The Amulet. A.R. Morlan

tion>

      BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY A. R. MORLAN

      The Amulet: A Novel of Horror

      The Chimera and the Shadowfox Griefer and Other Curious People

      Dark Journey: A Novel of Horror

      Ewerton Death Trip: A Walk Through the Dark Side of Town

      The Fold-O-Rama Wars at the Blue Moon Roach Hotel and Other Colorful Tales of Transformation and Tattoos

      Of Vampires & Gentlemen: Tales of Erotic Horror

      ’Rillas and Other Science Fiction Stories

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1991, 2009, 2012 by A. R. Morlan

      Portions of the “Prologue” originally appeared in 1991 in slightly different form The Horror Show under the title,

       “Night Skirt.”

      Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint “Alice’s Restaurant” by Arlo Guthrie, Copyright © 1966, 1967 by Appleseed Music. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      (1988)

      In memory of Little Guy (1983-1989)

      More than a cat, you were family—

      More than a friend, you were the child of my heart.

      (2009)

      Dedicated with all of my thanks and respect to:

      Ardath Mayhar

      Who not only sought out a new home for my novel, but took it upon herself to scan the text, and submit it for me to a new publisher. For that task, she has all my gratitude and unending admiration. She is truly a class act, and a generous human being. Without her, this book would have remained forever Cancelled, and eventually forgotten—she made it come alive again. Thanks, Ardath: I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me, and for my work!

      (2012)

      In memory of Ardath Mayhar (1930-2012). I never was able to repay you for all you did for me....

      FOREWORD

      This novel was written during a twenty-two-day stretch back in January of 1989; while I usually write short fiction that quickly, I’d never done anything this long that fast; but I was working under a do-or-die deadline. My written-first novel, Dark Journey (that wasn’t actually the title I wanted, but that’s another story; from now on, I’ll just call that first novel Dark Journey, or DJ for short), had already been accepted for publication as a hardcover (which is yet another story, since it was dumped out as a tightly-spaced paperback less than a year after this novel was published), but my publisher had a small problem.

      DJ was a very long, complex book which they supposedly wanted to release with some degree of care, but it was considered an unlikely “first” novel; so they wanted me to put out a shorter, somewhat less complicated novel, albeit using some of the same characters that would be utilized in the second, more ambitious novel, in order to generate readership for the “second” book. And so I was told that, before a contract could be issued, I had to write a second “first” novel. DJ had taken me about seven years to write, and that didn’t include the final drafts I did after I actually did get the contract, which should tell you a little something about how my novel-writing vs. short-fiction writing creative process operated.

      I’m fairly proficient at writing short fiction, but the long works give me more trouble. DJ had taken years to reach a cohesive linear narrative, so suddenly I was faced with a choice—either come up with a second novel which could be written fast, or I’d lose my chance at being published by that particular house. My then-agent wanted me to jump ship and try the book elsewhere, but I had a problem—since I am probably one of the world’s worst typists (a fact my editor later confirmed when she screamed at me over the phone, “You’re the worst fucking typist in the whole god-damn universe!” a couple of years later), and computer illiterate on top of that, thanks to some learning disabilities which also prevented me from learning how to drive, etc., I was dependent on my editor’s then-husband to actually get the book submitted in disk format to the publisher.

      He’d ordered an Atari word processor and a different-brand printer for me from some computer company out East; and since the printer he ordered never worked right with the word processor, I was dependent on him to turn my diskettes into printed copy. And he told me that if I jumped ship with the book, he would not help me print out my disks—and since the system he used was obscure, and my typing skills were so awful, I’d have to pay a great deal of money up front to have my typed version of DJ turned into a submissable text, something even my agent would have to charge me for. And since I was hurting for money, I was trapped. But...my editor’s husband came up with a solution to my novel problem on his own....

      A year or so earlier, I’d published a short story in The Horror Show magazine called “Night Skirt,” which was set in Ewerton, my fictionalized version of my own residence in Wisconsin (the setting of most of the stories I’d already had published, in the magazine my book-editor’s husband also edited); and that story concerned a magical black skirt with dark, evil powers which falls into the hands of a most unpleasant little girl, on whom I’d based on my equally unpleasant and actually rather evil grandmother (who acted like a child until her death years later). The story was brief and pretty much self-contained, but the book-editor’s husband thought it might work as a Foreword for a present-day story.

      Since I was faced with many years spent writing DJ going down the drain if I didn’t come up with a new novel, I reluctantly agreed that I’d try and come up with something based on my “Night Skirt” story. Only, I was soon told by the editor at the book publishing house that I could not use a skirt per se—the art department there simply could not find with a way to make a skirt scary. So I had a choice—I could turn the skirt into a ring or a bracelet of some sort. Which could be hidden in the skirt, initially, so I could still cannibalize most of the short story to act as the novel’s prologue. I decided to use the bracelet, since I thought a scarab ring was just too darned clichéd (I’d also been told to make it a beetle-based ornament to provide a good cover image). And then I had a few days to create a rough outline and submit that. The editor wasn’t crazy about it, but thought I could punch it up later—and so I finally got my contract.

      That was December of 1988, and by the next month, I was writing a novel I’d never dreamed I’d be writing, using an infernal word processor I’d only employed once before to transcribe a previously-typed piece onto. I soon learned that the WP’s rather bizarre system of self-filing each disk wasn’t conducive to my style of writing (that is, looking at what I’d written a page or two earlier, then going on to the next section)—as each of the three banks within each file filled, it was impossible to scan backwards to, say, the beginning of the first or second file while filling up the second or third. So I had to guesstimate what I’d written about several pages earlier, and try to keep it all in my head as I worked.

      If time hadn’t been an issue, I would have written it on the typewriter instead, and then transcribed it into the WP; but I’d been told that writing directly into a WP was so much “easier” and supposedly enhanced the creative process—well, perhaps for most people, but not for me. This novel was the first—and last—thing that I ever wrote on a word processor. Which I’ll admit wasn’t a real computer, but the experience working with that blasted machine and its clunky software was enough to sour me on all non-typewriters for life. Within five years I’d sold the thing to Ardath Mayhar and her late husband Joe, who ran a used computer shop, along with the printer I’d never been able to use (and which, I later found out, was so thoroughly incompatible with the Atari machine that it would have never been recommended by anyone who sold computers, no matter what the fellow who ordered it for me said).

      So...writing this novel wasn’t the most naturally creative process of my writing career. Surprisingly, a number of people have liked it—once it