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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82<br />
red shirt, his thick hair bouncing as he ran, his feet heavy<br />
and sure. Yocelin swallowed the dry meat in her mouth,<br />
perplexed, and squinted after any sight of blood. Nothing<br />
seeped through the man's fingers as he clutched his desecrated<br />
wrist. Nothing pattered to the ground.<br />
Twenty strides into the cemetery he twisted to the left, resisting<br />
the wood that loomed on the far side. Yocelin herded<br />
him back towards the forest, and he took that path, unable<br />
to swing right, where the bluff dropped off entirely. <strong>The</strong>re<br />
weren't many options left for the man, whose name was Jay<br />
(Yocelin, of course, didn't know this, though she generally<br />
knew an awful lot). He shot past tombstones old and new,<br />
gave Pearson's plaque no attention whatsoever, and crashed<br />
into the forest. It was a very small graveyard.<br />
She couldn't smell that dry, characterless wound in his<br />
arm, but she could hear him, and his red shirt was a semaphore<br />
spinning between boulders and trees, aimless. She<br />
entered the woods seconds behind her prey, inert feet skimming<br />
the ground that turned from green to the leftover russet<br />
of last year's discarded leaves the moment she crossed under<br />
the canopy. Acorns wobbled under the passage of her feet,<br />
which needed no shoes, while pebbles and roots strained<br />
to scratch her soles, and failed. She was liquid—unlike the<br />
wound in the man's arm, which refused to bleed. Was it a<br />
withholding? Or a simple lack of bane? She skirted one of<br />
the six or seven boulders that interrupted the woods. <strong>The</strong>y<br />
hulked under lichen, big as trucks, but the man was well beyond<br />
them now and couldn't use their cover.<br />
He stumbled up an incline, negotiating the sloping woods.<br />
He'd grabbed a tool of some kind—a stick dense enough to<br />
cave in most heads with the right sort of stroke. His course<br />
remained aimless as he grappled about. He sought a path<br />
out of the woods but Yocelin kept him where she wanted<br />
him and directed him further uphill, towards the base of an<br />
escarpment that couldn't be easily (or hastily) climbed. He<br />
met the rock face and danced a panic as Yocelin closed in on