It seems like only yesterday that I opened a post office box in College Park, Maryland to accept submissions for a new literary journal named Samsara: The Magazine of Suffering. The year was 1993, and I was a student at the University of Maryland. During my studies I came across the Buddhist concept of samsara, the continuous cycle of suffering and rebirth until one achieves enlightenment. Of course, my twisted college brain immediately thought: “Why wouldn’t that be wonderful! A literary journal based on suffering!”
Well, maybe there was a bit more to it than that. After all, the official theme of the journal is artwork, poetry and fiction centered around suffering and healing, the latter being arguably far more important to us as human beings.
Through the years, the magazine’s reach has expanded (we’ve published writers from Africa, Canada, Mexico, France, Japan, and the United Kingdom), and my wonderful wife Lisa Flach-Fulcher joined the effort as the Managing Editor, vastly improving many of the day-to-day operations of the journal.
Despite these changes, Samsara has remained true to form, only accepting works that emphasize the central theme of suffering and healing. Beyond that, the magazine has no genre restrictions, and we’ve been amazed by the variety of ways that artists and writers have incorporated these themes into their submissions over the years.
We expected stories from cancer survivors, those recovering from addiction, and those mourning a lost love. All these themes are critically important to Samsara. But the creative spark will not be denied, and we received pleasantly unexpected new spins on suffering and healing as well. Consider the suffering of an alien race slowly perishing due to a dying sun, or a vampire with dementia. Consider a man plagued by the voice of a subway train that lures him to his death, or a paranoid individual convinced that fish live in his waterbed, giving him incurable insomnia.
All these ideas and more have appeared in Samsara’s pages, thanks to the ingenuity of our contributors.
Although we do not receive a lot of artwork, we always need art for the cover. The imagery of Samsara has changed throughout the years as well, so below we’ve presented some of the more interesting covers from our supporting artists.
Stay tuned, for in 2024 we plan to do something special for our 25th Issue!
Thank you to everyone that has joined on us on this publishing journey, and all of those interested in submitting in the future. Without you, there would be no Samsara Magazine.
COMING TO GRAVELIGHT PRESS IN 2023: a compendium of terror by master horror author R. David Fulcher. Look for The Pumpkin King and Other Tales of Terror to sneak up behind you when you’re walking home in the dark just about when the moon gets bright enough for harvest time. What kind of harvest happens in the dark? Check Gravelight Press for updates on your future sleepless nights courtesy of Mr. Fulcher, and stay tuned for the cover reveal, and to find out how you can get something special from the author.
In the Fall of 2023 Devil’s Party Press will be releasing a new collection of my horror tales called The Pumpkin King: The Collected Horror Stories of R. David Fulcher.
While some of these stories have appeared in the past in other collections and anthologies, this will be the first time my all my horror stories will be consolidated into two volumes.
The first volume, The Pumpkin King, will focus on my traditional horror stories. The second volume, yet to be titled, will focus on my cosmic horror stories. The second volume is scheduled for publication in the Fall of 2024.
Below I’ve provided a small taste (as a vampire would say) of each tale you’ll find in The Pumpkin King. Consider it a little something to whet your appetite (as a zombie might say).
Marienburg Castle – When the American crew of a B-17 are shot down over Nazi-occupied Germany, they soon learn there is more than the German Army to fear.
The Pumpkin King – There are rules to Halloween, and consequences to those who break those rules.
Heavenly Strains – A miasma of dark music summons the dead.
A Matter of Taste– Mary McKeldin would do anything to cure her son – even the unthinkable.
My Days with Mahalia – An American bomber crew gets supernatural aid during their missions – at a cost.
A Night Out with Mr. Bones – A serial killer and his sidekick leave a trail of bodies in their wake.
Merry Are We of the Lake – A group of suburbanites conduct a dark ritual to rejuvenate their weary souls.
The Night Fighter – A vampire discovers he has a need for speed.
Pumpkin Seed Spit – Three children are forever changed after a night of trick-or-treating.
The Words that Hurt – All couples fight. Sometimes those fights become deadly.
The Man Next Door – A family learns that there is more to their new neighbor than they realized.
Extra! Extra! – A tabloid reporter discovers his best story might be his last.
The Flight Dummy – A man must make a terrible choice at 30,000 feet.
For the Children – A man races against time to stop a malevolent force stalking local children.
The Watchman’s Web – A thief on a jewel heist learns that the night watchman is a formidable opponent.
The Huntress – A beautiful woman blurs the lines between art and reality.
The Faerie Lights – A traveler rests in a haunted wood at his own peril.
The October Man – After a romantic encounter with a mysterious stranger, a woman realizes she was given a curse that manifests each October.
STAY TUNED TO THIS BLOG AND THE DEVIL’S PARTY PRESS WEBSITE FOR SNEAK PREVIEWS, PROMOTIONAL VIDEOS, AND OTHER NEWS RELATING TO THE RISE OF THE PUMPKIN KING!
Sometimes all of us need to get out of our comfort zones and try something new. Writers are no different.
Many of us are genre specialists, proclaiming ourselves to be mystery writers, romance writers, science fiction writers, and so forth.
While there is nothing wrong with being a specialist, there are benefits to be gained by getting a totally new perspective, seeing the world from the other side of the fence so to speak.
In this vein, I decided to try writing crime fiction, a genre I’ve never written and to be honest have barely read. The result of this experiment was a short story called “Harbor Heist.”
I was pleased with the tale, and even submitted it to a fiction contest in which the story won first place in its category. So, it is possible for old dogs to learn new tricks.
I hope you enjoy “Harbor Heist”!
I knew when I stepped on to the deck of the Water Bug that this was no ordinary case. The Water Bug was a tugboat that had been modified with hoses for firefighting duty along the Baltimore Harbor. The captain of the vessel was an old friend of mine from the neighborhood.
“Welcome aboard Detective,” Captain Pell said as I climbed aboard.
“Thanks Rich. I appreciate you letting me hitch a ride on this one,” I replied.
I looked out across the water as the crew released the mooring lines and the engine chugged to life. The twinkling lights of the city could be seen clearly across the harbor, disrupted only by the orange glare of the warehouse fire on the opposite shore.
“I know I’m just an old tug captain, but I wasn’t born yesterday. You must have reason to believe this fire is no accident, or you wouldn’t be here,” Captain Pell said.
“Your instincts are correct, Rich. Just prior to the fire someone called the station about suspicious activity in the warehouse district. Two squad cars are on the way, and I thought I’d check out things from the harbor.”
“I see,” Rich replied. “Flush out the bad guys from the front and ambush them in the back, huh?”
“Something like that. You’d make a good cop, Rich,” I said.
“I’ll stick to the water. Remember these high-pressure hoses will put a bad guy on his back as surely as a slug from a forty-five. I’ll make sure the guys keep their eyes open for an opportunity to do just that,” Rich said.
“Get me as close to the docks as you can, and I’ll jump over,” I said.
The captain nodded. “Time to get to work. Good Luck, John!” Soon arcs of water sliced through the night sky and fell upon the burning building.
The fireboat maneuvered parallel to the shore. As soon as just a few feet separated the side of the boat and the dock I stepped up on the railing and sprang across.
“Detective?” I removed the walkie talkie from my jacket pocket.
“Detective Royce here, go ahead.”
“This is Officer Johnson. The fire is out of control! There’s no way we’re getting in there,” the officer replied.
“Ok Johnson. I read you loud and clear. I’m checking out the docks now,” I said.
“Roger that,” the officer replied.
A string of warehouses continued down the docks to my right, and on a hunch, I went in that direction.
The orange glow of a cigarette revealed a man smoking near the last warehouse, and I made myself flat against the wall as I reached inside my jacket to remove my .38 Special. After several minutes the man snubbed out the cigarette and walked into the warehouse.
“Johnson?” I whispered into the walkie talkie.
“I’m here, Detective,” he responded.
“Contact the station and find out who owns the last warehouse on the dock,” I said.
I kept my gun pointed in the direction of the warehouse in case my conversation had betrayed my position.
“Detective, that warehouse is supposed to be vacant,” Johnson came back.
“Listen Johnson, you and the other officers better get down here. Something is going down in that warehouse,” I hissed.
I clicked off the walkie talkie and inched along the wall towards the last building. Leading with the barrel of my gun, I eased open the door silently, and slid inside. A few lightbulbs illuminated the hallway. I could barely make out some voices in the distance.
I crept forward until I could make out some of the conversation.
“Listen, Sammy, we’ve got to move the tusks now. The merchandise isn’t safe here for long,” the unknown speaker said.
“Don’t you think I know that, Tony? That’s why I created that little diversion down the street. We’re moving the goods tonight,” another man said.
The hallway opened into a huge room. There was a long table, and several men in conversation at the opposite end of the room.
I noticed a ladder to my left leading up to a catwalk and I made my way up. Once I reached the top I crawled on my belly. It was then I realized that the table below was littered with elephant tusks, and the crooks were illegally trading ivory.
“Freeze! Police!” I yelled, springing up. I kept my pistol pointed at the men below.
At the same time, I heard the front door being kicked in by my backup units.
“Blow it,” the larger man said, and the other man ducked below the table and lit a lighter. I pulled the trigger and winged the larger man in the shoulder, but the other man had apparently struck his mark, as I saw a spark on a fuse snaking its way across the room.
As Officer Johnson and the others stormed the room, I yelled out to them: “Get out! It’s going to blow!”
I slid down the ladder using my feet as brakes on each side, and I sprinted to the exit once I landed.
The Water Bug was waiting at the dock for me, and just as I leaped aboard the warehouse blew. Hundreds of tusks rained down on them, all over the deck like scattered bones. I made my way to the bow of the boat where Rich was panning a spotlight across the water.
“We got one of them with a hose when he tried to run away. The hose knocked him right into the water.”
“Help! I can’t swim!” The spotlight settled on a man thrashing in the water.
The Water Bug pulled alongside him.
Using the only thing available, I held down a long tusk to the man in the water.
“Can I help you get to the slammer?” I said.
Scowling, the man grabbed the tusk and was dragged aboard.
Final thoughts on “Secrets in Sulsut”, and possible future developments.
Thank you for reading!
So, we find ourselves at the end of the tale. I feel like there are more adventures in store for Malric in the future, picking up the story where we left off with Malric wading back to shore with his thoughts racing and full of vengeance as he watches the Sea Mare swim off in the shimmering waves.
There are ideas, always ideas, snippets captured in notebooks and folders. But these ideas compete with all of the others, and which idea will spark the next short story is to be determined.
The outline of the next episode for Malric involved him scaling the castle walls to inform the royal family of the impending invasion by the Scavengers. While sneaking into the castle, he unexpectedly encounters the King’s beautiful daughter, and falls madly in love with her (there is always a princess, right?). This does not please the King, as you would imagine.
Unlike the cruel passage of time that plagues us mortals, our characters are blessed to live suspended in a timeless void, waiting patiently for years without aging a day until they are summoned to a new adventure. If you write long enough, you do have to age your characters – even Bilbo Baggins was once a young hobbit before his famous disappearing act at his 111th birthday party.
Perhaps then, time permitting, I can bestow many more years to Malric before his days of adventuring are over and there are no more Secrets in Sulsut.
After all, Malric is a dreamer, and we could all use a little more of that.
In this episode, unlikely allies help a weak and wounded Malric escape to freedom.
They were strong, dark creatures with silky, green manes that spilled down their muscular backs like sea grass. They frolicked, thrashed, and dove in the pools like mad children, their sleek torsos green lightning, their golden, webbed tails thunder that cracked the water’s surface with a harsh series of slaps.
Malric had heard of these creatures as a boy. They were called Sea Mares by the elders and were always mentioned when talks turned to water folk and their kin. They were the steeds of surf and swell.
But to see these creatures of myth before him, like a living dream! It was an experience beyond words for a dreamer like Malric.
Malric dove off the cliff and into the pools below. Despite the pain of the saltwater meeting his open wound, he felt reborn in the cleansing liquid. Malric broke the surface and gripped the mane of the Sea Mare closest to him. He swung himself onto its back and guided the mare towards the mouth of the cave. It rose up, its black-green hooves flailing, the muscles of its back bunching. Finally it succumbed to Malric’s will and dove into the brine. It became tangled in the ropes that blocked the exit of the underwater passage, and became ensnared, crying shrilly and throwing Malric from its back.
Malric removed Sliver from its sheath and began to work on the ropes. The water was in chaos from the mare’s fury. Malric was struck by one of the webbed hooves and his head throbbed and spun while he clutched the sides of the pool to prevent himself from slipping under. He regained his senses and slashed furiously at the ropes until they gave. He threw himself once again onto the mare’s back just before it dove for freedom.
Once free, the mare raced through the narrow channel. Malric held his breath while he streaked past the splashes of orange, red, and pink that comprised the luminous flora of the sea floor.
Just before he fainted the passage widened, turned upwards, and disappeared behind them as they shot past the base of the cliffs. Malric wrapped both arms around the creature’s steely neck and buried his face in the kelpy mane as the Sea Mare rocketed towards the surface of the sea.
They broke the water’s surface and sprang forward into the sky. Malric breathed deeply as the mare reached the peak of its arc, some ten feet above the ocean’s surface. They crashed through the waves and descended once again before resurfacing. The mare swam along the surface towards the open sea where the smaller satellite of Erahorn met the horizon. Malric heard a commotion in the water behind him and watched in fascination as dozens of Sea Mares broke the water’s surface and headed out to sea, leaping and diving in a fury of joy.
Malric wrapped his hands around the mane and turned the mare in towards the point.
Upon reaching the shore Malric slipped off the mare’s back and stood waist deep in the surf. The mare, finally relieved of its burden, neighed into the night and turned back towards the open sea and the colony of mares in the distance. Malric followed its wake until the foamy ripple was lost in the waves, then waded in to shore.
He was exhausted and his wound cried out from the salty kiss of the ocean. He strode across the sand towards the distant outline of Sulsut, feeling both warmed by the familiar lights of the city and fearful of the upcoming conflict that could extinguish them forever.
In this episode of “Secrets in Sulsut”, Malric inches closer to the ocean and escape.
The Scavenger moved past his position in its unnatural gait, and then paused, as if warned by some inner voice.
But it was too late. In a fluid dance of violence Malric had removed himself from the fissure, maneuvered behind the Scavenger, cupped its stretched-out mouth, and pulled Sliver through the gill-like folds of its neck.
Malric released his hold, and the lifeless form slumped to the floor. Malric’s forearm was covered in syrupy, black blood. The musky scent invaded Malric’s lungs, and Sol’s words came back to him: Remember, Malric, theycan smell their dead . . .
With frantic haste Malric dragged the corpse over to the fissure and stuffed it inside. He knew that the scent of the dead Scavenger’s blood was wafting through the dark passageways, and it chilled him to think of Scavengers rising out of their watery beds to greet him, their glossy, dead eyes concealing their malicious intentions.
A salty wind swept through the niche as Malric worked furiously to hide the carcass. The source of the breeze was not from the corridor but somewhere behind the fissure itself. Malric abandoned his task and slid with his back against the jagged walls deeper into the rock. It was extremely tight, sometimes only six inches between sides, and completely impassable for a normal-sized man. But Malric, with his slight frame, found it negotiable.
Malric filled his lungs with the salty air that flowed through the fissure, relieved to move away from the fishy stench of the tunnels. He knew the sea was very close, and the promise of escape quickened his passage through the cleft in the rock.
If not for the luminous flora that illuminated the floor of the pools below, Malric surely would have walked out into open space and plunged to the bottom.
But it was not the pool, despite the prismatic display at its bottom, that captured his attention.
In this episode of “Secrets in Sulsut”, Malric battles to escape the seaside stronghold of the Scavengers.
There is a passage two ledges above, Malric. The voice was almost a whisper. The owl was lying on its side, mortally wounded. Malric removed his tunic and bundled the creature up, tying it securely to his belt. Its breath rasped slowly from its hooked beak.
Malric slashed at two tentacles that probed the ledge, spilling ochre blood over the rocks. He quickly found a foothold and began his ascent. The climbing would have been easy, but the owl threw off Malric’s balance, and his knuckles were white as he clutched the rocks.
Malric pulled himself over the ledge by the tunnel. The pungent smell of the Scavengers wafted through the entrance.
The Scavengers . . . they are mostly blind . . . eyes accustomed to the murky waters of the sea . . . but their sense of smell is great, Malric . . . cloak yourself in their smell.. . The voice fell off into silence.
“Sol!” pleaded Malric. “Sol!” Quickly Malric unwrapped the owl and placed it on the floor. Malric knelt beside the dying animal. Its eyes were almost completely closed.
No time, rattled the brittle voice, no time . . . remember, Malric, they can smell their dead . . .
Malric held back the hot flood of tears and set his teeth, drawing strength from the steely reserves of his soul that had been honed to a fine point during his service with the Thieves’ Guild. He held his breath and thrust his body against the slick wall of the passage, shutting out the stench that invaded the pores of his skin with wraith-like fingers.
He removed Sliver and crawled forward; his loss submerged in the greedy tides of hate.
Malric continued forward for what seemed like hours, passing many adjoining corridors but staying in the one he had originally entered because it had begun to slope noticeably upwards. He stole past Scavenger women with yellow, sagging breasts and Scavenger young playing in shallow pools. He witnessed them fight, frolic, and breed within the cool darkness.
Malric walked right into an ambush. Slashing downwards with its trident, a Scavenger cut a shallow wound from Malric’s shoulder to his ribs. Malric sprang backwards, his heart racing from the fiery bite of the Scavenger’s blade.
Malric retreated into the passage, scouring the walls for the natural fissure he had passed just moments before. He expertly slid his wiry frame into the niche and waited.
In this episode of “Secrets in Sulsut”, an unexpected ally comes to Malric’s aid in his darkest hour.
Malric thrashed within the net like a fish pulled from the sea. He couldn’t believe he was going to die in the belly of a deity lost to his kind; alone, anonymously, his bones hidden in the darkness of a cavern beneath the sea.
Still, the calculating part of Malric’s mind, the part that had guided him safely through the countless pilferings and assassinations in Sulsut, insisted that there was a way out of this. Ledges jutted out of the sides of the cavern every few feet. Once free, it would be little work climbing back up into the chamber. But then what?
Suddenly a clamor rose from above. Malric craned his neck against the heavy rope and spied a shape flying over the edge of the cavern and down towards him. Knives and tridents clattered against the sides of the pit as they tried to bring down the creature.
Malric could not determine what it was, but it clutched something shiny in its talons.
Vibrations trembled down the rope that held Malric. He frantically searched the nearer side of the cavern. He noticed a ledge down and to the left. Bracing his boots against the wall, he shoved out and to the right. He swung outward, then over the ledge he was aiming for, and then back to his original position. He shoved off once again. The rope snapped on his return.
Malric impacted the ledge with his shoulder and cried out in pain. For an indescribable moment he teetered on the edge of the ledge. Sinuous arms broke the water’s surface to grasp him. Then he rolled back against the wall in a tangle of netting.
Hearing the fluttering of wings very close, Malric turned his head and spied Sol’s owl above him, holding Sliver in its talons and running its blade back and forth against the netting.
It is me, old friend, boomed the weary voice of Sol in his head, I guide the owl. Make haste; even as we speak my strength wavers. Malric noticed that the owl was struggling to stay airborne, and that blood flowed down one of its wings.
Soon Malric was free of the netting and felt the exhilaration of a lover’s reunion as he removed Sliver from the owl’s talons.
The water below was feverishly crashing against the sides of the cavern, a manifestation of the distress of the ancient god below.