The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1
Welcome to the first issue of The Haunted Traveler; a roaming anthology seeking to collect the strange and the wild stories that we all carry. Those words hidden in the deep dark that linger around. Weasel Press is proud to have released this first collection of material and is excited to do more anthologies in the future. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more. Our anthology publishes twice a year. To find out more information about our submission process, please review our submission guidelines. Our first issue was released on March 28, 2014 and we couldn’t be more excited to feature the explosive talent that has been submitted to us. Our idea is to have an anthology roaming around parts of the world with a collection of frightening and strange stories; a mysterious anthology with a collection of ghosts.
Welcome to the first issue of The Haunted Traveler; a roaming anthology seeking to collect the strange and the wild stories that we all carry. Those words hidden in the deep dark that linger around. Weasel Press is proud to have released this first collection of material and is excited to do more anthologies in the future. The Haunted Traveler is a non-profit, Horror and Science Fiction anthology that accepts a wide variety of art media such as photography, short fiction, creative non-fiction, digital artwork and more. Our anthology publishes twice a year. To find out more information about our submission process, please review our submission guidelines. Our first issue was released on March 28, 2014 and we couldn’t be more excited to feature the explosive talent that has been submitted to us. Our idea is to have an anthology roaming around parts of the world with a collection of frightening and strange stories; a mysterious anthology with a collection of ghosts.
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lack robe. I wore a leg brace.<br />
Bronislaw was a first-year medical student when the war<br />
began. He was at Auschwitz-Birkenau three months before<br />
Dr. Mengele recommended he continue his studies and assist<br />
him in his experiments. “Anesthesia was for brave soldiers<br />
at field hospitals, not medical experimentation,” Bronislaw<br />
explained in the last chapter of his book. “That’s where I<br />
learned how to administer just enough to immobilize, without<br />
wasting precious war materials.” His time under Mengele’s<br />
tutelage wasn’t wasted either. He became as adept with<br />
stealth as he was with a scalpel.<br />
I can walk unaided now. After four years, I can ride my<br />
bike, go shopping, and carry my packages. My post-polio<br />
syndrome is in remission. My hatred of Shinholter is not.<br />
This is justice, I tell myself every time I walk into his courtroom<br />
and see him humbled, entering by way of a ramp—a<br />
reasonable accommodation the court made for him so he can<br />
continue to pass judgment, so he can piece back his life on<br />
the bench. This is my judgment, I tell myself every time I see<br />
that familiar look of pathos in his eyes, the look that tells<br />
me he will forever wonder why he screamed for help and no<br />
one came. Why he cried for mercy and his tormentors just<br />
laughed at him. Why he was once powerful and is now pitiful.<br />
Sometimes he stares at me. I can tell he is trying to recall<br />
who I am or if we’ve met before. He won’t remember. He<br />
never looked at me during the proceeding. He turned away<br />
because a crippled woman is not an object of desire. She is<br />
avoided as one avoids looking at a disfigured child. But now,<br />
his eyes beg me for understanding. He looks to all the women<br />
in the courtroom to comfort him, to acknowledge his need<br />
for help and respect. I see him searching their faces for approval.<br />
Admiration. Solace. Recognition of his suffering. His<br />
triumph over adversity. He hungers and thirsts for manhood.<br />
I always sit in the front-row. When I’ve had enough, I<br />
make eye contact with him with eyes devoid of compassion.<br />
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