What if, as a hunter, you have already shot all the big trophies on your list, and one day you get an offer to hunt for something worth a quarter of a million, would you take a look behind the Little Door? How much patience must a hunter have to shoot his prey and achieve his ultimate goal? Faun is a dark story with an even darker twist…
First publication: At Home In The Dark
Author(s): Joe Hill
The books, magazines and/or collections in which these titles are also published:
· Full Throttle
The book/story is published with these cover(s):
(Click image to see full cover)
Lawrence Block Production
Information about edition(s):
· There will be a hardcover edition of #500 signed by Lawrence Block at Subterranean Press.
· An e-book will be available too: The e-book will be released the same day as the S/L from Subterranean Press.
· The paperback of At Home in the Dark came out before the S/L making the paperback the first edition of the story.
The story starts as follows:
PART ONE: OUR SIDE OF THE DOOR
Fallows Gets His Cat
The first time Stockton spoke of the little door, Fallows was under a baobab tree, waiting on a lion.
“After this, if you’re still looking for something to get your pulse going, give Mr. Charn a call. Edwin Charn in Maine. He’ll show you the little door.” Stockton sipped whiskey and laughed softly. “Bring your checkbook.”
The baobab was old, nearly the size of a cottage, and had dry rot. The whole western face of the trunk was cored out. Hemingway Hunts had built the blind right into the ruin of the tree itself: a khaki tent, disguised by fans of tamarind. Inside were cots and a refrigerator with cold beer in it and a good wifi signal.
Stockton’s son, Peter, was asleep in one of the cots, his back to them. He’d celebrated his high school graduation by killing a black rhinoceros, only the day before. Peter had brought along his best friend from boarding school, Christian Swift, but Christian didn’t kill anything except time, sketching the animals.
Three slaughtered chickens hung upside down from the branch of a camel thorn, ten yards from the tent. A sticky puddle of blood pooled in the dust beneath. Fallows had an especially clear view of the birds on the night-vision monitors, where they looked like a mass of grotesque, bulging fruits.