Charles L. Grant - An Image in Twisted Silver

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An Image in Twisted Silver

Charles L. Grant

The annual World Fantasy Convention, which moves about from

state to state, occasionally from country to country, issues

each year a program book of consciously artistic value, with

stories, essays, and artwork by leading lights. Charles L.

Grant's tale is taken from the 1986 program book, the year he

was guest of honor, illustrated by that year's artist GoH Jeff

Potter.

Charles is one of our best-selling horror novelists and an

advocate of "quiet horror," as exemplified in his series of

Shadows anthologies. He's himself a master of the short form,

as every reader of horror well knows. He's also active in the

small presses, having contributed to Whispers, Fantasy Macabre,

Fantasy Tales, Fantasy Book, Weirdbook, Shayol, Midnight Sun,

and others. Author of over one hundred short tales, there are

many, like "An Image in Twisted Silver," that have not yet been

collected.

Robert locked the bathroom door when Joann began screaming. He

leaned against it and closed his eyes, felt the sweat on his

brow, felt the damp cold under his arms, and felt the heel of

his left foot tap rhythmically on the floor. In time to his

wife's voice. Faster, now slower, now faster again when she

realized what he'd done and threw something against the wall.

His words were garbled, if words they were at all, and he

stopped trying to give them meaning -- the sound of her was

enough, the anger and the hatred and the overwhelming despair

that had begun in her pale eyes when he told her he was going

to quit the firm, that traveled in a rippling crescent from one

cheek to the other, that settled around her mouth as her tongue

licked her lips, as the lips began to tremble while the tears

began to well, as her teeth clacked together as if she were

freezing.

The sound of it beginning as a growl in her throat, pitching

higher as she backed away from the kitchen table, higher still

when she pointed at the stack of envelopes on the counter and

demanded to know how the hell she was expected to pay all those

bills if he no longer had a job. And why the hell hadn't he

talked with her first, leaving the house that morning filled

with the power of the righteous, the strength of ideals, the

foolishness of the young who thought they'd live forever --

because the goddamned bills were over there, stacked on the

counter and waiting for the goddamned checks that would never

be written because he had principles but no goddamned sense and

she was sick of listening to his goddamned sermons about living

with himself, about sleeping, about what had to be done before

the world was made right.

He'd said nothing.

She was still screaming.

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Charles L. Grant - An Image in Twisted Silver

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