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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79<br />
her contours drabbish, the sheer incongruity of the picture<br />
she made might compensate for it all, as would the breathtaking<br />
view.<br />
<strong>The</strong>y were remarkable, even in the flesh. <strong>The</strong> young woman<br />
was porcelain and her man was boiled gold. <strong>The</strong>y needed no<br />
highlighting, but like most people they daubed themselves<br />
in color. People had a habit of self-painting, as if their skin<br />
wasn't enough. <strong>The</strong>y tatted, dyed, and bejeweled themselves,<br />
made themselves up, and they depended on their clothes (her<br />
shirt was lemon yellow, his red plaid). <strong>The</strong>y were too hip<br />
for jewelry or makeup, but Yocelin spotted tattoos around<br />
wrists and forearms, inked in sophisticated black.<br />
Skin was enough for Yocelin. So was broken skin. It glistened.<br />
It wept. It offered up the best of reds. It could be filigreed<br />
like marble, if you knew where to cut.<br />
<strong>The</strong> couple neared Yocelin at the wrought-iron gate that<br />
welcomed visitors to MacLaren Cemetery. <strong>The</strong>y sized her<br />
up among easel, canvas, palette, and paint-box. Unless they<br />
could stand to embarrass themselves with a prudish turning-back,<br />
the pair was forced to engage with the half-naked<br />
artist. <strong>The</strong>y seemed game enough. Wakefield would not get<br />
the best of these Torontonians.<br />
Yocelin lifted her brush at them. "Degemer mad," she said,<br />
knowing it would fascinate them.<br />
<strong>The</strong> Anglophones cocked their heads, arrested. <strong>The</strong>re was no need on<br />
Yocelin's part to guess ethnicities. <strong>The</strong>y were clearly from out of province,<br />
else coddled by an English-speaking microculture in downtown<br />
Montreal. Either way, their expectations were successfully upended.<br />
"Is that Scandinavian?" asked the pale young woman in the<br />
yellow shirt. Her dark hair was sleek, her eyebrows delicate<br />
wings.<br />
Yocelin laughed amicably. "No, sorry, it's Breton. I was<br />
showing off." She gestured at her painting. "What do you<br />
think?"<br />
<strong>The</strong> couple repositioned themselves in order to assess<br />
her work against the subject that spread before them. This