean Wallace.

      Cover design by Garry Nurrish.

      Copyright © 2017 by Prime Books.

      www.thedarkmagazine.com

      In Your Wake We Sin

      by Hadeer Elsbai

      The jinn came to Madiha just before dawn.

      She sat frozen, covers pulled up to her chin with trembling hands.

      The jinn stared at her with insectoid black eyes that were much too big for its small, angled face. Thin lips, flat nose, papery skin stretched taut. Its legs ended in black hooves.

      And then it moved.

      Madiha wanted to shut her eyes against the sight. Nothing moved like that. Nothing was supposed to move like that.

      Madiha’s teeth began knocking into each other. She dug her nails into her palms and felt skin tear open. It steadied her jaw long enough for her to begin speaking.

      "A’uthu billah min al-shaytan al-rajim," she stammered, stumbling over the words. I seek refuge in God from the accursed Satan.

      The jinn’s face split open into a grin that spilled over to the back of its face, making it seem as though its chin had dislocated from its body. Lips vanished to reveal rows and rows of jagged sharp teeth, layered atop one another, a dilapidated gate to the lumpy black maw that was its mouth. That hideous grin never left its face as it slowly folded itself into the darkness to fade away.

      The young woman looked ordinary, for a sahira. Not that Madiha had met many women who dabbled in magic. The sahira wore a loose black abaya that did not manage to hide her small frame. Pale skin clashed against dark hair pulled back into a loose knot. Her nose was wide, her lips full, and her eyes large and downturned. She had lined them all around in thick kohl. She told them her name was Halima. Like the Prophet’s nursemaid.

      Shall we? Halima’s fingernails were frayed, bitten down to the root. Madiha grimaced. The sahira had a nervous habit. Wonderful.

      Halima took a seat at the round table, where Menna and Sherouk already sat. Menna glared at Madiha hovering by the table, and impatiently gestured for her to sit down. Madiha hesitated, until Halima looked at her expectantly. Dragging her feet, Madiha approached the table and took a seat between Menna and the witch.

      The chair was rickety and unbalanced, too stiff and straight-backed to be comfortable. A large bowl in the center of the table burned frankincense and myrrh. Smoke billowed upwards and outwards, obscuring Menna and Sherouk. Ash dribbled onto the velvet black tablecloth. The only other source of light in the small, dank room was a lantern hanging by the door. It was all too theatrical for Madiha.

      Maybe we should rethink this. Madiha spoke low, though she was sure Halima could still hear. Sherouk looked up, eyes wide.

      Menna scoffed. We already talked about this! We’re doing it.

      But— Madiha coughed. The smoking resin on the table was overpowering; it flooded her nose and made her eyes water. She could taste its bitterness in the back of her throat.

      And we already paid. Menna shrugged as she talked over Madiha’s coughing fit.

      No refunds, said Halima suddenly.

      The girls turned to Halima. Madiha pursed her lips. The woman had taken 800L.E. from them for this. We won’t ask for a refund. Menna—

      No.

      Sherouk looked between Madiha and Menna as they glared at one another. Madiha forfeited the battle and looked at Sherouk. What do you think? You don’t exactly look happy.

      Sherouk swallowed and took a deep breath. Madiha— Her voice was barely a whisper.

      Stop it, snapped Menna. We already decided. I’m doing this, and if you’re not interested, there’s the door.

      Madiha’s scowl didn’t phase Menna. Sherouk had gone silent, fingers nervously playing with the tail of her blue hijab. Halima sat quietly, back straight, staring at them with black eyes.

      Menna leaned back into her chair and nodded to Halima. We’re ready. Her name is Ashraqat Mohamed Dawood.

      After the jinn disappeared, Madiha didn’t stop trembling until the sun came up. She wanted to move, to lie back down, to get up and run to her mother, something, anything, but she was frozen. Her mother was just down the hall. Madiha wanted to run to her, crawl into her bed and hold her hand tight. But then her mother would ask her what was wrong, and Madiha would have to tell her what she’d been a part of. Madiha would not be able to stomach the horrified look that was sure to be on her mother’s face when she told her what she, Menna, and Sherouk had done with the sahira.

      Under her breath, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be noticed, Madiha muttered the same invocation over and over and over again. "A’uthu billah min al-shaytan al-rajim." She chanted the words until they blurred into one another, no longer making sense. Finally, when Madiha’s mouth was too dry to speak, she stopped. Her heart still raced.

      But they had talked to her. Ashraqat. She had been dead two weeks, but they had talked to her. Her sweet voice, high and girlish, coming over muffled from the other side, had sent a wave of warmth down Madiha’s back, even as goosebumps plagued her arms. Madiha had closed her eyes at the sound of that voice, picturing Ashraqat as she had last seen her.

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