OConnor - Weeping Season

PRAISE FOR

SEN OCONNOR

AND

WEEPING SEASON

Fast, thrilling, and brutal, Weeping Season leaves you gasping for breath. O'Connor's prose is sharp and lean, and he has a great eye for the grisly. Thoroughly recommended.

TIM LEBBON

New York Times bestselling author of the Relics trilogy

Vivid, unflinching, evocative, and original, O'Connor's work heralds the arrival of an important voice in horror fiction, one to which you would do well to listen.

KEALAN PATRICK BURKE

Bram Stoker Award-winning author of The Turtle Boy , KIN , and Sour Candy

A fast-paced read you'll devour in one or two sittings. The action and horrors are relentless, and you'll never see the ending coming. Bleak, terrifying, and thoroughly entertaining.

PHILIP FRACASSI

This Is Horror Award-winning Author of

Behold the Void

WEEPING SEASON

SEN OCONNOR

Copyright 2020 Sen OConnor

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Im Forever Blowing Bubbles

Lyrics by John Kellette Copyright 1919

Free to use under the Duration of Copyright Act 2004

Grateful acknowledgement is made to Pallbearer

for permission to reprint an excerpt from Worlds Apart

Lyrics and music by Pallbearer Copyright 2014

Grateful acknowledgement is made to Patrick Walker

for permission to reprint an excerpt from Footprints by Warning

Lyrics and music by Patrick Walker Copyright 2006

Cover artwork by

Boz Mugabe

Uafs Press

Dublin, Ireland

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

For Raymond & Sandra

"Without dark

The light burns out our eyes

And turns each of us to ash

Our hearts, too hard to ever learn to feel

And mouths, laid open, deep in silent song"

PALLBEARER, "Worlds Part"

"And through all the battles around me

I never believed I would fight;

Yet here I stand, a broken soldier,

Shivering, naked, in your winter light."
WARNING, "Footprints"

AWAKENING

ONE

A man awoke to hysterical screams. Cold dirt pressed against his cheek as he blinked to clear his vision. When he lifted his head and looked up, an awning of pine branches swayed overhead. He grappled to catch his bearings as he pushed up to sit, stiff all over, hard shivers running through him. Then it dawned on him that he was naked and covered in muck, his body as cold as the freezing surface he sat on. When he went to move, pain shot up his left leg, bringing his attention to a manacle around his ankle, a solid-looking chain running from it to a thick pine tree that soared up to the heavens.

A short distance away, a young girl howled and battled against the heavy steel that secured her to another tree. Her cries echoed through his head as he tried to focus, continuing to blink away the blurred edges of his vision. What was going on? Where the hell were they? Acknowledging her distress, he went to stand but couldnt find the strength to complete the action, collapsing to the ground, drained of energy, with every part of him in pain.

Water, he needed water. His tongue and throat were parched. He licked his lips, or tried to, wincing at the resulting sting. Both were chapped and bone dry. Black clay was embedded beneath his fingernails, which came as no surprise considering the dirt that covered him. He tried to call to the girl, but no words came, just a racking cough that tore through his chest and head. The chill from the frozen ground was too much and he pressed his fists into the dirt and forced himself up his weak arms barely carrying his bodyweight.

Hey, he called to her, glad to be able to vocalise.

She didnt seem to hear him, continuing with her struggle.

Hey, whats going on? he shouted, looking around, his voice hollow across the forest floor.

This time she stopped and turned to him.

I thought you weredead. Her voiced sounded as dry and tortured as his. I was calling to you for ages.

He took another look around. Where are we?

She didnt answer, returning to her efforts to break loose from her bonds.

He watched her struggle. She was so petite, he supposed she couldnt have been much older than her mid-twenties, but to his eyes she was like a girl of fifteen or sixteen, which made his looking at her naked body feel somewhat inappropriate. He figured he was old enough to be her father. Before he looked away, he noticed her head had been shaved and she had the figure eight tattooed in black just above the hairline at the back. From where he stood, it looked fresh, with dried blood on and around it.

What was going on? This was such a crazy situation. The chain that held him to the tree was thick and made of heavy steel. His legs trembled, barely able to hold him, but the ground was too cold to sit or lie on. Dense forest lay in every direction, with weak light filtering through tiny gaps in the canopy. No sun to melt the frost. How had they got here? The girl started crying again as she pulled at her chain.

Hey now. Calm down for a second.

She ignored him, struggling on until she ran out of energy and slumped against the tree in defeat. While wiping tears from her filthy face, she kept muttering the same words to herself: Why is this happening to me?

Whats your name? he asked. Come on, talk to me here.

I dont know my name, she barked back. I dont know anything.

It was at that point it dawned on him that he didnt know his own name, either. He searched, scanning every thought or visual that came to him, realising with a growing horror that he didnt know anything from before wakening to her screams.

Everything before was blank. But how? What could have happened? There had to be a rational explanation. They couldnt have just appeared here out of nowhere. It wasnt possible. Was it?

What can you remember? he asked her, making a conscious effort to keep the panic out of his voice. Come on, think about it. You have to remember something.

Nothing. She slapped her bald head with both hands, growling out her frustration. Fucking nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!

Ok, ok, I hear you. Im the same. He tensed his legs against the continuous shaking, rubbing his upper arms in an effort to heat himself up. No joy no heat and no memory. He rubbed his head. What the? His was shaved, too prickly against his palms. Was that how he always had it? The back of his head was different, though, the skin stiff. Scabbed?

I see they shaved your head, too, the girl said, watching him.

Who did?

Oh, I dunno, let me see How about the people who locked us to these trees?

Yeah, ok. He ran his fingers over the back of his head again. Yes, I guess youre right.

I thought you were dead when you wouldnt wake up.

He shook his head. No, Number Eight, Im very much alive. I do, however, appreciate your concern. Thank you very much.

Ignoring his sarcasm, she snapped to life, her blue eyes glaring at him. Whyd you call me that?

Well, since you cant remember your name, I figured Id address you by your tattoo.

She dragged herself to her feet and stared at him, her brows furrowed, then embarked on a rapid search of her body, What? What tattoo? Even through the dirt, it was clear to see that her arms and legs were free of any ink.

Here. He swivelled and revealed the back of his head to her. When he turned back, she was running both hands over her scalp, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.