Author: Nathan Shumate

The homefathers and the exchangers avert their faces, and though they call me by my name WeSa to my face, behind my back when they think I cannot hear they call me “the Remnant of River Home.” My wife, I hear, they call “Lament of the Unmothered.” They do not shun us, of course, and…
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July 9th, 1863 The good Father Kettrick has supplied me with this foolscap and pencil, and further agreed to forebear the redemption of my soul and instead to give me solitude for my final hour. I think that this evidence of my literacy has shocked the poor clergyman into acquiescence. I shall therefore attempt to…
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It was like something from one of the stories Mother used to tell me at bedtime, but in reverse. My mother stayed alive; it was my father, a hunter and mushroom gatherer, who coughed until blood trickled down his chin. Not long after we buried him, Mother welcomed Mr. Perce to our home on the…
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All right, then! Have all bellies been filled? Then let me turn my seat here, and you can all gather around. Yes, on the floor. Because I’m old, that’s why! You have to earn these comforts, you know. Well. This is a sight. I’ve never had all of my children and grandchildren here at once.…
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Goodreads Book Giveaway Levels by Nathan Shumate Giveaway ends April 17, 2015. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win

A day late, but here it is!

The expected jingle of bells was not what announced Jim’s entrance into the Asian goods store. It was instead a loud, hollow clacking sound. Jim looked up to see what looked like a mobile of bleached bone slats connected to the hinge of the door. Huh—different, Jim thought. The store was dim, but still brighter…
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Now available!  The editor and publisher of the Arcane and Space Eldritch anthologies now presents you with seventeen of his own short stories. From post-apocalyptic communities to existential wastelands, from black comedy to dark absurdism, from visceral shock to Lovecraftian dread, the seventeen unsettling stories in this collection are guaranteed to ensnare your imagination. “These…
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IVa. I caught a pod to Lowtown that night and lingered in the space between two crumbling buildings, just outside the wire mesh fence that surrounded the platform. I was wearing my dark uni-mold again, and a black body sheet—not a very Lowtown outfit, but I expected it to keep me unnoticed, and therefore out…
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Hanover reached under his left arm for the water bottle that hung from the side of his backpack, uncorked it, put it to his lips. A few drops of warm water trickled into his leathery mouth. Always a few drops. Never more, never less. He corked the bottle and replaced it. Behind him Farris giggled.…
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