Book Links and Stories and Shit

Hiya, folks.

I'm a busy old fuck - got a lot of shit on the go!

I was pleased to have two of my stories published in a "best of" e-book that was released by Surreal Grotesque, a pretty cool horror e-mag that features stories, artwork, reviews and interviews with independent horror writers. You can find it here (for a mere 99 cents!):

Aliens, Sex and Sociopaths: The Best of Surreal Grotesque

On a related note, I have a different story appearing in another e-book that is slated to be released sometime soon - it comes to you from the good folks at /r/horror, one of the many fine 'subreddits' to be found on the Internet mega-giant I'll link 'er up on my next blog post that I make ... you know, next month. Aha. Yeah, until I can start writing for a living, my blog posts are gonna be few and far in between. I always talk shit about blogging more, but it feels like I'm talking to myself and it's weird. It weirds me out a little.

Once again, speaking of e-books ... I will be releasing an anthology of micro-fiction horror stories in the not-so-distant-future, a collaborative effort with some other Reddit horror authors that I've met over these last months. It's gonna have cool illustrations and will be good for bus rides and waiting rooms.

I'm still plugging away at the anthology that I keep shooting my mouth off about. Soon, my friends ... have patience. In the meantime, if you want to take a look at a story that will be appearing in the anthology,  you can read this - it's a slice of strangeness involving a girl, a serial killer and a cocoon. I wrote it as a (much belated) birthday present for a young lady who follows me on Twitter, who stated that it was on her bucket list to be a character in a story of mine. So I obliged her ... it started out that way, anyhow. The story kinda shook me off and did its own thing and , well, yeah ...

South of Eternity, North of Forever

It was Wednesday morning and Michelle was on her way to school, walking from the bus stop to the bustling west gate of the university. Amy was texting her already, intent on burdening Michelle with some more of her non-existent problems. The sun was shining and the birds were wheeling around in the sky, dancing their joy for the return of spring. It was as unremarkable a day as any Wednesday could be, except for one thing - there was an area across the street that was surrounded by yellow tape, tape that screamed POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS.

The street was choked with police cruisers and undercover vehicles, pylons, flashing lights, and all kinds of people - people in standard cop uniform, people in lab coats, suits, even jeans and buttoned-up workshirts ... all of them stone-faced and shut off to the prying eyes of the students that were swarming past. Michelle could see a few men hunkered down in front of something that lay crumpled on the sidewalk, a limp form that had been rudely shoved against the dirty brick wall behind it. It was covered by a white sheet of some kind; the sheet was blooming dark, reddish-brown flowers in irregular patches. Beneath that sheet, Michelle knew, there would be a dead body. It would be a young girl, a girl her age, a girl that she might have even known. A dead girl. A murdered girl.

She knew this because of the message on the wall. It was the fourth time in just six weeks that this particular bit of ghastly graffiti had defiled the side of a building near the school. Six weeks, and four girls slashed to bloody, unrecognizable shreds by the knife of a madman.

At some point during the small hours of the night, The King had left another calling card.

The lifeless, crumpled thing under the sheet had probably once been a student, just like her; all of The King's victims had been students at her very own university. Beneath that impersonal white rectangle of cloth lay the ravaged remains of a young woman, a daughter, a scholar, and a human being. Maybe she had known the girl personally, maybe she hadn't, but that was unimportant - the girl was, in her tragic anonymity, a blank template upon which any face could be pasted. The girl could be Michelle's best friend or bitterest enemy. She could have easily been Michelle herself. Hadn't she walked past that very spot last night, on her way home from the library?

Though she knew that it was probably a distasteful thing to do, morbid curiosity urged the girl to try and absorb as much as she could from the murder scene as she strolled past - she tried to remember the faces, the vehicles, and the mannerisms of the homicide detectives and others who were milling around within the rectangle made by the police tape. It was like a chess game; the killer had made his move, and had taken another pawn. The police were analyzing the board and deciding their own next move. They were better players, and would win, eventually - but in the meantime, The King was ahead on points.

The graffiti was an eight-word message. The phrase sent a chill through her with its stark simplicity. It was the dark proclamation of an insane megalomaniac. In foot-high block letters, it read:


Just a few more steps and the crime scene would soon be behind her; the only way she could continue to stare would be to turn around and walk backward. She resisted the urge to do so and, unbidden, her feet continued their daily trudge to the school. Helpless to do otherwise, Michelle followed them there ...

If you'd like to read the rest, here's some links:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three


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