Continuiamo a scoprire i contenuti della nuova raccolta di racconti 'DANZE ERETICHE - HORROR EXPERIENCE' in uscita a Dicembre 2015, in formato eBook.
Una delle opere che saranno pubblicate in questa raccolta, tradotta in Italiano per la prima volta, è il racconto 'DUTY' di Gary Braunbeck, opera vincitrice del Bram Stoker Awards nel 2003. L'incipit del racconto, in lingua originale:
(da 'Duty' di Gary Braunbeck)
Mom woke up just as the priest was giving her Last Rites.
(Is this part of the penance? you asked of the Guests. Isn’t it all? was their reply. Smug fucks.)
For six days she’d lain unconscious in the ICU at Cedar Hill Memorial Hospital, kept alive by the ventilator which sat by her bed clicking, puffing, humming, buzzing, measuring her blood, inspiratory, and baseline pressure, waveform readouts showing the fluxes of tracheal and esophageal pressure, proximal pressure at 60 to + 140 cmH2O, 1 cmH2O/25 mV, output flow at 300 to 200 LPM, 1 LPM/ 10 mV, the whole impressive shebang running smoothly at maximum system pressure of 175 cmH2O, the ribbed tube rammed securely down her throat into her lungs, ensuring that she continued to breathe at the acceptable rates of 250 milliseconds minimum expiratory time, 5 seconds maximum inspiratory time. Details. Specifics. Minutia. Like the other tube, the one running out of her nose into the clear container hanging on the other side of the ventilator; this tube is emptying her lungs of the blood filling them, but you’ve noticed, haven’t you, that there’s much more than blood flowing through the tube; there are flecks of things, black flecks, some tiny, others so big you’re surprised they don’t clog the flow, and when these flecks are released into the container they swirl around with an almost deliberate precision, dancers executing masterful choreography, and you remember a phrase spoken by one of the EMTs: circling the drain. Yes, that was it: when they’re about to lose a victim, the EMTs say that they’re swirling the drain. That’s what the black flecks are portraying in your mother’s blood, and for a moment you wonder who would compose the music to this ballet; more likely Mahler than Copland, you’re willing to bet. Drain-Swirl of the Black Flecks. Like the title of a bad 50's horror movie, the kind you used to watch with Dad on Friday nights when you were a child and there was no sibling to compete for his attention. (...)
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