Thursday, June 16, 2011


Alright folks…here it is! Fresh from the Fires of Hell. Go on in and gobble it up before it gobbles YOU up. Else YOU might be haunting a lonely secluded country estate.

hellfire publishing

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


An Excerpt -

…speaking of the ass-wipe, to him the cornfield was a playground. It was a place where big ugly nasty aliens hid - a wayside stop - as they careened across the Multiverse carrying out their dastardly plan of death, destruction, and multiversal domination, and the enslavement of all living things and a few dead things too. Here in the cornfield Billy could save the day, save the Multiverse, and often did. With toy ray gun in hand, Billy stalked the cornstalks. Somewhere in all those rows of corn, somewhere hiding in the shadows of cornstalks, lurked those evil nasty ugly plotting aliens. Billy would get them. He did every time. The Multiverse would be saved again.

This day was like any other day. The ass-wipe would save the Multiverse. He ran up and down the rows of corn, stupidly jumping up and down, making an ass of himself, blasting away with his toy ray gun at imaginary aliens of the nasty ugly plotting multiversal domination variety. Yes, those evil nasty ugly aliens had met their match in the Cornstalk Kid!

“Pow! POW! Gotcha! Zinnnggg!” Billy shouted as he knocked off a dozen imaginary lizard skins.

But an imaginary hissing bolt of blue energy zinged through the cornfield, severing stalks, ears of corn toppling to the ground, and destroying half the population of Iowa. The beam of zinging energy caught Billy square on the shoulder. He squealed like a stuck pig doofus, and rolled over at the edge of the cornfield where it bordered a narrow dirt road. Ready to blast the perpetrating nasty ugly lizard skin alien in a zillion twinkling scales raining down from the sky, Billy jumped to his feet and crouched, toy ray gun at the ready. Slowly he turned a circle, ever ready, ever alert, toy ray gun poised, loaded, cocked, charged, energized. No big nasty aliens were gonna get past him.

“All right you big nasty ugly aliens, you can’t hide from the Cornstalk Kid!” Billy warned.

And those aliens were afraid now. They cowered in fear, crouching in the shadows. Silent, unmoving, as if they weren’t even there. But they were there. Billy knew they were there. He had blasted a gazillion of them before. Had saved the Multiverse a bazillion times. But the Multiverse was never truly safe from them. Billy knew he would have to save it a kazillion more times, kill a pazillion more big ugly nasty aliens.

Billy stupidly jumped corn row to corn row, toy ray gun still at the ready. But he saw no imaginary aliens. They were really good at hiding this time. So intent on finding and blasting those big nasty ugly aliens to smithereens, Billy also didn’t see the strange mysterious figure dressed in black slowly approaching a storage shed in the back yard of the farmhouse. And this figure was real. Certainly not imaginary.

An old nasty rusted padlock barred entry to the old wooden storage shed. A black gloved hand produced an old rusty skeleton key from the folds of its cloak. The key slipped quietly into the rusted lock, the lock popped open, and the mysterious figure slipped into the shed. No one saw.

The dim and dusty old shed hadn’t been opened in years. Nineteen years to be exact. The place was cluttered with all manner of bric-a-brac, a few farm and garden tools and implements, and some totally unknown and presumably revolting items covered in dust covered tarps that defied explanation. Along one wall rested a large hulking thing under a dusty tarp, something monstrous lying beneath.

Opposite the old creaking door stood a dusty cluttered work bench. Beneath the work bench rested Dad Beanpole’s box of life size inflatable female dolls, while atop the bench amidst the clutter was a small faded dust covered cigar box.

The pair of black gloved hands reached for the cigar box and opened it, revealing a pair of black framed nerdy glasses with thick coke bottle bottom lenses. The mysterious figure in black took the glasses and slipped quietly out of the shed.

It crossed the back yard and walked slowly along the narrow dirt road near the cornfield. When it heard Billy’s goofy zinging and powwing, it stopped and slowly reached down, placing the glasses at the edge of the road next to the corn field. And then it was gone, leaving history and the future of the Multiverse in the hands of fate...and in the hands of that moron ass-wipe wiping out imaginary nasty ugly aliens in an Iowa cornfield.

Billy continued to dance and prance like a fool in and out of the cornfield, along the dirt road, still firing his toy ray gun at imaginary nasty ugly aliens. Suddenly something caught his eye. A glinting of sunlight. He stopped and looked, and then ran to the object. A pair of black framed glasses lay along the road. But this pair of ‘instant nerds’ wasn’t just any old ordinary pair of nerd makers. These were special. First of all, they’d been placed there. On purpose. For Billy to find. Secondly, they had super-like special powers that amplified a person’s nerdiness among other important things such as making toy ray guns real. As Billy was soon to discover.

So, Billy picked them up, peered at them stupidly, and then put them on. He wasn’t aware of the sudden change that had come over him, wasn’t aware that as long as he wore the super space hero nerd glasses, no matter where fame and fortune took him, no matter how near or far across the Multiverse destiny took him, he was no longer just the plain ole moronic ugly nasty imaginary alien killer. He was now and forever Billy Space Boy, hero of the known Multiverse. And a few others Multiverses as well.

“Barley, oats, and rye,” Billy said softly in amplified stupidity.

He fired his toy ray gun at a corn stalk and was astonished when it disintegrated in a ball of flame. He jumped back, stared wide eyed at what was left of the now smoking cornstalk, and then peered at the barrel of his toy ray gun.

“Jumpin gee willikers!”

Totally amazed and ecstatic, the dimwit pranced and jumped along the dirt road next to the cornfield, waving his toy ray gun in the air like some doofus bimbo.

Saturday, June 11, 2011


Coming soon from static movement, and edited by Aaron French. Included are my stories "Azathoth Awakening" (a reprint under the Cartwright byline), and "JP and the Nightgaunt" (a new tale under the Tangiers byline).

An excerpt from "JP and the Nightgaunt" -

Two days had come and gone since the nightgaunt had left with JM’s head and spinal column.

JP lay on the floor. He babbled and drooled in the corner. In the Dark. Where the nightgaunt had paced.

He shit himself. Didn’t matter.

Pissed himself. Didn’t matter.

Stared at the ceiling and cackled madly. Slapped open palms on the floor and howled, like he was privy to some enormous joke.

Maybe he was.

From time to time he drifted off to sleep. Fitful sleep. Filled with nightmares of Pnath. The ghouls. The bones piles. The shadows. The mad piping music. And that insect-like thing with JM’s head and face. Somehow he knew that it was more than a nightmare. It was real.

JP walked the vale, strolled amidst the piles of bleached bones.

Ghouls sat atop the bone piles, gnawing on bones. Bones picked clean. Bones fresh with dripping flesh. Some ghouls hissed or growled as JP passed by.

As if to say, these are MY bones. A warning.

Shadows danced. JP heard the mad music echoing through the vale.

There came a gurgling hiss. Something scurried across his path.

JP looked. Again saw his lady-friend, JM.

But not JM.

The thing that JM had become. An insect with JM’s head, spider-like legs along the vertebral column where ribs had once been. Torn tissues dragging on the ground. As it crawled it left a long red glistening smear.

The same image that had awakened JP a few days before.

The thing suddenly stopped, turned its head. A faint recognition in its multifaceted eyes.

Then a ghoul reached down and gathered it up. Began to chew on its face.

The thing that had been JM hissed and howled pain and desperation while JP fled in the dark.

A cackling distorted laugh stopped him. He turned, saw...

The mad nightgaunt loomed out of the shadows. Rose up before JP. Leered down at him.

With no face.

It was coming for JP. To take him away.

Soon. Very soon.

Thursday, June 9, 2011


Excellent song and visual experience...

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


My Lovecraftian (satire) short story, "The Starlet and the Fishman," has been accepted for the KIZUNA: Fiction for Japan anthology. I'm delighted to be a part of this worthy cause.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011


The four stories that comprise the Tales of Nephren Ka chapbook (available from Rainfall Books) were some of my favorites to write, and consequently, I think some of my better Lovecraftian work. IMHO.

The stories include –

The Circle
The Chronicler
The Coming
The Candidate

Here’s an excerpt from “The Coming” –

“Miss Myers.”

At the sudden mention of her name, Jen turned her eyes to the handsome dark Arab man standing at the table. He was smiling, a hand extended to an empty chair.

“May I?” Khalid al-Alranna added.

Momentarily startled by his abrupt appearance at the table, she shook it off and nodded. “Yes, by all means.”

Khalid sat, crossed his arms on the table, and continued to smile.

“How do you know my name and what do you want?” Jen questioned pointedly, her momentary awe given over to mistrust and suspicion.

His smiled widened as he leaned over the table. “Even in Cairo, it is not difficult to find the one who seeks the tomb of the Black Pharaoh,” he said, his words hushed. “The people whisper and word gets around. It is a dangerous thing you do.”

“Old wives tales...”

“Not to the people of Egypt,” Khalid interrupted softly. “But you are an outsider; you would not understand.”

“My research has shown that not all Egyptians are as superstitious as you claim. Some Egyptian scholars even dismiss Nephren-Ka as fantasy.” She tapped the book she had been reading.

Khalid glanced at the book, sat back, and nodded. “Yes, there are those who discount the stories of Nephren-Ka.”

“Do you?” Jen asked.

Khalid continued to smile, his head titled down slightly, his eyes upturned. “I do not,” he replied after a short pause.

“Alright, then why are you here?”

“To help you in your search, Miss Myers.”

“I’m not sure I want your help,” Jen replied.

“If you want to find the tomb of the Black Pharaoh, you will accept my offer,” Khalid said. “Otherwise, you will find no one to help you.”

“I already have help...”

“Mustafa Ibn Almar,” Khalid interrupted. “I know him well. Apparently you do not. He will take your money and sell you to Sudanese rebels for their pleasure.” He paused, leaned close, and added softly, “It would not be the first time he has done so.”