PRAISE FOR AFTER THE PEOPLE LIGHTS HAVE GONE OFF
“If I’ve read better horror writers than Jones, I’ve forgotten them. He’s at the apex of his game. After the People Lights Have Gone Off is the kind of collection that lodges in your brain like a malignant grain of an evil dream. And it’s just going to be there, forever.”
—LAIRD BARRON, author of The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All
“Stephen Graham Jones is a true master of the horror short story. Inventive, quirky, unexpected and masterful.”
—JONATHAN MABERRY, New York Times bestselling author of
Fall of Night and Bad Blood
“Stephen Graham Jones is a great devourer of stories, chewing up horror novels and detective stories and weird fiction, ingesting literature of every type and pedigree, high and low and everything in between. His stories betray his encyclopedic knowledge of genre and of storytelling, but what makes After the People Lights Have Gone Off unique is how Jones never rests among his influences, going beyond what other writers might dare to craft terrors and triumphs all his own.”
—MATT BELL, author of In the House upon the Dirt between the Lake and the Woods
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT IN THE CASE OF SHORT PASSAGES QUOTED IN REVIEWS.
THE STORIES CONTAINED IN THIS ANTHOLOGY ARE WORKS OF FICTION. ALL INCIDENTS, SITUATIONS, INSTITUTIONS, GOVERNMENTS, AND PEOPLE ARE FICTIONAL AND ANY SIMILARITY TO CHARACTERS OR PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD IS STRICTLY COINCIDENTAL.
PUBLISHED BY DARK HOUS PRESS, AN IMPRINT OF CURBSIDE SPLENDOR PUBLISHING, INC., CHICAGO, ILLINOIS IN 2014.
FIRST EDITION
COPYRIGHT © 2014 BY STEPHEN GRAHAM JONES
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER: 2014945162
ISBN 978-1-940430-25-6
EDITED BY RICHARD THOMAS
COVER ART BY GEORGE C. COTRONIS
INTERIOR ILLUSTRATIONS BY LUKE SPOONER
DESIGNED BY ALBAN FISCHER
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
I no longer remember what I first read by Stephen Graham Jones, but it knocked me for a loop. Perhaps it was Demon Theory, which is about movies in a way, written in what some would call an experimental style, and I would call the correct style for the story. That may well have been my first read of Stephen’s work, or perhaps it was one of his short stories, but whatever that first discovery was, I thought, wow, that was good, and it led me to his other works, and pretty soon his was a name I was watching for. I began to gobble his stories and books like a chicken gobbles corn, and if you are unaware of that activity, find a chicken, toss some corn on the ground and watch it work. If you want to be polite, put it in a pan. You’ll get the idea.
Stephen had novels, short story collections, experimental stories, horror and crime, memoir-style tales, and…a little bit of everything, and I was happy to discover that he had a lot of it. No grass grew under his feet, he was constantly moving, writing, creating new worlds for me to enter into. Unexpected worlds, not just a rehash of something he had already written, which in the literary world can be both a blessing and a curse. For most, a curse, as editors and agents love it when you do one particular thing and they can sell your next book as a clone of the previous. That’s a pretty dull writing life, if you ask me.
As I’ve said, I don’t know the first thing I read by Stephen, but I do know when he first came on my radar. It was on a Robert E. Howard panel that we both shared. I liked what he had to say, and I think he liked what I had to say, because afterward we spoke a little, and at some point in time I was invited out to a class he was teaching in West Texas. Not only is Stephen a fine writer, he is also a PhD, a professor, and a good one. Then teaching at a West Texas University, now teaching in Boulder, Colorado.
While out visiting him in Texas, I talked to him about some of his work I had read, and we had long talks about other things, and I discovered we had a lot in common. One of the main things we had in common besides an intense love for our families and stories about Neanderthals (it’s a weakness), was that we liked to read a lot. We are both fanatic devourers of words.
He liked books and stories and comics and film. He read everything from pulp to high literature, experimental fiction, cereal boxes and the ingredients on an aspirin bottle. Okay, maybe I exaggerate. That’s me. I’ll have to ask Stephen about that. You name it, we enjoyed it. It sounds like a simple thing, and most writers like to read, of course, but not all are as widely read as Stephen, nor are they as gifted, nor are they as hard a worker as he is. He does not mess around, friends, as you can see by his long list of books and stories.
Stephen liked to do what I liked to do with the books he read. He liked to measure each on its worth, not its supposed position in the literary cosmos due to genre branding. He also liked to blend genres to such a degree that you can’t really separate any one thing out enough to call it securely by any label. Literary intent moves through the crudest of horrors, the darkest of crimes and mysteries. Stephen is a real writer, and the thing I admire most about him is that he’s not doing it to show he can blend his work, he’s doing it because it is his work. It comes from some pulsing passion inside of him. He loves writing. He eats and sleeps it. But most importantly, he actually writes.
He writes in different styles, but I have come to the point now where I can recognize his voice no matter how different the presentation. Johnny Cash might sing rock and roll songs, country songs, you name it, but his voice is always his own, and Stephen Graham Jones is the same as a writer. He is uniquely always himself, and that self is also a Blackfeet Indian. And that background is frequently a part of what he writes, as in his books The Fast Red Road, and All the Beautiful Sinners.
This isn’t the first time I’ve said it, but it bears repeating: I love all manner of literature, but nothing is quite as exciting to me as the short story. I prefer it to novels, both as reader and writer, though I certainly wouldn’t want to have one without the other. A short story is a unique little gem, and you can write about so many different things, different expressions, as the short story is less confined to the market. Its markets are frequently broader, from literary magazines to genre publications, be they on paper are on your pulsing computer screen. You can write something absurd one week, something traditional the next, something experimental the following week, and then you can go for pure pulp, or a character pondering the importance of mowing the lawn without
