An annual anthology of strange and darksome tales, which this year profiles the work of 21 contemporary scribes: V.H. Leslie, J.T. Glover, Joanna Parypinski, Steve Rasnic Tem, L.S. Johnson, Daniel Braum, M. Lopes da Silva, Mathew Allan Garcia, April Steenburgh, Charles Wilkinson, Farah Rose Smith, Armel Dagorn, Cate Gardner, Jackson Kuhl, Christi Nogle, Ross Smeltzer, Jennifer Loring, Tim Jeffreys, Elana Gomel, Mike Weitz, Kirsty Logan. "A very promising anthology." -Ellen Datlow, Best Horror of the Year "An annual highlight of the genre." -Anthony Watson, Dark Musings "Weirdness with truth at its heart." -Des Lewis, Real-Time Reviews
I live in St. Paul, Minnesota with my wife and two sons—and, of course, all those quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore. I am related to the Norwegian writer Jonas Lie and draw much inspiration from that scrivener of old. My tales have appeared in Shadows & Tall Trees, Supernatural Tales, Vastarien, and a host of other venues. In addition to writing, I also edit and publish the annual journal Nightscript. My debut story collection, Hidden Folk, was released in 2018.
Definitely the strongest volume of Nightscript to date, in my humble opinion. While not every story was perfect, of course, the flow of them was impeccable, and brought out the subtle strengths of the weaker tales in a way that made this anthology shine with the secret brilliance of a black diamond, made all the more beautiful for its flaws.
Now in its fourth permutation, C.M. Muller’s NIGHTSCRIPT anthology continues to house — within its slate-scrubbed clapboard, concealed behind murky panes — a series of stories which, due to their strangeness and peculiarity, may have never otherwise discovered a proper home.
A shrewd student of a number of creative mediums, Muller is neither clumsy nor casual in his execution of these annual projects; and it really is a demonstrative exercise in voice and vision — his conjuring, capturing, and making incarnate (from font, to paper, in artwork, in tonality) a singular aesthetic.
NIGHTSCRIPT, IV expectedly contains a number of top-notch stories penned by (as Muller is wont to do) many “unknown” scribblers — this is one of the fantastic aspects of the series, as Muller places emerging names in close proximity with established writers, as is the case in N.IV with appearances by V.H. Leslie (“Sugar Daddy”) and Steve Rasnic Tem (“By the Sea”). I was personally taken with L.S. Johnson’s “A Harvest Fit For Monsters” (a grim and ambiguous tale of war-torn grief); Farah Rose Smith’s “Of Marble and Mud” (a crisply written narrative focusing on the frightening and fragile bond between two sisters); and Mike Weitz’s “Rainheads” (bearing bleak shades of apocalyptic horror). Joanna Parypinski’s “The Thing In the Trees” is a personal highlight for me—one of the most haunting and deftly-handled tales I’ve encountered for quite some time.
NIGHTSCRIPT alumnus Charles Wilkison (“The Dandelion Disorder”) makes a welcome appearance, as well as Christi Nogle (“Cinnamon to Taste”) and Daniel Braum (“The Monkey Coat”). Resonating, still, for me are the stories “There Has Never Been Anyone Here” by J.T. Glover; “By The Sea” by the aforementioned Mr. Rasnic Tem; and Kirsty Logan’s “My House Is Out Where the Lights End,” which serves as the publication's breathtaking, closing punctuation.
Another part of Muller’s magic is his sapient strategy in weaving an ambiguous melody in the sequencing of the tales, yielding a unique resonance and eloquent undulation to each installment.
NIGHTSCRIPT is, of course, an annual celebration of the pleasant melancholies of autumn; but its contents are suitable for any timeframe in which a reader can carve out some solitude, as the well-crafted tales call for your attention and close-reading consideration. More than this, NIGHTSCRIPT is — in Muller’s mental landscape — a vital venue for voices often lost beneath the wind-swept blanket of brittle, burnt-orange leaves — an otherwise unnoticed sibilance existing in the shadowed, foreboding fringes of a rickety-limbed forest.
Due to the consistent quality of fiction in this collection, I've begrudgingly added many new authors to my reading list. How the hell am I going to find the time for all this?
A story that is a perfect coda to this book’s hyper-imaginative and osmotic obliquity, its often sporadically feisty and creatively sullen symphony.
The detailed review of this book posted elsewhere under my name is too long or impractical to post here. Above is one of my observations at the time of the review.