Malevolent Sadness Julian Coleman
(The Prophet’s Mother, #2)
Publication date: June 24th 2017
Genres: Adult, Horror, Thriller
***Contains Graphic Violence/Adult Content***
A new paranormal suspense thriller from the WINNER of The Independent Author Network 2016 OUTSTANDING BOOK of the YEAR. Can a detective save a Prophet from a monster? Harry is an Army veteran who survived a childhood tragedy and tough years in foster care. Today, he’s a pragmatic and no-nonsense Homicide detective investigating the Victor Adamson kidnapping. As he digs for leads, Harry realizes he’s in the middle of a dark conspiracy, and his life is in jeopardy. His only option is to save Victor. But to do that, he must embrace the supernatural. He has to believe monsters are real. If he doesn’t, then both he and Victor may die.
The shadow woman floated upward. Her elegant ascent was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. Outside the wind screamed like a lost soul in perpetual torment. There was an inhuman quality in the sound, which convinced Harry he’d lost any chance of reasoning with Evie.
Edgar dipped inside a pocket and pulled out a stone. It was black, larger than a half-dollar, and etched with gold symbols. Edgar grinned without a glimmer of humor as he held up the stone like a talisman.
“I hope you rot in hell!” Edgar said as he faced down the specter.
She didn’t recoil.
As she floated closer, Edgar’s bravado wavered. Outside the wind’s fierceness kicked up and the soulful moan sounded more pained.
Author Julian M. Coleman
I’m a Paranormal/Supernatural Award Winning author who grew up in Richmond, Virginia. As a child I suffered from night terrors. I’m sure you’ve heard of sleep paralysis which leaves you with the inability to move or speak. There are those of us who not only suffer the paralysis, but we see and hear horrible creatures. Most of the time, I had the good sense to keep my eyes closed. Yes, most of the time. Tell me, who wants to have nightmares about demons?
As I grew older, I realized some demons may not be hideous. To this day, I believe true evil is seductive, even beautiful. Unfortunately there are bad things you can’t outgrow. You learn to cope. I did that by writing about demons who will sip your soul while giving you a kiss.
As an adult I also discovered that love transcends nightmares. I’m a dog lover and on several fortunate occasions my dogs entered my dream realm and saved me. The author in me couldn’t resist, so in addition to writing about seductive demons, I’ve penned a tale about a mischievous pooch. If you want a chuckle then read about my canine diva. But…you may want to take a darker path with me. You may want to meet my demons. If that’s the case, then I want you to be scared with me. Is that wrong? I don’t just want to scare you, though. I want you to care about my characters. Because if you care about them, then you will be afraid for them too. Who knows, you could have nightmares about beautiful demons, too.
The Scarecrow lurks in the shadows of a young girl’s frightened mind.
Everywhere Anne McFry looks, she sees the face of a twisted demon
that haunts her past. Escaping from the horror ridden town and going
to the big city, Anne thinks she is safe from the Scarecrow. That is
until it starts popping up everywhere she looks. Befriending a young
man against her better judgement, she experiences a demented ride of
torture as the past she is running from catches up to her. The
Scarecrow is coming to collect dues, and the only payment Anne has is
her soul.
John Kaniecki was born in Brooklyn, New York. Though having no memories of
life there, John is proud to be called a Native New Yorker. John was
raised in Pequanock Township, New Jersey. At age twenty John was
baptized and became a member of the Church of Christ. Presently John
resides in Montclair, NJ and lives with his wife of over twelve years
Sylvia. The happy couple attend the Church of Christ at Chancellor
Avenue in Newark, NJ. John is very active in outreach and teaching as
part of the leadership of the congregation.
One hot August morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden picked up an axe and
murdered her father and stepmother. Newspapers claim she did it for
the oldest of reasons: family conflicts, jealousy and greed. But what
if her parents were already dead? What if Lizzie slaughtered them
because they’d become zombies?
Thrust into a horrific world where the walking dead are part of a shocking
conspiracy to infect not only Fall River, Massachusetts, but also the
world beyond, Lizzie battles to protect her sister, Emma, and her
hometown from nightmarish ghouls and the evil forces controlling them.
After being acquitted of brutally slaying her parents, Lizzie Borden thinks
her nightmare is over—but it’s only just begun!
Now Lizzie and the citizens of Fall River must battle a new surge of
flesh-eaters, this time with a heartbreaking twist: the infected
creatures are friends and family, hidden away by their grief-stricken
caregivers.
When her sister Emma becomes a pawn in the growing war against the undead,
Lizzie has no choice but to pick up her axe again. With the help of
her charming self-defense instructor, Pierre, she vows to end the
horrific zombie menace, once and for all. But can she overcome her
personal demons and the rampaging monsters, no matter the cost?
NOTE: The book does contain spoilers if you have not read the first book,
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter.
Christine (C.A.) Verstraete enjoys putting a little “scare” in her
writing. She follows the murder trial and offers a twist on the
infamous 1892 Borden murders in her book, Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter.
She also looks at the murders from the viewpoint of Lizzie’s doctor
in her latest, The Haunting of Dr. Bowen. Other books include a young adult novel, GIRL
Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie, and books on dollhouse collecting and crafting.
Christine’s short stories have appeared in various anthologies including: Descent
Into Darkness, Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crime, Mystery Weekly,
and Timeshares, Steampunk’d, and Hot & Steamy: Tales of Steampunk Romance,
DAW Books.
She is an award-winning journalist published in daily to weekly
newspapers, and in various magazines. Her stories have received
awards from local and national newspaper associations, and the Dog
Writer’s Association of America.
When Jess buys the house on Scarlet Lane, she quickly learns there’s
more inside the house than the walls. A strange clicking fills the
house at night, terrifying her children, ghosts reveal themselves,
and she discovers a dark entity frightened a young girl, causing her
to fall down the stairs to her death.
After Mason is released from prison, he is lucky to find a job and a place
to live in his hometown. When he meets Jess, he discovers she bought
his childhood home on Scarlet Lane, but he doesn’t know anything
about the dark things that reside there, and has been sent on a
mission by his employer to find something, though he isn’t given
any details of what he’s looking for.
Only a few know what happened in the old mining at the base of the
mountain when the beast made itself known over two hundred years ago.
Throughout the years it toys with the residents, possessing them,
tormenting them, killing them. An unexpected hero tells Jess and
Mason the town’s history, and about the beast trapped in the house
on Scarlet Lane, sharing the plan to end its reign of terror before
it takes more lives.
Could you tell the readers a little bit about yourself?
I grew up in the small-town Shoshoni, WY, and couldn’t wait to get out. Actually, growing up there was OK, especially when I was younger. It wasn’t until my teenage years that I saw how limited it was. I currently live in the Denver, CO metro area, and work for a television provider, testing customer service applications. People are always surprised when they find out that I write horror.
What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
I like to go exploring in the mountains. There many ghost towns in Colorado, and I enjoy learning about who lived there and how they lived. I also watch way too much TV.
Other than horror, what other things have been a major influence on your writing?
Music is a big part of my life and tends to influence the mood when I’m writing. Watching people and how they interact gives me ideas; yes, I’m a bit of a voyeur, but not a creepy stalker or peeper. And, places that make the hair on the back of neck stand-up.
Who are some of your favorite authors?
Clive Barker and Edgar Allen Poe are the two who always come to mind first. Barker’s creations astound me, and Poe has been a staple for me since the first time my mother introduced me to the Raven; I think I was nine or ten.
What is your all-time favorite horror novel, and film?
Weaveworld by Clive Barker is at the top in the novel list. It’s strange, dark, and beautiful all at the same time. The people inside the carpet are wonderful and complex. It was an inspiration for the Circus Tarot Trilogy. At moment, The Conjuring makes the top film for me. The story is incredible. I’ve seen it (lost count) several times, and the exorcism scene in the basement gives me chills every time.
Can you tell us about your last book, and can you tell us about what you are working on next?
Darkness is coming is about a demon that has haunted the town of Ashcroft for two centuries, and the families who fight it. I’m working on a spin-off of sorts of HOME.
.
Charles W. Jones grew up in the small town Shoshoni, WY, and he managed to
break free from its grasp with his soul intact. Growing up in a small
town scared him to death most of the time. It’s very dark at night –
really dark. To top it off, it is full of ghosts; well, that’s what
Charles thought when he was kid. Turns out it was just the constant
wind blowing dirt and tumbleweeds. Two of Charles’ novels are set in
Shoshoni, Dreamwalker: The Second Plain and HOME A Novel.
There isn’t a part of the horror genre Charles doesn’t like. He likes it
creepy, filled with suspense, or even brutal with intense torture
scenes. His favorite horror movies have always been the slasher
movies; give him the gore. Clive Barker is Charles’ greatest
influence, but is also inspired by Lewis Carroll, Stephen King, and
Frank Beddor. Real life is a large contributor to his writing, where
he finds beauty in the most unexpected places.
Music has always been a great contributor to Charles’ life, by means of not
only entertainment, but personal soundtrack. When he writes, he
listens to different types of music to set the mood of the scene he
is writing. Eurythmics will always be at the top of his playlist, but
many other bands and genres occupy his mind.
I’m always in when Jeff releases a new book. Gypsy Blood sounds thrilling. Due to a mix up, I didn’t receive the book in time to get it read. I will be sharing my review as soon as possible.
Check out Gypsy Blood.
And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!
~~~~~
Gypsy Blood Jeff Gunhus
Publication date: May 1st 2018
Genres: Adult, Horror
Synopsis
When Corbin Stewart, a down-on-his-luck writer living in Paris, witnesses the brutal attack of an old gypsy, he rushes to help. He chases off the attackers, three albinos wearing porcelain tragedy masks, but not before they stab the old man repeatedly. While Corbin tries to keep the man alive until help arrives, blood gets on his skin, in his eyes, into his mouth. The old man dies, but Corbin soon discovers that death isn’t the end for the powerful gypsy, and that the blood in his body carries part of the man’s tortured soul with it.
A pang of guilt worked its way into the dread he felt in his gut. This was just some old man who’d seen better days. Probably a panhandler whose greatest threat to them was to ask to relieve them of their loose change.
“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he said.
But she was planted in place. “Let’s go back,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “I don’t like––”
“Chey,” the old man called out, his voice stronger than Corbin had imagined it would be. Deep and resonant with an accent he didn’t recognize. “So keres, Chey?”
Corbin searched his limited command of French for the words but found nothing. The way the man said Chey made him think it was a name. “Does he think he knows you?”
She pulled his arm backward. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Does he think you’re someone else maybe?” he said.
“Don’t go,” the man said, still looking only at Margot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you here. Tell this gaujo to leave so we can talk.”
The man’s English was perfect, but still laced with an accent he couldn’t place. Still, the inherent bias of human nature worked its magic and hearing English made Corbin relax. As if the shared language somehow made them part of the same tribe. “He’s harmless,” Corbin said, digging into his pocket. “He just wants some money.”
Margot turned and looked behind them. Corbin knew exactly what she was looking at. The alley curved in a half-moon shape and they were at the apex of the arc. The busier streets at either end were cut off from sight. Good place for a mugging. But the man had to be eighty years old. Hell, he could have been a hundred. Then again, if he had a gun, it wouldn’t matter how old he was.
The man turned to Corbin as he approached and smiled. It wasn’t the most genuine smile he’d ever seen. In fact, it looked like the effort pained him, as if Corbin were a thing to be barely tolerated. The man licked his lips, and Corbin could have sworn his tongue was purple, although he reasoned it was just the shadows and odd light in the alley.
“C’mon, it’s fine,” he said, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice.
~~~~~
Author Jeff Gunhus
Jeff Gunhus is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list.
After his experience with his son, he is passionate about helping parents reach young reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to constantly keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel or on JeffGunhus.com.
After Monsterland has been destroyed, the entire world is thrown into chaos. Wyatt Baldwin and his friends must go beyond the boundaries of their small town to reestablish contact with the outside world. During their journey they discover a new threat released from the bowels of the defunct theme park. The danger of werewolves, vampires and zombies pale in comparison to an army of relentless mummies, Vincent Conrad’s reanimated monster and the menace of a life-sucking ooze they call The Glob. Wil Wyatt and his friends survive when they reenter the scariest place on earth?
Welcome to Monsterland, the scariest place on earth.
When world markets are decimated by a crippling plague, philanthropist, and billionaire businessman, Vincent Konrad decides to place monsters in a theme park setting to promote education and tolerance. Copper Valley is chosen as the primary site for the park in the United States.
Wyatt Baldwin, a high school senior is dying to go to the opening and when he lands special passes to the park, he and his friends are expecting the experience of a lifetime.
After all, in a theme park where real zombies, werewolves, and vampires are the main attractions, what could possibly go wrong?
~~~~~
Monsterland Reanimated Book Trailer
~~~~~
Enjoy this glimpse inside Monsterland Reanimated:
Front page of the Copper Valley Sun
President of the US, World Leaders,and Thousands Dead
Many still missing as the world reels from the impact
of the Monsterland disaster
Multitudes are still unaccounted for and presumed dead. Escaping werewolves, vampires, and zombies of Dr. Vincent Konrad’s theme parks inexplicably escaped en masse and massacred unwitting parkgoers … Massive government shutdowns as the world teeters on the brink of chaos.
Chapter 1
The Night After the Monsterland Catastrophe
A bright moon painted the desert’s surface pewter. Here and there, dark spots soiled the landscape like oil spills. Most of the bodies had been taken before the troops were ordered to leave. They carted away the corpses, bulldozing the zombies into mass graves, until radios chirped with urgent orders deploying the soldiers to the bigger threats that erupted in the main cities like a chain of angry volcanos.
Monsterland was extinguished, its carcass left for the vultures to pick, the exhibits silent as a tomb.
The dead president and his equally dead entourage were whisked away on Air Force One, along with the dark-clad special operatives that came and left like the brisk desert wind that now howled through the empty streets.
A gate screamed in the silence, slamming with a reverberating smash. The uneven gait of someone with a physical challenge filled the void. The scrape and plod of his limp echoed against the wall of mountains framing the theme park. His labored breathing huffed as he made his way down the streets.
A door creaked loudly as it was blown by the wind. He stopped, his distorted figure silhouetted in the pale moonlight, his body turning silver. He looked at the broken glass littering the pavement like diamonds, then up to the still, pre-dawn sky. He considered the sun peeking over the jagged horizon in the east, its golden light painting the dips and hollows of the hills. Soon the coming day would chase the darkness away.
Time was the enemy now. He had to move faster, or it would be too late. He picked up his pace, lurching along the winding road. A keening howl ricocheted through the streets, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like a … no, he thought, it couldn’t be. The werewolves were all dead. Destroyed by Vincent Konrad when he made their heads explode.
The old man paused, listening for it again, and was not disappointed when the animal whimpered. He gauged it to be inside the defunct vampire exhibit. He moved toward the entrance. The storefronts had been destroyed. A few body parts lay on the pavement, as if people had discarded them in a rush. He heard the scraping of paws on the street and a shiver went down his crooked spine.
He knew the werewolves were dead; he had seen it with his own eyes. A figure detached from the shadows. Igor flattened himself against the wall. He watched it move stealthily down the street, stopping when it scavenged a morsel of rotting flesh. It looked up to stare at Igor, its eyes glowing in the darkness.
A coyote? He waved a hand, dismissing it. It had to be a coyote; it was too small to be a wolf, too big to be a dog. The beast twitched its ears, then resumed its meal.
Igor knew the coyote was not a threat, and he continued his mission. His lame foot hit a can, sending a cacophony of sound like an explosion in the deserted park. The beast dropped the bone it was gnawing on, sniffing the area. Its iridescent eyes searched the streets.
It could be a baby wolf, Igor thought, keeping himself as still as possible. He felt it watching him, even from this distance. It was not a threat, yet.
Igor skittered away, hugging the walls of Monsterland, putting as much distance as he could between them. Not an easy feat, considering his distorted hips. He muttered to himself about carrion and the wind. His eyes darted nervously, scouring the hills, not exactly sure what he was looking for. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain that the creature watching him could hear it too.
His feet stumbling to a halt, he bent over, gasping for air, cursing Vincent and those meddlesome teenagers, as well as the rest of the world.
The beast gave another mournful howl that went right through him. Igor glanced at his empty hands, berating himself for not bringing a weapon. He searched his surroundings for anything to protect himself.
Then he saw it, one of the axes they had on almost every corner. All of them had been pulled from their protective cases. One was lying in a pool of coagulating blood, the blade long gone. He picked up the broken axe handle, turning in a semicircle. He was ready for an attacker.
A new, larger outline made his heart quiver with fear. It crouched in a corner, its snout covered with blood. This one was bigger, not a coyote, a wild wolf. Wait, he thought. Weren’t the gray wolves of California all but extinct?
Igor narrowed his eyes. The beast was a light reddish brown and not the silver gray of a wolf ’s pelt. A chain hung from its neck, the pendant of a werewolf ’s head dangling, emerald eyes flashing. What was it? Was it a mutant coyote? A wolf ? Some weird hybrid, he wondered for a minute, his breath harsh in his ears. They watched each other soundlessly.
A hybrid then. He’d heard about them, a rare mixture of wolf and coyote. What did they call them? Coywolves …? or was it Woyotes? He shrugged indifferently. Perhaps someone’s pet, he decided. Igor’s mirthless laugh came out like a snort.
The coywolf stood still, its ears alert, its head cocked as if it was observing him.
Igor dropped the makeshift weapon, calling out, “Eat the rest of your meal, you dumb beast.”
The animal continued to watch him, its two front paws on the remains of a zombie’s chest.
Igor wiped his forehead, waiting, his eyes coming back to search the village, confirming it was empty, except for the carrion eaters like the coyotes and vultures. He looked up, noting the circling predators waiting for him to move on.
“Interrupted your meal,” he chuckled. Just the local scavengers looking for food. That was all; the shadows revealed nothing else. Satisfied he was alone, he moved on. He had work to do.
A paper flew past him, hitting a kiosk as the wind plastered it against its surface. It flapped like a dying bird. Igor reached over, taking the fluttering paper, peering at the map of the park, the one they gave people as they entered Monsterland. A bark of laughter escaped his mouth.
He looked up at the giant monolith that was once the Werewolf River Run, its hulking shape obscuring the horizon. “You are here,” he giggled, pointing a grimy finger on the paper’s surface. He dragged his deformed body further down the pavement. The storefronts that used to be Monsterland’s Main Street yawned vacantly, the wind whistling through the narrow alleyways. “Now, you are here,” he laughed. Shouting, he listened to the sound of his voice bouncing off the blood-splattered walls.
He made his way to the back end of the zombie village, feeling like the last man on earth. He glanced around at the desolate landscape. His home, the beautiful theme park, was little more than ruins destroyed by the army.
His nose twitched from the fetid smell of rot. The US Army had massacred the zombies. The troops came like a force of nature wiping out everything in its path, every last one of them blown away by the troops.
They were black ops, special forces, he knew from their uniforms. He wondered if things were indeed going as planned. He shrugged, knowing right now nothing mattered except for what he had to do. The irony that he was just about the most important man on earth brought more amusement to his smile.
The local police force was gone, as were the leaders of most countries in the world. He knew all was chaos outside, perhaps even war, each nation blaming the next for the loss of their leadership. Not to worry, he thought. Vincent left America in capable hands.
Dreams do come true, he snickered. Nightmares too, he finished the thought. A long line of drool pulled at his lower lip. He paused at a pothole in the road, decomposing body parts glistening, the disappearing moon turning the bits of bone and brains pearly.
Anxiety bloomed in his chest as he passed the opaque windows of Vincent’s derelict Monsterland hotel, the Copper Valley Inn. He hated that place. Abandoned construction vehicles were frozen in their spots, testimony to the hotel’s unfinished business.
Despite the pastel colors of its exterior, it sat like an ominous crypt to the part of the theme park that Vincent could never control. Told Vincent it was a money pit. Crews couldn’t work because … well, it didn’t matter anymore. The help was all dead. He thought he saw a light flicker in the window, but when he turned, he realized it was nothing more than a sputtering gas lamp that had never been disconnected.
He stood for a while, staring for more activity, and then jerked with the realization that he waited too long and wasted precious time. Surely no one expected him to go searching during the heat of battle.
Vincent said it was enough time to set up the timetable. Vincent knew everything, and Igor felt his panic ebb. It had been barely twenty-four hours since the attack. For all he knew, he could be on a fool’s errand.
He pressed his hand on his hip, his back screaming with resentment at so much movement. He was not used to any exercise. He sighed, wiping his brow with the ragged end of his costume, the lace scratching his skin. He caught the cuff, snagging the material with his teeth, tugging it free from his velvet jacket. He loathed the show and was glad he’d never have to endure the humiliation of performing again, especially with the vamps. Those condescending, blood-sucking parasites. He wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore, he thought with satisfaction. Vincent had promised he’d not have to endure them for long, living up to his part of the bargain quite nicely. They were gone, torn apart by the werewolves or transformed into a tasty dinner by the zombies. Either way, they wouldn’t be bullying him with their nasty insults. Something buzzed around him, and he swiped at it.
It felt as though he walked to the other side of the earth. Why Vincent had to pick Zombieville to make his last stand, he’d never know. The Werewolf River Run would have been much more convenient. It was getting lighter now, and he could easily make out the smoking devastation.
He searched the horizon, his eyes resting on the burnt wreckage of a golf cart, the torched skeleton listing at an odd angle.
Pulling his lame foot, he pushed himself as fast as his body could travel, his breath hitching with the effort.
The corpse was gone. He knew they would have taken that for DNA testing, proof that the enemy was vanquished. The only things left were the putrid carcasses from Monsterland, the decaying zombies, massacred vampires, and what was left of the werewolves after Vincent had exterminated them.
He climbed a small hill, his bad leg screaming with pain. Igor crowed with triumph when he saw it, the discarded lump of flesh, lying forgotten in a ditch, face down. He shivered as the desert wind stirred and eddied around him. Damn, but it was desolate here.
He hunkered down, forcing himself to skitter on the hardpacked earth. He wondered what his son, the vice president—no, he corrected himself, the new president of the United States, Mr. Nate Owens—would think of his father now, scrambling like a dung beetle in the dirt.
He cursed. The drool was back, dripping from his mouth like a sparkling spider web. Instead of rising—it was beyond him at this point—he shimmied over to the severed head, reaching forward, reverently, grabbing it by the matted hair, and grasping it to his chest.
The black eyes stared back dully, the dark depths reflecting the hunchback’s twisted smile.
Vincent Konrad’s lifeless face lay in his hands, the pale lips open in a soundless scream.
“I’m so happy I could kiss you, Vincent!” he told the decapitated head. He cradled the face of his friend. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The moon bathed the face a pale blue. The hunchback jiggled the dead weight, cackling with delight as the one papery eyelid drooped as if it were winking.
In the distance, that coywolf howled, making Igor suck in his breath with fear. He tucked the head under his arm as he struggled back up the small hill, mumbling something about Plan B.
~~~~~
About Michael:
Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English, and then later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.
Michael is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.
Anthony Renfro has just released a new batch of short horror stories all in one book!
Check out Nightlight Tales #2.
This is FREE right now on Amazon.
Click on the cover to grab your copy!
Description
The Headless Fountain Man: A simple photo. A quick snap shot. One woman’s perfect picture is about to become her scariest nightmare.
Fear of the Scarecrow: This short story is about a desperate man hungry for revenge. Sometimes revenge comes with a price.
It Sleeps at Dawn: A short story about a Vampire who stalks the Appalachian Mountains. A traditional Vampire who uses fangs instead of guns. He hunts. He kills. He sleeps at Dawn.
The Dead of Winter: This short story is about an apocalyptic nightmare in a crisp frozen landscape filled with winter and living corpses.Two men try to find safety in this dead world. Hoping to ride out the night. Hoping to find warmth and shelter. Hoping not to become food for the zombies.
Gluten-Free: Death by Gluten? One man commits suicide in a most unusual way.
The Lot: A Christmas Tree lot isn’t all it seems to be. It hides evil deadly secrets.
The Dragon: A simple machine. Able to answer requests. Able to play music. Able to turn on lights and answer questions. Fun and enjoyable technology, but what happens when this machine is able to manifest actual things. In this short story two guys worst fears will come to life.
Webs: A pyramid in the deep dry desert. What secrets lie within its walls? One explorer is about to find his greatest desire and his worst nightmare inside this ancient artifact.
Gas Station of the Dead: This short story is about a former tanker truck driver who decides to use his skills to deliver gas to those in need during the Zombie Apocalypse.
A Zombie Christmas: This short story is about three men who risk life and limb in a Zombie Apocalypse in order to bring happiness to surviving kids on Christmas Morning.
A Zombie Christmas 2: A boy lost. A family desperate. It’s Christmas in a Zombie Apocalypse and Mike Beem is once again aiming for another Holiday miracle. His goal this year isn’t toys for the kids in the neighborhood. His goal this time is trying to save one small life so another family doesn’t have to suffer the way he suffered.
Flesh for the Zombies: When Mike Beem’s community is savagely attacked, he must exact revenge on those who wronged him. He must put aside all the good he has ever accomplished in order to become someone else. A man without a moral compass. A man without right or wrong. A man who is a cold blooded killer. Will he get his justice or will he die trying? The answers lie within the pages of this short story.
Zombie Beach: Mike Beem has given it all up and run off to live by the beach. Life down on the coast isn’t all that it should be. Days of lying in the sun are replaced with brutal survival. Mike does his best to not only survive, but to rebuild a life among the ruins of these beach side towns.
Excerpt from The Headless Fountain Man
Kim was approaching the annual Canadian Comicon when she was startled by a headless statue sitting inside a large silver fountain. This statue had black Chuck Taylor’s on its feet, red socks on its bare ankles, blue jeans, and was wearing a tee-shirt that read “Water you looking at.” She took out her camera and instead of taking pictures of the various people in cos play costumes (Star Trek, Star Wars, and Frozen seemed to be the lead choices, Frozen, weird, I know, but hey it is a Comicon), she decided to take a picture of this statue, sitting there on its butt, dressed like it was heading for a skateboarding convention, with no head on top of its body. Its head had been replaced with a large white geyser of water that sailed into the air and splashed all over the headless figure and the ground around it.
Her finger froze before she took the shot, something about this statue felt all wrong, something about it didn’t seem right. She focused the lens, and thought she saw the statue raise an arm and wave at her. She paused, and pulled the camera away from her face, opening both eyes. She looked at the statue in the dusky light. It was still sitting there spewing water from its neck, arms and legs unmoving. She shook off the goose bumps, raised the camera to her eye, and snapped the shot. Then she snapped a couple more because you didn’t know which one would be the money shot, best to have backups.
Richard Goodman is the caretaker of a unique institution that trains disabled
youth in the art of watchmaking. But he is no ordinary administrator.
He possesses extra sensory powers he does not fully understand and
cannot control. But an innocent outing to Coney Island results in him
obtaining a more disturbing ability, along with a terrifying prophecy
that he will die in less than three days. As the clock of his life
counts down, a still greater threat emerges. An uncanny assassin who
will destroy everyone he knows and loves. Unless he can discover who
the killer is. And stop him in time.
“VISIONS THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY” has won the READERS VIEWS 2016 LITERARY
AWARD (Best Adult Fiction – Classics)
and
the 2017 GLOBAL EBOOKS AWARD (Bronze – Horror Category)
and
was a FINALIST in the 2016
FORWARD REVIEWS EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARDS (Horror Category)
“My hands feel peculiar. I attempt to lift them from the steering wheel and find there is an odd adhesion; they yield with an audible smack. I take my eyes off the road for a moment.
I look down.
Blood. My hands are covered in blood.
The clock ticks again. It is 5:54 a.m.
Oh yes; I remember now…
In four minutes, I will be dead.”
So begins Visions Through a Glass, Darkly, my attempt to create something completely different in the genre of psychological horror.
Although this tale of suspense, terror and other-worldly events is fictional, many of its characters existed in one form or another. Some of the events described – even those supernatural – actually occurred. The school described in the novel was quite real.
This is unusual, complex literary fiction and designed to be unconventional. In all honesty, it should carry a warning label. The novel starts slowly, lulling you with back story then grabbing you by the throat. It may disappoint an impatient reader looking for a quick fix or a formulaic approach. At times, the story line may seem to be just a background for the real tale: the horror in the mind of the main character, Richard Goodman.
But there is a story, of course, and it centers on Mr. Goodman, an administrator for a school that instructs disabled people in the art of watchmaking. There is a stark glimpse not only into the Lilliputian world of the watchmaker, but also into the lives of people with physical disabilities.
Goodman can be described as a psychic being driven mad by his own inimitable gifts over which he has no control. Demons come to him at night and invade his nightmares. The dead may stop over to pay him a visit at any time, but each time conveying a message that something or someone believes he must hear.
But Goodman is to acquire one more unique ability, along with a terrifying prophecy delivered by a Coney Island fortune teller that he has less than three days to live.
As the clock of his life counts down, a still greater threat emerges: An uncanny assassin who will destroy everyone he knows and loves. Unless he can discover who the killer is. And stop him in time.
Richard Goodman is a conflicted character, as so many of the characters in this novel are. He is tortured not only by the result of his unique abilities, but by the memory of an event that occurred when he was nine, and by his failure to reconcile with a father who committed suicide. He believes his life is a runaway freight train he is not in control of. But at the same time he holds out hope. A part of him believes that he can control his destiny and that a higher power may be watching over him.
Ultimately, Visions Through a Glass, Darkly is a parable with intense philosophies to relate. Nonetheless, I don’t suggest all the answers, and as to many things, I leave a blank space for the readers to fill in for themselves. As such, this novel may mean different things to different people and it was intended to be perceived that way.
It was my wish that some of this would scare just about anyone and that I might write words capable of bringing the hardest hearts to tears. By writing Visions I tried to convey what, to me, is the essence, the center, the core of true horror: To be alone.
I hope you find that Visions contains a passage or two like nothing you’ve ever read. I hope you find that some of it is beautifully written. I believe in the power of ideas and of words and I will try to make them beautiful when I can. Maybe this is because I also believe that their power to reach us lies in their beauty.
One more thing… As to the ending of this novel – as you may find in the ones to follow – nothing is as it appears to be.
Regards,
Dave Aboulafia
.
~~~~~
.
DAVID I. ABOULAFIA is an attorney with a practice in the heart of New York
City. He spends the wee hours of the morning writing books that
terrify and amuse. His days are spent in the courts and among the
skyscrapers, and his evenings with the trees, the stars, his wife and
his dog in a suburb north of the City.
I’m sure many of you know of my love affair with zombies. Being always on the lookout for the next brain chomping adventure, I was super excited to get my hands on Anthony’s newest one. I was lucky to get my hands on an ARC and can’t wait to share about it!
Gas Station Of The Dead
by Anthony Renfro
Genre:Horror / Apocalypse
My Review
I’ve been reading Anthony’s short stories for several years and he always has fun twists to them. You never know what the brain eaters can and will do. Ever heard a zombie sing Christmas Carols? How about seeing one surf? Some of the zombies in this story are stuck on strange.
And while many of the author’s stories connect in some way. Gas Station Of The Dead is more of a stand alone. I really liked Cal, a former fuel tanker driver. He’s on his own. He has a plan. If he fails, there’s no one to mourn him. He sets it in motion. And, lo and behold, he meets someone who wants to help. No longer alone, he begins to hope there may be a future.
I was sucked right into this book. You get inside Cal’s head. Learning what motivates him to do what he does makes him a compelling hero in my book. He could have simply continued on his way, hopefully hooking up with other survivors and having a better chance at survival. I for one, wouldn’t want to be out there all alone. Instead, he chooses to try to help others. Doing it all by himself. A very risky, lonely choice.
For you zombie fans, there’s plenty of them and lots of on the edge of your seat action. The apocalypse is in the early stages when you start the book and they are often moving in large packs. Cal has to strain the brain pan to come up with some tricky ideas on how to accomplish his goal with so many chomping at his heels.
Gas Station Of The Dead easily joined my list of favorites from Anthony. And as he often does, included are a couple of fun bonus stories to nibble on.
~~~~~
Synopsis
This short story is about a former tanker truck driver who decides to use his skills to deliver gas to those in need during the Zombie Apocalypse.
Bonus Short Story: Devil at the Wheel
A Joyride in a Chevy Chevelle. The car was just sitting there for the taking. What could possibly go wrong? Vinnie and Mike are about to find out what can and will go wrong once they turn the key. Evil awaits. Ride shotgun if you dare with this short story.
Bonus Short Story: The Dragon
A simple machine. Able to answer requests. Able to play music. Able to turn on lights and answer questions. Fun and enjoyable technology. But what happens when this machine is able to manifest actual things? In this short story two guys worst fears will come to life.
~~~~~
Check out the excerpt:
Donald Cal, or Cal to those who knew him, sat on top of a flat roof looking down at his two discoveries. The question running through his head was difficult to find the answer to. When so many zombies were shuffling about, how did he get from one place to the other and vice versa without getting bit or ripped apart? He knew that his plan was strong, it could work, it would work, but he wasn’t sure how he could keep himself alive long enough to see it put into action.
He sat back against the faded brick wall (which helped to give him shade), looked up at the sunny blue sky, and then out onto the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean. He watched the waves for a while, trying to find some peace of mind as he ate a bit of processed snack food and sipped on a warm bottle of water. He closed his eyes when he was finished eating, and fell asleep, drifting off into the world of pleasant dreams and happier pre-zombie days. This current dream was one of his happiest, a girlfriend, a party, lots and lots of friends out on the beach drinking like idiots by a rip roaring fire.
A sound of thumping tore him out of his pleasant dreams and pushed him back into the harsh world he now called home.
•Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!
My Teaser for this week is from
Sarah
by Teri Polen
Genre: YA Horror
My teaser from page 43 in the paperback.
Other than me shifting in sleep, nothing out of the ordinary happened until around 3 am. Eby’s head shot up, his gaze focused on the attic door, then he slowly stood, back arching, tail bushy and tall. He let out an eerie yowl I’m surprised didn’t have me shooting out of the bed in a panic, then leaped off the bed and out of the frame.
~~~~~
Read on if you want to know more.
Synopsis
Sarah was named a horror finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.
Seventeen-year-old horror fan Cain Shannon thought helping a ghost find her killers would be the supernatural adventure of a lifetime. Now, he just hopes to survive long enough to protect his family and friends from her.
A bet between friends goes horribly wrong, resulting in Sarah’s death. When she returns to seek justice against those responsible, Cain agrees to help her. But when he discovers Sarah has been hijacking his body, he realizes she wants retribution instead of justice.
Terrified of what could have happened when he wasn’t in control, Cain commands Sarah to leave his house – but exorcising her isn’t that easy. She retaliates against her murderers in bloody, horrific ways, each death making her stronger, then sets her sights on Cain. With the help of friends, Cain fights to save himself and his loved ones and searches for a way to stop Sarah before she kills again.
![Gas Station of the Dead by [Renfro, Anthony]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51HHUVIsn5L.jpg)
