Saturday, December 31, 2011
New from H Harksen Productions is my collection of industrial horror stories entitled DARKTOWNE. This is a collection of stories about vampires, zombies, blood whores, ghosts, witches, mutants, demons, living slime, and others that may seem vaguely (or not so vaguely) familiar who populate a ruined and dying town descending into madness, and those trying to escape.
The TOC is…
Prelude: The Afternoon of a Faun
Baden Street Blues
The River Rats
Like a Thief in the Night
Postlude: The March Hare
Like Henrik says, Welcome to Hell on Earth - welcome to Darktowne!
Check it out at Lulu!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Try it out, get slagged, shagged, hoed, maybe even have your head bounced or stuffed between Bertha Bustanut’s two gargantuan enormous milkers! Such a disastrously horrible thought…unless you’re into that…
Beeee that as it may, here’s the eBook blurb on the subject…
Civilizing with a grunt and a groan; that’s what it says at the beginning of “Tale of the Trojan Sphynx.” Well, yeah, might as well say that’s how it all started. Grunting and groaning. But that little experiment in Slagheep’s primordial slothic scummy dooey goo has given us some of the most vile disgusting gut belching, ass farting, nitwits and numbskulls the multiverse has ever witnessed. Care to witness for yourself? Then dive in. At your own risk of course.
A little irreverent.
Some adult content.
A lot of fun.
Here’s a few of the colorful characters that you’ll find in Selections from...THE ILLUSTRIOUS ANNALS OF SLAGHEEPIAN HISTORY -
• Lil’ Skippy Shitler in his bid to enact war on anyone over two feet in height.
• Bertha Bustanut who makes an unscheduled stopover in the Slagheepian village of East Mudbucket.
• Timidly Blurry the king stoner brought back from the dead to promote one last multiversal “rok” concert.
• Doktor Froggenstein and his terribly horrible nasty experiment.
• Elderly Billy Space Codger and the December Frog reminiscing about the old days.
• Billy Space Dude…yeah, there was an unfortunate time warping accident.
• Cap’n Brane Phart traveling the Spaceways for excitement and adventure.
Come for a ride on the Spaceways across the multiverse with these colorful characters and an amalgam of other such ne’er-do-well nitwits and join in their galvanizing misadventures. You’ll be on Slagheep in no time!
Okay, so there ya have it, that’s the blurb that will appear with the eBook. Here’s the entire TOC…
Varnie Proposes Marriage
Rasta Booglely-Doo and the Old Seer of Frogtown
The STRANGE UP & DOWN World of FLAVOR & CHARMing COLORs
The Terrible Tragedy of One Colorful Character
The Church of the Holy Shaggaho
Tale of the Trojan Sphynx
Billy Space Codger & the December Frog
Spaced Out in East Mudbucket
Sex, Drugs, & Siren’s Songs
Time & Time Again
Blue Moons over Widdlydink
The Other Slimy Cesspool of a Frog Shit Village
The Mesmerizing Sound of Lethargic Radiation
I might add that the book (minus the story “Sex, Drugs, & Siren’s Songs” - that’s a new one) appear in print form from Lulu.
Monday, December 26, 2011
My story D I FOR DARKTOWNE “An Eye for an Eye” will be appearing in the Static Movement anthology, A-Z, CITIES OF DEATH, edited by Dean Drinkel. Here’s a little sample of the story -
Jolly Roger Johnson was a jolly fool alright. Yeah. More than that, he was a certifiable jolly bastard and lunatic.
One creepy crazy son-of-a-bitch.
Always going against the grain; taking chances, dodging the night, crouching in the dark with the little worm eaten wooden box tucked under an arm. Called it his Box of Shades. Never let anyone see what was inside.
Jolly Roger ran the night creeps down alleys and byways, always looking for a thrill then hiding from it when it popped up in all its ugly deadly dangerous glory.
Like a gang of slime infested murderous thugs banging some righteous good looking chick while her boyfriend/husband/father…whatever…was forced to watch before blowing their brains out or sticking them on a parking meter. Sometimes the dude died and the lady didn’t. Keep her around for fun and games.
And there were the dead bastards. Zombies that climbed out of their graves, lurched around in the dark, caught unsuspecting night walkers that thought they were safe only to howl bloody murder when the zombies started sharing the poor fool or foolette for lunch. A rip of flesh here, a pluck of an eyeball there.
Always the same. Ordered up and served. Zombie fodder.
Then there were the vamps. Looking like something out of the fifties with jeans, black leather jackets or white t-shirts.
And slicked back hair except for the female vamps. Hell, the lady vamps hardly wore anything at all and usually sported long straggly hair. Always laughing, always violent. Just didn’t want to get caught by a fucking bloodsucker.
Even worse, more than one bloodsucker.
Like this night; Jolly Roger damn near walked straight into a half dozen blood sucking vamps partying down with a poor unfortunate couple caught out after dark. Wasn’t long before two of the vamps took to the night sky with the young man who was howling at the top of his lungs.
Four blood suckers stayed behind to entertain the young woman. They stripped her clothing as quick and easy as peeling a banana, shared some bat-dick with her, then passed her around for a midnight cocktail.
Blood from a breast.
Good enough for now.
With a blood sucker on each ankle, they disappeared down the night black alley, dragging the poor bitch with them. No doubt for a snack sometime before dawn.
They hadn’t noticed Jolly Roger crouching behind an overflowing dumpster, the little Box of Shades tucked under an rm. The dumpster was burning with something dead inside. Hell, it smelled, and was hot. Got Jolly Roger to sweating, hoping those bloodsuckers would get done and get out so he could get out with his blood intact. After all, he had a job to do, a setup.
He hurried away, skirting the shadows, and headed south toward the East Midlothian neighborhood.
Hope you like it and pickup the anthology! Many thanks…
Oh yeah, while I’m at it, I ran down Mister Tangiers in a dark basement corner of some long deserted and abandoned building, tried to drag a few words of his story out of him for the same anthology. Reluctantly, he scribbled a few, and told me to get out before Mister Legs got pissed. Was good advice; a few bodies were wrapped up nice and tight I saw in the shadows…anyway, a tiny slice of Tangiers’ U IS FOR UBAR “The Crypt of Alhazred”…all that Tangiers would cough up…
Able Allerton camped. He didn’t want to arrive at the Ubar ruins in the middle of the night. Something inside had begun to whisper that the stories were true, djinns and night spirits bad enough to make a mess of your mind.
Just couldn’t shake the idea.
Yeah, that spooky shit.
Especially so when that howling demon wind came racing across the sands and swirled around Able’s tent.
Freaked him out, sat him right up in his tent.
He peered about wildly.
Fuckin’ djinns! Fuckin’ killer djinns!
Shadows danced, eerie shadows like djinns laughing and calling to him.
Made Able shiver and scramble on all fours, a mad dash into the night where only embers fluttered around his now nearly dead camp fire, tiny glowing firelights that rode currents of air, quickly dying as they rose.
Off in the distance a soft eerie glow of light swirled like windblown fog across the sands where the ruins of Ubar were suppose to be.
It looked like ghosts in a slow swirling dance of the dead, and beacons of lights dancing about writhing shadows.
Torches held by something unholy, heathenish, otherworldly.
Howling a rite of death.
Calling to Able to join their macabre masque.
They were there, spirits and djinns, and they knew Able was there, not far away.
Coming to their kingdom.
Their city of the dead.
Irem, the City of Pillars.
Perhaps best known as the Nameless City.
Able’s thoughts focused; he frowned. Yeah, the Nameless City…Alhazred’s City.
And Able Allerton suddenly began to wonder if he shouldn’t have left well enough alone.
A weak half-hearted and fearful chuckle.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Okay peoples, I noted in a blog just a few beneath this one that Static Movement had just released their FALL SHUDDERS anthology. Included is my story, “Feast of the Dead.” Here’s a brief excerpt of the story. Hope you like it and pick up a copy of the anthology!
It was still All Hallows Eve.
The world had started to fade back in again.
A blurry spiral. Dizziness and pain. Jena’s cheek hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Hell, if it wasn’t dark and she had a makeup mirror, she would have seen a big black and blue mark spread out on the side of her face. Nate had walloped her good.
Bastard, came the thought through her addled brain and pain.
Her vision began to clear and she saw them. Two dozen or so. Weirdo freakazoids. All dressed up in dirty white burlap sacks, their faces painted over with dirt or ash or…what had Nate said?...oh yeah, charcoal.
Jena chuckled. Soft, painful.
A bunch of freaky looking scarecrows they were. A bunch a back country bumpkins clamoring around at the edge of the cemetery. A big bonfire hissed and crackled, spread a dim orange light through the little cemetery.
Long shadows faded into the night.
And that prick, Nate Warwick, was right in there with those weirdo freakazoids all decked out in charcoal painted face and dirty white burlap.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Jena shouted, then winced. Damn, her face hurt.
About that time she realized she was strung up on a wooden pole. Arms outstretched over her head, wrists bound by a rope. Feet barely touched the ground. And stark naked as a jaybird in front of God, country, and two dozen plus weirdo freakazoids.
Kinda dawned on her right then and there when she started to go after Nate. The rope went taunt, hauled her ass back. The back of her head bounced off the pole with an audible thud.
“Shit!” she growled.
Now her cheek and the back of her head hurt. Vision blurred a bit, but cleared fast.
Saw some silly bitch in a scarecrow getup doing the eye of newt, bat’s blood, frog’s tail thing in some big bowl on the stand. There was a fire crackling in that bowl, and smoke rolled out, smelled funny. Like a drug or something. The silly bitch started talking some strange bullshit, like a witch doing the bubble bubble toil and trouble routine.
Then the rest; they started the same droning nonsense. Only Nate wasn’t joining in their merry festivities.
Or was he?
He started toward Jena. His eyes were narrowed, glassy.
Sniffing the smoke out of that bowl most likely.
“About time you stopped this nonsense,” Jena growled as Nate approached. “Untie me from this…”
It was about then that Jena got a whiff of that smoke wafting from that bowl. Sent her thoughts spiraling. Kind of a cool spiral though. Real freaky. Like she was doing coke or crank or something. Wow!
Everything suddenly turned surreal. The scene seemed to swim, distort. Time slowed. Jena chuckled as she turned her gaze to Nate. He stood there; he had dropped his burlap, and looked like he was about ready to rock and roll Jena’s world.
“Wow baby!” she suddenly cackled.
Nate reached up, grabbed Jena, and spun her around; jacked her up face first against the pole. Then hiked her legs and took it to her hard, deep, and slow in rhythm to the weirdo freakazoids yaking their nonsense.
Jena squealed, and laughed, and gasped. The drug coursed through her lungs, her thoughts, her brain.
“…fertility rite...,” she heard Nate growl softly into her ear.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Here’s an excerpt of the story -
Jo Bon ran.
He ran for his life. Ran and ran and ran.
He was terrified. Something pursued. Crawled, writhed. Reached. Clawed.
Something slithered across a shoulder. Around his neck.
Then synched up tight. Constricted. Pulled.
Jo Bon was lifted off the ground. The thing tight around his neck. Growing tighter. Cutting off his air. Cutting into his skin.
Blood trickled. No longer could he scream.
Then he was dead. Hung by the thing that had pursued him.
Had he not lusted after the women of the tribe. Had he not forced himself upon one of them...
They did it, the tribesmen. Had called that thing from the depths of the soil. A great snake-like god. Relentless in its pursuit. Relentless in its vengeance.
Traisha Gavan sighed as she knelt next to the pooling blood, switching off the electronic device. “Yes, it’s him.”
Traisha and Chal Ballakhan peered up into the cavernous dark. Far above in that blackness hung Jo Bon’s body. A cargo chain wrapped around his neck, cutting so deep that his blood dripped to the cold damp floor.
“He said something was after him,” Traisha said.
“His mind,” Ballakhan replied.
Ballakhan stared. Then turned away. Crossed the cargo hold toward the hatch.
“Shouldn’t we get him down?” Traisha called out.
“Leave him be.” Then Ballakhan was gone, a closing hatch echoing in the dark.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Received a script in the post this morning from GB—, an old friend; got himself a flat up Middlesbrough way in the northeast of the UK. We go back a long ways, GB— and me. Use to go pub crawling along the Ouse years ago. Huntingdon, Houghton, the Hemingford’s, St Ives. I stayed in Houghton, got me a place down Thicket Road east of the old mill; GB—, he went up north, got his place in Middlesbrough. Always kept in touch.
Guess I oughta say something ‘bout GB—‘s script. It’s a hand-writ script, got a lot of stuff in it ‘bout philosophy and science. He had himself a good sense for things like science and philosophy. As long as I can remember he had. Was always reading them books about Zen and motorcycles and black holes. Something about Tao and strings and membranes. I didn’t have half a notion ‘bout any of it. But GB—, he did. He knowd all that stuff.
GB—‘s script had the words A Case for Grand Design writ ‘cross the top. I ‘spose that was what he was gonna call it. Underneath that was some scribbling, words and names and such. Missing the first part of what GB— writ ‘cause the first page was tore off ‘bout half way down.
Be damned if I knowd what was getting into his head. Lot of crazy talk. Started off well enough, but got kind of crazy later on. Stuck in some words and phrases that just didn’t seem to go there. Least they didn’t sound right. But I kept them there for anyone to have a look at. Might be able to make better sense of it than me.
Looks like GB— was afraid of something, like he was hurrying to figure out what this Grand Design thing was all about. I remember, weren’t too long ago, GB— was talking ‘bout something, think he called it Unified or something like that. Had something to do with Einstein and folk like that. GB— was all excited ‘bout it. Couldn’t hardly contain himself. Well, I caint make no sense of it. Best that somebody else does.
I ain’t gonna claim that I know a wit ‘bout what he’s talking ‘bout, but I’m gonna put down here GB—‘s words and make them italics to separate them from my own words and comments and notes. Might not have much sense to make out what GB— was trying to say with all this philosophy and science, but I sure as hell don’t know what he was meaning to say at the end with them fancy foreign words. Will put them down as they are. Let someone else who knows these things figure it out.
Now this here starts with the second page:
** ** ** **
This and 25 more stories of horror, science fiction, and fantasy now available in DREAMS & NIGHTMARES, an eBook from Amazon.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
** ** ** **
...an excerpt -
Marge shakes the dust from her notes. Turns her eyes back to what’s written. She pages, glances at names. Headings.
She sits back, a blank stare, then glances at a bulletin board peppered with lost and found notes. Mostly people, relatives, and friends looking for people, relatives, and friends. Some notes are otherwise. Notes of information and requests. Like Marge’s note.
Marge’s note clings to a corner of the board. Looking for information about Ibn Schacabao. That strange man from the 8th Century. Still alive. A pact with the Old Ones, it’s rumored. So said Marge’s research.
And he’s here, in London.
Marge knows; she smiles.
** ** ** **
Read the entire story in my new eBook, DREAMS & NIGHTMARES, soon to be released.
** ** ** **
Okay folks, it's now available for Kindle from Amazon. Only $.99. Cheap. No excuse NOT to get it. Unless you don’t like horror, or fantasy, or science fiction, or Lovecraft, or demon gangsters, or beasts in closets and under beds, or Indian legends, or the Boogeyman down at the end of the lane. Or if you don’t have Kindle. But that’s alright. It’ll be coming soon from Smashwords for B&N’s Nook and other applications.
And for the record, the TOC is…
That Hideous Thing
The Devil’s Whore
Dreams and Nightmares
Ghosties and Ghoulies and Long Legged Beasties…
In the Closet
Under the Bed
The Boogeyman’ll Getcha!
They Only Come Out at Night
Turnabout is Fair Prey
The Science and Philosophy of Azathoth
Money Bags Maloney and the Bank Teller
Operation Silver Rain
Zeroes and Ones
An Auld Acquaintance
The Eternal Dark
Blood and Straw by George Wilhite
A Great Day For A Wedding by Brianna Stoddard
Trick Our Street by Adam Francis Smith
Comes the Sweet Autumn by Dorothy Davies
The Order of the October Chaff by Ron Koppelberger
Consumption by Wesley Dylan Gray
Hollow's End by Greg Miller
Devil's Den by Thomas M Malafinara
The Harvest Song by K R Helms
Pumpkin Soup by Naomi Clark
Death Visits Oktoberfest by Dave Fragments
Hannah by Jason Brawn
The Fragility of Late August Light by C. A. Kerr
Hannah by Jason Brawn
Friend Neighbor Killer by Kevin L Jones
Grandfather Jack O'Lantern by Ken L Jones
Between The Cottonwoods by James Sabata
Feast of the Dead by Ran Cartwright
Conjuring the Corpse Candles by Marianne Halbert
Claudia's Thumb by C D Carter
Killing For The Party by CD Carter
Sisters of Mercy by David Perlmutter
Melding by Neil Leckman
Saving Alice by Neil Leckman
Don't Lose Your Head by Darren Woon
Remembering The Dead by Aurelio Rico Lopez III
Harvest Moon by Naomi Clark
Halloween by Jeff Jones
Now available at Pill Hill Press.
Monday, December 12, 2011
So, here’s a little bit of a publicity blurb:
DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES is a mixed collection of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and tales of childhood fears. Some include –
Terror strikes travelers on lonely stretches of Nevada highways when an Indian legend comes to life.
Members of the Vampyre and Goth subcultures are rattled by the appearance of a real vampire.
THE DEVIL’S WHORE
Roaring 20s Chicago. Gangsters run a nightclub/speakeasy. Not your ordinary speakeasy. Not your ordinary gangsters. These gangsters are demons, and they’ve come to gather victims for the Big Boss. Their method is a little game they play that could make you The Devil’s Whore.
Something lurks deep in the bayou near Carondelet, Louisiana. Two mysterious men suddenly come to town and become embroiled in the events. One is a priest, the other a dead man. One has come to save, one to destroy.
A third of humanity disappears overnight, but it isn’t God that has come for them.
THE BOOGEYMAN’LL GETCHA!
The Boogeyman lurks down at the end of the lane. Tom Midland remembers the Boogeyman; it made off with Tom’s friend Jimmie when they were children. Now Tom has come back to the old neighborhood and is going to settle the matter once and for all.
THAT HIDEOUS THING
The Black Goat of a Thousand Young haunts war-torn London.
THE PHILOSPHY AND SCIENCE OF AZATHOTH
GB was researching and writing a treatise on God and “The Case for Grand Design.” But the only god he found was the mad god Azathoth at the center of all things.
MONEY BAGS MALONEY AND THE BANK TELLER
“Money Bags Maloney” robs a bank, and makes off with a bank teller. He’s got it made until he crosses paths with a beautiful Indian woman that’s a skin walker on a long stretch of Arizona desert highway.
These tales and others in this collection will haunt your DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Prelude: The Afternoon of a Faun
Baden Street Blues
The River Rats
Like a Thief in the Night
Postlude: The March Hare
Many thanks to Henrik for all his work and refinement of this collection. I’m greatly indebted to him for making it possible that this collection sees the light of day…well, the dark of night.