[excerpt: novel]

Daniel Zomparelli: “User: @JerBear83”

Context clues, in the case of Daniel Zomparelli, will lead literary sleuths to understand that his new novel, Super Castle Fun Park—which his publisher describes as a book “that defies expectations: a tragicomic, very human story about isolation, ghosts, technology, and our deep, abiding need for connection”—isn’t an inexplicable creative outlier or a writer’s sudden left turn. It’s evolutionary, in a sense, a distillation of the author’s preoccupations and fascinations.

Talking over his output in interviews, including Everything Is Awful and You’re a Terrible Person (short stories), Queer Little Nightmares (a story anthology, co-edited with David Ly), Jump Scare (poetry), and I’m Afraid That (a podcast), Vancouver-born, southern Californian-based Zomparelli, has reflected on the stuff in his head that feeds and shapes his creativity.

Way back in 2012, for example, Zomparelli told the Georgia Straight, “I had an addiction to horror films as a child, and so I spent my nights writing short horror stories. I would write these terrible narratives of kids being banished to hell or killed by shadows, and I would hand the stories in to my teachers to read. A lot of the time they would return the stories to me with comments saying ‘offensive’ or ‘foul language.’ Which proves my writing hasn’t changed a bit.”

He’s discussed that affinity for horror (“I have been obsessed with horror monsters and villains since a young age and just having other queer creators have that same interest pushed us to imagine an anthology populated by these monsters”) and his intellectual fascination with characters who are anything but (“I love writing about extremes, and that’s why you might notice characters whose energy almost feels powerful. I wanted to create characters who were intense, some so much so that it seems like a magical energy”).

Even Zomparelli’s podcast—I’m Afraid That: “Our guests fear everything from ghosts to hosting dinner parties. We’re talking to experts who can tell us why”—is a facet of an uncanny creativity whose latest publication melds diverse themes—digital technology, apparitions, human yearning—as it delves into Millennial states of mind.

Excerpt from Super Castle Fun Park by Daniel Zomparelli (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2026). Reprinted with permission from the publisher. —BJG

* * *

Daniel Zomparelli: “User: @JerBear83”

Jeremy stares out the window. He watches the storm grow larger and larger, consuming everything outside his home. The storm of papers, memories, small penny candies swirls like a tornado. An alert pops up on his phone, and he walks to his bathroom, pops a pill, then walks back to the window. The storm dissipates as the pill takes effect. He calms his body, looks around and sees all the dead bodies of himself. They aren’t going away with the medicine. 

It’s Christmas, and Jeremy is surrounded by his own dead bodies. There’s one by the door, one on his couch, another crumpled near the fireplace. Usually his dead bodies go away after a few minutes, at most a full day; he can close his eyes, shake his head, and poof, gone. Or sometimes a good night’s sleep and gone. Sometime he just jerks off and they’ll be on their way. But here they are, on day six. He kicks the leg of the one near the door, and it flops over. 

Jeremy’s not dead. No, honestly, he’s perfectly alive. Shit, that must have sounded weird, but no, not dead. The bodies looks exactly like him, but they aren’t him. Jeremy has never found this weird. He’s certain his abuela had the same problem. When his mother dropped him off at his abuela’s, his abuela would walk around like there were things on the floor and talk to them. She would make him toast with butter and hot cocoa to dip it in. And they would go around her house and she would shoo away these things he couldn’t see. Sometimes she would ask him to help her lift something that wasn’t there, like a game. They would pretend to lift it, and she would sweep underneath, then put it down. “Ten cuidado mi amor, esta perdio la cabeza,” she said, as he lifted one. They loved this game, Jeremy thought. She would give him some change afterward to get penny candies from the corner store as a reward for his help. The family didn’t like to talk about it, felt embarrassed by it, claimed she was talking to the dead. She was, in a way. She rarely left the house, told everyone she wasn’t allowed to leave. Eventually the family moved her to a home after what they called an “incident.” No one spoke of the incident, but after that, Jeremy never really got to see her anymore. She fell ill when he was twelve and passed away easily. The doctors were surprised. Like she had just given up. Jeremy thinks maybe the fog or the storm got to her. 

Jeremy is particular. He likes things to be done a very specific way. Mornings are coffee, crossword, update to-do list, bathroom, smoke, bathroom again, jerk off, shower, brush teeth, then get ready for work. Sometimes, if he needs a reminder when he’s too exhausted, he writes out a list of these things. Also he should really fucking quit smoking, he knows that. He works every day, because he finds it soothing. His job is easy, and he stays ahead of it by finishing deadlines two weeks in advance but not sending things in until the day they’re due. If he sends things in advance, which he used to do, they expect him to move at a quicker pace, which eventually throws off his schedule, causing havoc and creating in his head what he calls “chaos brain,” which usually means more of his dead bodies floating around. He could try and explain chaos brain, but it’s hard to do. He describes it best as feeling like seventeen ghosts are all playing different arcade games at once with the volume turned up, and the games they’re playing are entirely made up of embarrassing moments in his life. These are commonplace, so the ghosts have ample embarrassing moments to play with. He knows other people have embarrassing moments too, but when he tallies up his own compared to others’, he feels he has won some embarrassing moments world record.

Now Jeremy rarely leaves the house, but he doesn’t tell his family. He keeps it to himself for fear they would worry about him or show up to help, or worse, send him away like his abuela. Instead of leaving the house now, he orders groceries again to make something simple, chicken over rice probably, and a few beers because, well, it’s Christmas, and he already lied to his sisters about why he couldn’t make it. Said he had a bad case of the flu and his boyfriend is taking care of him, also a lie! 

Six days ago, Jeremy was out for dinner with his boyfriend. It was their six-month anniversary—well, he says it was their six-month because he recalls dates very well, whereas his boyfriend is a bit iffy on when they actually started dating. Doesn’t matter! Jeremy had chosen a restaurant weeks in advance, studied the menu, read every review, looked at the Street View to see what it looked like outside, how to get there, how long it would take to get there, what it looked like inside. He’d done this over and over again; it made him feel better. 

“What’s the special occasion?” Dario asked. “It’s been, um, six months.” Jeremy felt embarrassed for keeping track. 

Dario waved at the server. “Can we get some shots?” 

“No, it’s not that kind of place.”

“Okay, drinks then. Martini. You?” 

“Um, I guess the same.” 

Jeremy unfolded his napkin and lined up his cutlery on the table in an exact order. He started to speak, but Dario said, “I’m away for Christmas. Just figured you should know that.” 

“For what?” 

“Just a family thing.” 

Jeremy wanted to pry, but every time he asked questions, his boyfriend got irritated or changed the subject. The drinks arrived, and they gulped them down. They ordered food, and it showed up. Jeremy had ordered chicken with mashed potatoes, but it came with a side of mushrooms instead. 

“That’s not what he ordered,” Dario said. 

“Don’t worry, that’s okay,” Jeremy replied. The server started to walk away. 

“He didn’t order that. He ordered mashed potatoes.” 

Jeremy turned red. “It’s fine.” 

“You hate mushrooms. It’s okay to have it changed.” 

He put a mushroom in his mouth. “See, it’s fine.” He grimaced as the rubbery texture pushed back on his teeth. 

“Why are you punishing yourself with something you hate just to appease someone else?” He didn’t have an answer. 

The server apologized and took the plate back. Jeremy felt the martini warming him up, so he asked the question he had been keeping to himself. “What are we?” 

Dario gave him a look and laughed, said he was drunk. Jeremy asked, “Where is this going?” and again Dario ignored the question. Jeremy finally gave up, consumed his corrected meal, and said, “This was nice.” 

That evening, chaos brain hit in full force. He felt the entire world was chattering or running around in his brain, which made it hard to focus. Whenever this happened, he imagined death. When he imagined death, he could see his body as a limp object just lying there. Through the night, he imagined his body against the door, another in his bathtub, one near his laundry machine. Once a body was there, he wasn’t able to move it. He felt as if he’d turned to stone while he watched himself escape his own body, turn around, and smile. He poured gasoline over himself and climbed into the fireplace. He waved goodbye as he lit himself on fire. He turned to ash. When the flames blew out, his head flopped over into the base of the fireplace. 

He texted his boyfriend to say he was fine and hoped the trip went well and that he would miss him at Christmas. Dario responded with a happy-face emoji. 

Sorry, that was fucking grim. Anyway, back to today. He orders his food, sits back in his chair, opens his laptop, and stares at it. Doesn’t open an app, not even a website, just stares. He looks outside his window, and the storm has built up again. He pops another pill to shrink it and turns on the TV, which is playing a Christmas movie. He stares at his phone. His grocery order is on its way. He closes the app and instinctively opens THE GAME. He downloaded THE GAME as a distraction. It was suggested by his boyfriend, who also plays THE GAME. 

Jeremy drops his phone when he hears a knock. He picks it up and urges the delivery guy to leave the groceries at the door with an aggressive “thank you.” Then he squeezes open the door, nudging aside his dead body lying against it, grabs the bags, and closes the door, letting his dead body flop back into place. He opens his phone back to THE GAME.

The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster