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david mcgroarty writer of strange stories home stories contact home stories contact craig shee in the five senses of horror by davidmcgroarty on 7th february 2017 in uncategorised my story, the impression of craig shee , will be appearing in a new anthology called the five senses of horror , due out in april from editor eric j. guignard. this is a really cool project, and one which puts me in very prestigious company. short stories include: heading home by ramsey campbell (sense of touch) soft by darrell schweitzer (sense of touch) feel the noise by lisa morton (sense of touch) in the cave of the delicate singers by lucy taylor (sense of sound) sounds by kathryn ptacek (sense of sound) malleus, incus, stapes by sarah totton (sense of sound) his mouth will taste of wormwood by poppy z. brite (sense of taste) cassilago’s wife by sarah singleton (sense of taste) sweet subtleties by lisa l. hannett (sense of taste) the beholder by richard christian matheson (sense of sight) in the porches of my ears by norman prentiss (sense of sight) the impression of craig shee by david mcgroarty (sense of sight) shem-el-nessim: an inspiration in perfume by chris bell (sense of smell) the scent by john f.d. taff (sense of smell) the odor of violets by john farris (sense of smell) plus, there’s non-fiction from psychologist erika price and original art from nils broß. i’m really excited about this. it’s due out in april. there’s more – including cover art – at eric’s blog . mcbirdy lives on by davidmcgroarty on 25th june 2016 in uncategorised i haven’t posted much lately because i haven’t had much to post. i had a bit of a dry year in 2015 as far as writing goes, but am now fully back in the flow with a couple of pieces looking for a home and another on the way. anyway. news. i was chuffed, thrilled and flabbergasted to see that ellen datlow has given an honourable mention to my story mcbirdy in her best horror of the year volume 8 . seeing my name on the same list as joyce carol oates and robert aickman is something i can’t get used to and i’m not sure i ever will. well flattered. this caps off a very nice little life for mcbirdy . des lewis called the story ‘deeply disturbing’, saying it ‘gives a dark obsessive coda to this wonderfully cohesive anthology’. risingshadow.net commented on the ‘disturbing’ ending, saying mcbirdy is an ‘excellent and memorable’ story. ellen datlow, writing on the sfeditorspicks twitter account, also described the story as ‘a disturbing tale’. (i think people found it disturbing.) and peter tennant in black static had this to say: ‘it is a story in which the outré elements barely impinge and yet are central to the story, one in which nothing supernatural takes place and yet the whole is imbued with a sense of the weird.’ you can still buy strange tales v direct from tartarus press . ragdog by davidmcgroarty on 26th november 2015 in uncategorised i failed to get this into a wwi anthology and it’s been sitting in a drawer – virtual drawer, i suppose – for a year without me doing nothing with it, so i thought it’s probably time i set it free. ragdog the fighting was half a year over, it was spring, and like the saplings that had started to appear amid the wreckage of the forest, the world as it used to be was beginning to break in small ways through the layers of dirt and ash. jonas welby, a lieutenant in the 116th labour corps, stood at the foot of a sloping field where the northern edge of the moué wood had once been, gazing up the slope, shielding his eyes. a little french girl had come from nowhere, skipped along the ridge of the hill in silhouette: a shadow puppet in her long dress against the bright grey sky. the appearance of the girl jarred—the kind of sudden incongruity that would cause one to lurch from a dream into the waking world—and jonas was overtaken immediately by a fit of violent, uncontrollable sobbing, the likes of which he had never experienced. jonas had to steady himself on the splintered stump of a birch. the section of forest in which he stood had been utterly ruined by the last ferocious months of the war. further to the south, trees remained, but here, where the birches were younger, every one had fallen, blasted apart at the trunk, their stumps white and frayed like shattered bone ends protruding from a wound. life persisted—birds pecked grubs from the dead trees, and there were pattering disturbances in the shrubs—but the scene overall was of devastation. jonas waited until he was composed again, long after the girl had gone over the ridge of the hill and out of sight, before he went back among the tree stumps. a little way into the forest was a crater, and the crater was filled with water, and there was a body in the water. he had come for the body. he found it soon enough. the body had been identified as british by its coat and helmet, had probably died in whatever blast had created the hole, had lain beneath a layer of soil until the frost had thawed and snowmelt filled the hole with water and loosened the earth enough to free it. the identification would likely never progress beyond its country of origin. its flesh had in places bubbled out from under its clothes, puffy and white around its waist and ankles. its hands, huge and fingerless, like rugby balls. its head, mercifully, was turned-down in the water, but jonas had seen enough corpses in enough water-filled craters to know that beneath the surface its face would be featureless and doughy, just as he knew that when he recovered the body from the water, its flesh would fall away from its bones, cloud the water briefly pink, and then dissolve altogether. he spread his canvas by the edge of the crater and dragged the body out of the water by the heel of its boot, the ankle of its trousers, the tail of its coat. the clothing had enough integrity to gather around its bones and hold the remains together. on the canvas, the remains spread out flat. jonas put his hands through the coat. the pockets were filled with silt. he crossed himself, gathered the thing up in the canvas and tied it off with a length of rope. there was a movement in the trees: something small and dark. his first thought was that the little french girl had come back, and he felt glad that the corpse was in the bag and out of sight. but the forest was deadly, pitted with bomb craters that were filled with freezing water. and everywhere were unexploded shells. he shouted, “come out! it isn’t safe!” his voice came back to him in pieces. something moved again between two clumps of ferns, lurching, black and shabby. it was not the girl. he was seeing the ragdog again. ~ for his friends and family at home, the war had ended in november. not so for jonas. the work of the 116th—recovering, retrieving, repairing—which was almost as old as the fighting, had no end so easily defined as the firing of the last rifle. jonas had learned this when his senior, captain marks, triggered a detonation while surveying an old trench outside reims, lost a leg and bled to death in the snow, a month after the armistice. there were others before christmas: a boy in another unit sucked through the wet turf into a flooded mine and drowned in mud; another explosion; two suicides. it seemed to jonas that it would never stop, just as he and his men would never stop plucking bones from the fields of france. there would always be more bones, more friends to bury. they stopped digging when the frost hardened through the day as well as the night. there was other work. through the winter, jonas and bill canning, a lad from sunderland who had fought in ypres, carried out eyes-only searches of the fields, marking graves and retrieving what they could from the surface. bill was not someone jonas would have encountered in his life before the war, a colliery boy with a thick, dark accent who had received only a whisper of a schooling and had never needed more. he was good company. he had a dog—a labrador he had inherited from an of

URL analysis for davidmcgroarty.net

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http://www.davidmcgroarty.net/2015/01/torn-to-rags-in-wordland/
http://www.davidmcgroarty.net/2015/04/mcbirdy-in-strange-tales-v/
http://www.davidmcgroarty.net/2016/06/mcbirdy-lives-on/
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http://www.davidmcgroarty.net/2014/12/happy-2015/
http://www.davidmcgroarty.net/2017/02/craig-shee-in-the-five-senses-of-horror/
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ericjguignard.blogspot.co.uk

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Domain Name: DAVIDMCGROARTY.NET
Registry Domain ID: 149566550_DOMAIN_NET-VRSN
Registrar WHOIS Server: whois.tucows.com
Registrar URL: http://www.tucowsdomains.com
Updated Date: 2017-03-07T19:09:29Z
Creation Date: 2005-04-06T18:28:15Z
Registry Expiry Date: 2018-04-06T18:28:15Z
Registrar: Tucows Domains Inc.
Registrar IANA ID: 69
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Registrar Abuse Contact Phone:
Domain Status: clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
Domain Status: clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited
Name Server: NS1.LIVEDNS.CO.UK
Name Server: NS2.LIVEDNS.CO.UK
Name Server: NS3.LIVEDNS.CO.UK
DNSSEC: unsigned
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  REGISTRAR Tucows Domains Inc.

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  SERVER net.whois-servers.net

  ARGS domain =davidmcgroarty.net

  PORT 43

  TYPE domain

DOMAIN

  NAME davidmcgroarty.net

  CHANGED 2017-03-07

  CREATED 2005-04-06

STATUS
clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
clientUpdateProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientUpdateProhibited

NSERVER

  NS1.LIVEDNS.CO.UK 213.171.192.250

  NS2.LIVEDNS.CO.UK 213.171.193.250

  NS3.LIVEDNS.CO.UK 213.171.192.254

  REGISTERED yes

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