Body
Asa Nonami
The new cautionary tale for Modern Women - Telegraphompilation.
Copyright Š 2012 by Asa Nonami All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United Kingdom 2019 First published in 2012 by Vertical ISBN 0-9000000-0-0 Left Hand Publushing 123 Mesa Street Scottsdale, AZ 00000 www.LeftHandPublishing.co.uk
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Foreword
Carmen Maria Machado
Horror is one of my favorite genres because it’s so limber. In some ways, it’s regressive—it’s still very male and white. The fact that Horror was so big this year is amazing but also unusual. On the other hand, horror can be a very transgressive space. It reflects so many of our anxieties and fears. When you enter into horror, you’re entering into your own mind, your own anxiety, your own fear, your own darkest spaces. When horror fails, it’s because the writer or director isn’t drawing on those things. They’re just throwing blood wherever and seeing what sticks. But horror is an intimate, eerie, terrifying thing, and when it’s done well it can unmake you, the viewer, the reader. That tells us a lot about who we are, what we are, and what we, individually and culturally, are afraid of. I love the ability of stories to have spaces in them where the reader can rush in. That is the work I am most interested in, and that is the work Asa Nonomi’s work is captivated by.
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BODY
Five Haunting Stories
Asa Nonami “We’re going to have to let truth scream louder to our souls than the lies that have infected us.”
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Contents
Blood............................................................................................07
Face ............................................................................................43
Hair............................................................................................106
Chin...........................................................................................147 Nose..........................................................................................204
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Blood
After college, her life changed when she moved to Chicago and began teaching English at an inner-city high school. Even after she moved to the UK, Anne couldn’t forget the beauty of her adopted city, with its tenacity, energy, and dazzling skyscrapers curving along Lake Michigan. But she also couldn’t forget her former students’ stories of desperation and violence. A Truth I Don’t Know was inspired by these two sides of Chicago. Anne currently lives in Bristol with her husband. When she’s not writing, she’s happiest cooking, traveling, and curling up with a good book. An excerpt of her told me over and over, “Mali, it’s just a dream.” But it had felt so real. This time I pinch myself. It hurts, so I know I’m awake. It means these footsteps aren’t a dream. Mama sits at the table under the light. She’s been reading through a stack of papers from the hospital and marking the important bits. Now her pen waits in midair while she listens. “Mama,” I say. There’s a hammering on the door and someone yells, “Baby Girl, you in there? You gotta let me in.” It’s Uncle Antonio. Mama sucks in her breath and coughs. She uses the table to prop herself up. She peers in the bedroom to check on Deron. Then she walks to the door and turns the bolt lock, but not the chain. Antonio thrusts the door open an inch. Mama looks through the crack and says, “You ain’t bringing no trouble into my home, Antonio.” “None, Baby Girl. I swear, ain’t nothing like that,” he says. “Mama,” I try again, but she’s having none of it. 7
Anne grew up in a small town in the US, and spent her childhood getting lost in the woods and telling stories to herself (and anyone else who would listen). After college, her life changed when she moved to Chicago and began teaching English at an inner-city high school. Even after she moved to the UK, Anne couldn’t forget the beauty of her adopted city, with its tenacity, energy, and dazzling skyscrapers curving along Lake Michigan. But she also couldn’t forget her former students’ stories of desperation and violence. A Truth I Don’t Know was inspired by these two sides of Chicago. Anne currently lives in Bristol with her husband. When she’s not writing, she’s happiest cooking, traveling, and curling up with a good book. An excerpt of her told me over and over, “Mali, it’s just a dream.” But it had felt so real. This time I pinch myself. It hurts, so I know I’m awake. It means these footsteps aren’t a dream. Mama sits at the table under the light. She’s been reading through a stack of papers from the hospital and marking the important bits. Now her pen waits in midair while she listens. “Mama,” I say. There’s a hammering on the door and someone yells, “Baby Girl, you in there? You gotta let me in.” It’s Uncle Antonio. Mama sucks in her breath and coughs. She uses the table to prop herself up. She peers in the bedroom to check on Deron. Then she walks to the door and turns the bolt lock, but not the chain. Antonio thrusts the door open an inch. Mama looks through the crack and says, “You ain’t bringing no trouble into my home, Antonio.” “None, Baby Girl. I swear, ain’t nothing like that,” he says. “Mama,” I try again, but she’s having none of it. “You—bed,” she says, pointing her finger at the couch without turning around. Then she slides back the chain and Antonio dashes inside. Rivers of sweat run down his face and neck. His puffy coat is unzipped. He runs to the table and topples it over. Mama’s papers fall on the floor. He jams the table against the door. He re-sets the bolt lock and chain. So Mama and I both know he’s a liar. He’s brought trouble with him I sit up on the couch, wrapped in my blanket. I squeeze my knees. My heart races. “Go back to bed, baby,” Mama says, but she isn’t watching me. Her eyes are glued to the door. She slides out her phone. Her breath is raspy and short. “Hurry,” I whisper. Outside someone’s playing music. I hear the heavy, hip-hop beat. The wind howls, covering the sound. Then a door slams and there are more feet, pounding, terrible feet, echoing through the stairwell. “Oh God,” Antonio says. “Get your brother,” Mama says to me. I throw off the blankets and run to the bedroom. I scoop Deron’s heavy, sleepy body into my arms. He’s almost too big to carry. But his eyes are tightly shut. 8
Face
Anne grew up in a small town in the US, and spent her childhood gett ting lost in the woods and telling stories to herself (and anyone else who would listen). After college, her life changed when she moved to Chicago and began teaching English at an inner-city high school. Even after she moved to the UK, Anne couldn’t forget the beauty of her adopted city, with its tenacity, energy, and dazzling skyscrapers curving along Lake Michigan. But she also couldn’t forget her former students’ stories of desperation and violence. A Truth I Don’t Know was inspired by these two sides of Chicago. Anne currently lives in Bristol with her husband. When she’s not writing, she’s happiest cooking, traveling, and curling up with a good book. An excerpt of her told me over and over, “Mali, it’s just a dream.” But it had felt so real. This time I pinch myself. It hurts, so I know I’m awake. It means these footsteps aren’t a dream. Mama sits at the table under the light. She’s been reading through a stack of papers from the hospital and marking the important bits. Now her pen waits in midair while she listens. “Mama,” I say. There’s a hammering on the door and someone yells, “Baby Girl, you in there? You gotta let me in.” It’s Uncle Antonio. Mama sucks in her breath and coughs. She uses the table to prop herself up. She peers in the bedroom to check on Deron. Then she walks to the door and turns the bolt lock, but not the chain. Antonio thrusts the door 9
The Mothers of Horror Series In this series we bring attention to the women writers in horror fiction, who are often neglected from the genre.Mary Shelly is widely credited as the ‘Grandmother of Horror’. This series expands this idea, looking at the lineage of women in horror fiction. The Mothers of Horror is the first series by Left Hand Publishing. Look our for other titles in The Mothers of Horror series.
Reach, Mary SaGiovanni
See Me, Ibi Zoboi
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Left Hand Publishing
Left Hand Publishing focuses on high quality horror literary fiction from voices rarely heard from and historic educational books bound on discovering the darker, often hidden, side of history. Left-Hand Publishing is a proud member of Faber & Faber Independence Alliance, a global partnership of twelve UK publishers, and shares their passion for editorial excellence, original, diverse publishing and innovation in marketing and commercial success. Our Independence grants us the autonomy to exclusively publish original books with alternative ideas or rebrand books we feel have been neglected from the genre, striving to introduce these hidden gems to a new, larger audience. We strive to empower the undiscovered and reignite the flame for the forgotten. we lend a hand to those who have been left behind.
www.lefthandpublishing.co.uk www.faber.co.uk/independent-alliance
“I hate my face, my skin and my nose. I wish I had a new body.�
Be careful what you wish for.
How often do you wish you could change your body? Do you squeeze parts of your skin, wishing they would disappear? Do you wish that photoshop existed in real life? Turn the page, and your wishes have come true, but at the expense of something far deeper than skin. In the vein of the popular netflix show Black Mirror, Body is complied of five psychological horror stories, leaving its readers deeply unsettled as they discover the horrific reality of their insecurities
www.lefthandpublishing.co.uk