Titolo: Urban Harvest: Tales of the Paranormal in New York City
Autore: AA. VV.
Genere: New adult urban fantasy
Trama: New York City–it’s home to 8 million people trying to make their way through the day–a crop of humanity seething with hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares. Autumn comes, and nine authors harvest nine tales from this unique setting and people. From stories of everyday life in an otherworldly light to nightmarish tales of human darkness, Urban Harvest has something for everyone.
Urban Harvest contains tales of the paranormal from Alex Shvartsman, Laurie Treacy, Donna Ansari, Tara Hill, Laura Wenham, Andrea Stanet, Don Corcoran, Saif Ansari, and Sean Sakamoto.
In keeping with the spirit of harvest, all proceeds from this anthology will go to support City Harvest, an organization that feeds NYC’s hungry.
Trama: New York City–it’s home to 8 million people trying to make their way through the day–a crop of humanity seething with hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares. Autumn comes, and nine authors harvest nine tales from this unique setting and people. From stories of everyday life in an otherworldly light to nightmarish tales of human darkness, Urban Harvest has something for everyone.
Urban Harvest contains tales of the paranormal from Alex Shvartsman, Laurie Treacy, Donna Ansari, Tara Hill, Laura Wenham, Andrea Stanet, Don Corcoran, Saif Ansari, and Sean Sakamoto.
In keeping with the spirit of harvest, all proceeds from this anthology will go to support City Harvest, an organization that feeds NYC’s hungry.
#1
A fresh bouquet of assorted flowers
added the only splash of color to the otherwise dismal family plot. Nate’s eyes
roamed over the simple engraving on the stone, stopping at the date. Three
years ago. The end of good times.
As he kneeled to straighten the flowers,
water seeped through his jeans.
The rain stopped. His hands stilled.
Then they clenched into fists. Nate ground his teeth together so hard they
hurt. “I’m so done with this shit, Dad. I’m supposed to be the kid, not the
parent! She’s useless!” Sitting back on his heels, he ran a hand through his
curly black hair. “Ever since she came back—”
“I know, Nate.”
The voice came from behind him.
Nate gasped. He whipped around, fell
over, his butt squelching into the wet grass, his spine smacking against his
father’s headstone. Nate visited the grave often because he always felt his
father’s presence, somehow. But he had never expected to see his Dad again—not in this world, anyway.
His father stood in the at-ease stance,
his chin held high, across the grassy aisle that separated his section from the
next. He wore his dress blues, the ones he had been buried in. Nate could see
rows of headstones behind the transparent figure. It was impossible, yet there
he was.
“Dad?” He reached for his father, then let his
hand flop back to his lap. That’s it—I’ve finally cracked.#2
“Hey, loser!Outside already? Why not
noodle on your guitar for a few hours at home and call yourself a musician?”
The words were a whisper, but their meaning was loud and clear. Bill, a man in
his late 30s, winced into the insults and kept walking down Grand Street,
heading to the Delancey Street station.
“Great isn’t it? That moment of optimism
before the coffee wears off?” The mist hissed as it formed into an oblong face
inches from Bill’s nose.
“Morning, Spork,” Bill said. The mist
ignored him, as usual, and continued its tirade.
“Going to an interview, eh? This is
gonna be good. I wonder how long it’ll take ‘em to figure out you’re completely
useless?” The voice came from a misty figure that hovered in the air, floating
backward as Bill walked. It breathed its misty words just inches from his face.
Bill called the ghost “Spork” because its forehead bulged like the back of a
spoon and the wisps of mist that made up its head tapered into points like the
tines of a fork.
Bill sighed. “Just…go back in that hole
you came out of!” he shouted. A woman walked by, caught his eye, and gave a
wary look of sympathy before she quickly passed him; a big-nosed wisp hovered
by her side.
Bill wanted to pretend that Spork wasn’t
striking a nerve, but he just couldn’t fake it this time. The morning coffee
kick was just running out, as Spork had predicted. The bright future buzz that
Bill relied on to get him out of the apartment was fading into the mid-morning
crash, and he needed to stay happy for his first job interview in months. It
was a perfect time for Spork, the ghost that haunted him, to show up. Perfect
for Spork, anyway. Not so good for Bill.
“Are you going to tell them about the
arrest?” Spork hissed into Bill’s face. The sprite’s breath was a cool mist
with the musty smell of a subway tunnel on a damp day. Six months ago, Bill
would have taken a swing at Spork, but it never mattered. None of the sprites
ever reacted to anyone, aside from a moan when someone smiled. But that didn’t
happen much anymore; smiles were in short supply. But talking to them? Useless,
like yelling at a cloud. They just kept doing whatever they were doing,
oblivious. Only, unlike a cloud, they tormented the people of New York City.
#3
Every night, I rise just as the twilight
ends and night descends around the city. Walking through the old cemetery, I
wander to the front doors of the church. Old Trinity Church welcomes me long
after the last visitor’s steps have faded into the sounds of the bustling
streets. Walking the long aisle, I always stop at the altar to pray. Only this
night will be different. This is All Hallow’s Eve, the one night of the year
when the veil between the Spirit World and the Living is thinnest. Every year
at this time, I go back to the old neighborhood hoping to find the one that I
lost.
Having said my piece, I exit the church
and start the long, lonely walk. The city is busy with people and spirits
roaming about. Another gentleman and lady from my time nod their heads as I
pass by. I tip my hat in return, but there are plenty of spirits from all walks
of life and eras here. If the Living only had the sight, they would see souls
of people from modern times all the way back to the ancients who first walked
the land. All gather together sharing ideas and helping to influence the ones
on the physical plane when they can. Most come and go as they please, but
others are stuck here on the Earth. I should know because I am one of them.
While people use the terms interchangeably, the real difference between a ghost
and a spirit is that a spirit has the ability to shift between the two realms
at will.
How I died is not important. I do not
really remember it being different from any other day. I seemed to wake up just
as I always did. Actually, it was a lot like waking up from a nap. I opened my
eyes to find myself fully dressed even though I thought I remembered having
gone to bed the previous night. I was sitting in my study, only the shades were
drawn and the windows were closed. I had always liked to have them open even
during the coldest days so that a bit of air could get into the room. Standing
up, I walked out into hallway and toward the center of the house. That’s when I
heard the weeping. It was a sad sound that shuddered up and down as it came to
me from across the hall. Astounded at the noise, I still swept forward to find
the source of it. My hand stopped at the parlor door, which was wide open for a
viewing. Everything was draped in black and candles burned all about the room
amidst the overwhelming perfume of flowers.
My wife and our grown children sat in
the parlor, surrounded by friends and other members of the community. The
grandbaby sat on his mother’s lap, his fingers stuck in his mouth to soothe
himself. They all wore black and grey. Shaking my head, I looked toward the
raised dais in the back of the room. All conversation was lost on me for the
moment; I had to see for myself to make good their words.
Walking over to the coffin, I stared
down at the remains of the body that I had only recently occupied. There was
the strong, square jaw, the jet black hair laced delicately with grey at the
temples, the broad shoulders and wide chest. I had been in the peak of health
for a man in his sixties. What had happened? Surely someone must know.
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