Dark Eclipse!

     The new Dark Eclipse e-zine is out and ready to be read! My monthly article this issue highlights the more likely apocalypses that can occur, a fun brain exercise I thoroughly enjoyed.
     You can find the magazine here!

Scary Elevator

   

     A reality TV show from Brazil does a good job scaring up some laughs from the audience with an amazing practical joke that leaves the audience in stitches and the victims in tears. The fear we've instilled in our culture of children is so ingrained that the mere presence of a child can be discomforting, let alone when one suddenly appears and disappears like this.
     Getting a good grasp of what scares and what doesn't is every horror authors job, and instilling fear through words is a difficult task at times. The readers imagination is our greatest weapon, and the best ammunition is common fears used in unique and unheard of ways, like above.

A Night in Ole' Paris

“I still can’t believe we’re in Paris!” Rhonda exclaimed, gushing over how fantastic her honeymoon was starting. She and Mike had been together for years, with no plans on marriage. Somehow that had changed a few months earlier, and now Rhonda was living the dream of officially being the wife of Scott Marche.

Scott was walking alongside her, holding her mitten-clad hand with his own, enjoying the strings of lights and the warm feeling the city gave off, despite the fact that it was winter. Paris was never cold, it seemed.

“Well you said you wanted a break from everything, and how often do you get married, you know?” Scott joked, earning a swat turning into a soft embrace. The two continued walking along the lone street towards their small hotel, snuggling to fight off the cold, when Scott’s ears first heard it.

He stopped the both of them, shushing Rhonda when she began to ask what was wrong. He looked around the old French quarter, the old buildings lined with a thin frosting of snow and ice, straining his ears to try and hear it once more.

There it was again!

The small whimper of a child, echoing from… somewhere.

“Hello?” He called out, knowing how horrible his American accent ruined what little French he knew.

Scott grabbed Rhonda’s arm to stop her, pointing down a narrow alley to where a small form was huddled, swathed in dirty rags and covered by a threadbare blanket. The minute frame leaned against a mound of garbage bags.

“Hello?” Scott called down the alley, frowning as the tiny figure flinched upon hearing his voice. “Do you need help?”

“Please… it hurts…” The tiny voice, a young boy, sobbed.

“Oh my god…” Rhonda muttered as she rushed to the child’s side, pulling the blanket back to take a look at him.

 “It hurts… please…” The boy said, coughing and once again falling into a series of sobs.

“Scott, we need to take him to the hospital.” Rhonda said, feeling the child’s forehead. “He’s freezing, and he feels so strange… like wet meat.”

Scott reached into his jacket to grab his cell phone, quickly scrolling through the options to find the saved number for emergency services. As he pressed the button, he nearly dropped the phone as Rhonda moved to scoop the child up.

As the blanket fell away, one could see the child bore no legs, only a thick coil of veiny, translucent skin stemming from where his hips should be. With his hood pulled back, his face was as pale as death, his eyes glassy and dull. Black, dead veins stood stark along the boys temples and face, even as his mouth continued to move and his hands moved to loop around Rhonda’s neck for support.

Before he could say anything, the coil of flesh whipped up, revealing that it went deep beneath the trash bags at the boys side, which surged up like a great worm, a tooth lined maw dangling beneath the shimmering black plastic.

“It hurts…” The boy said one final time, before the strange coil of flesh rose, dragging Rhonda by the boy’s vice grip around her throat closer to the drooling maw of the strange beast. Rhonda began screaming, a gurgling, half-choked shout as the “boy” bit into the side of her neck, a thick spray of blood spouting from her throat as the lamprey like mouth of the garbage beast descended upon her, shredding her arm to ribbons as she tried to battle it away.

“Rhonda!” Scott shouted, rushing to tackle the side of the garbage beast, tearing into its elastic flesh only to reveal a hardened shell beneath, glimmering yellow eyes staring back at him with malevolence. A tearing sound wrenched through the night as the plastic bag tore of its own accord, a sharpened scythe-like limb cutting its way free and burying itself deep into Scott’s stomach.

The alley went silent save for the wet sucking sounds of one draining juice from a carton, the crunching of bones and pulpy, wet smacking of meat being chewed. The creature, the fleshy tendril extending from its forehead, began reburying itself within the garbage bags as its puppet began pulling the blanket back over itself. The alley was clean of any remains save for a discarded phone with a cracked faceplate.

And so the snow continued to fall, the alley growing cold and silent once more, save for the silent sobs of a little homeless boy, wrapped up against the cold with a threadbare blanket.

Movies To Die For

     For those of you who live and breathe the sweet nectar of Netflix, let me clue you in on a few good scream worthy flicks I've found whilst digging through their mountain of movies. This is about their online streaming of course, as normal Netflix providers can simply seek these tales of terror on their mailing list, which I suggest all the same.

     The Devil's Rock  is by far one of the most unexpected and entertaining dark horror films I've seen in a blue moon, taking an old premise and spinning it on itself to create a wonderfully delicious tale of carnage and woe, of good and evil and of the dangers one must face when confronted by supernatural forces. By far a must see.

     The mother of all zombie movies, inspired by the original man of terror, H.P. Lovecraft, The Re-Animator  has finally made its way to the free stream. While not nearly as grotesque as modern horror, it makes up its visual shortcomings with suspense and plot, as well as character development one rarely sees in movies at all, let alone ones from so long ago.

     Parasitic  is an interesting romp through a nightclub, where friends must fight off the wiles of an infernal monster while trying to find a way to escape before its all too late. The acting is a tad weak, but the premise is solid and fairly original. It's also got enough moments of dark humor that it kept me entertained, though humor to me is terror to others. Still, a truly masterful piece that I would suggest to anyone.

     Dead Season  is a new zombie film that is a rehash of the same thing we've seen over and over again, yet keep coming back to for more. Gore and violence await you in this film as a pair of survivors battle their way through the hordes of walking dead to reach a remote island in hopes of finding sanctuary. For a low budget film, I was engrossed in the story and impressed with the acting, happy to see a new addition to the vast library of zombie films worth talking about.

     The series American Horror Story  has also been made available, and is by far one of my new favorites. The character development, the multiple sub plots, the amazing array of characters... its all so perfect I can barely contain my glee. While only a brief twelve hours, its well worth the watch.

     More updates are soon to come kiddies, so stick around and check back in when you can. I have a few more stories left to scribble down before I commit them to the eternity that is the internet.

     Sweet Dreams

     

Gobble Gobble

Zack Morris was not a man to be trifled with.

Now this is of course not a statement that nobody ever tried to give the silent giant trouble just that it always ended poorly for them. With the body of a mountain and a thousand yard stare, Old Zack Morris ended most fights before they ever began. And for the few fights the people of Comal County ever saw that involved the old farmer, they winced at the memory.

You see Zack wasn’t a normal farmer with a crop that he planted. No, he was an egg farmer as well as a turkey farmer. Three barns of mother hens and a barn full of squawking turkeys had left the man a well of patience with a good deal of strength and a great deal of self-control. His colossal fingers could lift an egg from a slumbering hen without nudging a feather just as they could easily grab a turkey by the neck and drag it to the Chopping Block, kicking and screaming.

But late one October, when he was counting heads, he came across a turkey that was half-dead. It’s body torn to pieces, half the pieces gone, ole’ Zack cursed and swore at the thought of some pest getting into his livelihood. So he set up some traps around his home, baited with the remains of the turkey, and caught himself a half-dozen coyotes and an assortment of raccoons.

All of which were brought to the Block, and summarily prepared as Morris Many Stew for any brave enough to pay the old farmer a visit.

But within days he found, when rounding up his turkeys from the yard, another two dead along with a hen with a broken neck.

Outraged, he laid out twice as many traps, as well as a good deal of poisoned meat.

And thus he ate his infamous stew for nearly ten days, bits of coyote and possum, raccoon and skunk all salted and boiled in a fine broth. Every morning he’d hang up the iron traps in the turkey barn, after sharpening the serrated teeth to a wicked gleam. And every evening he’d lay them out once more, losing two or three turkeys a day slowly bringing the great man’s ire fully to bear, decimating the countryside of every predator foolish enough to sneak onto his property.

Old Zack spent the next few days going over the sales he’d made to various local markets over the number of turkeys they needed, pleasantly surprised that he had more than enough of the stupid birds, despite the recent string of deaths. Choosing to fill the order a little early, he made his way to the barn the next morning, his hatchet sharpened to a fine edge hanging neatly from his belt.

After doing another head count and finding two more dead birds, he began his grisly task. One by one, he’d grab a bird and bring it to the Block, gathering a basketful of heads and a pile of bodies waiting to be cleaned. As he took a break to drink from a bottle of water, he spied one of the turkeys he’d been quite proud of this season.

Standing nearly three feet tall, the great bird was at least sixty to seventy pounds. Maybe it was the new feed he’d bought for the birds, or maybe it was the weather, but this turkey was by far the largest Zack had ever seen. Taking his hatchet firmly in hand, he slowly made his way to the great bird, which amazingly enough, turn and fled into one of the stalls, as if it were hiding!

Zack tipped his hat and scratched his head, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. Why, he’d never seen a turkey with brains before!

Listening to the constant squawking and gobbling going on around him, Zack walked around the stall to fetch the giant bird, only to find the great beast had jumped into a great mound of hay. The stupid bird was still visible though, two feet sticking out from the hay pail onto the hay strewn floor.

Laughing, Zack moved into the stall and reached down to grab the great bird by one of its legs, intending to yank it out with one great pull.

What he got instead was a bloody stump of a turkey leg, as well as a raucous warbling cry that nearly deafened him from high above. Zack, confused and enraged to find yet another bird dead, looked up to begin hunting down the blasted bird.

Instead he was able to catch sight of his assorted traps falling from the rafters above, knocked over by a half-dozen hens. Zack noted, with a morbid sense of wonder, that each miniature bear trapped was primed and ready to snap.

And snap they did as the whole lot of them fell, some going wide and snapping shut harmlessly against the floor, while others landed on Zack and snapped into flesh and bone. One had fallen and landed where Zack’s forearm met his bicep, an awful position he’d adopted to shield his face from the falling onslaught of jagged iron maws. It snapped into his flesh with agonizing speed, pinning his arm in place.

Another three were littered across his torso and shoulder, all very painful, but in no way lethal thank goodness. Dropping his hatchet, Zack grunted and groaned as he limped over to the Block, peeling apart the mechanized mouths with as much care as his strong hand could manage. And slowly but surely, he began to peel the traps away from his body.

Until he was bodily slammed from behind, throwing him forward stomach first onto the Chopping Block, face first into the basket of heads, eye to glassy eye with countless dead orbs. Sitting atop him had to be the great turkey that had run away, warbling and croaking as it seemed to dance merrily atop his back.

Bucking back, he tried to throw the behemoth from his back, but failed as it sank its talons into his exposed back. Crying out as the muscle peeled away from the top of his forearm from his struggles, only then did he notice how quiet the barn truly was.

Looking around him, all the turkeys were now staring at him, their unblinking gaze unwavering as they seemed to give him the same look they had…

… when he was throwing seed out into the yard for them.

***

Old Zack Morris was not a man to be trifled with.

Nobody ever came out ahead when they tried doing anything against him, everyone in Comal county knew that for sure. So when the grocer came to his farm to find all the chickens and turkeys gone, the gate wide open, with the sticky red skeleton of the giant man over a rotting basket of maggot ridden skulls, you can only imagine how surprised everyone was. 

New Label

     The "Novel" label you folks have been seeing attached to some of my more recent posts indicates, as one would suspect, that this is an excerpt of a novel I've written and am actively trying to get published. 
     Pride is a Horror/Fantasy where the world has always held the mysterious and mystical, and groups of people have banded together to better deal with the darker forces of the supernatural realm. I have the first two books of this novel series finished, and am currently having them edited.
     Jack in the Box is a traditional Horror story that involves a small Texas town close to my birthplace of San Antonio. While a tad shorter than my standard novels, a mere fifty thousand words, I hope to have this novel published by this summer.
     The final novel excerpts you will begin seeing is a tale called Love Bites, a Horror novel with a slight romantic twist that is more suited for adult readers. While I only post the first five chapters of any given book, in readable segments of course, this last book will only have the first three posted once it has been fully edited.
     For all of my work, novels or not, I love and need feedback about what you read: what you like, what you dislike and any errors I might have overlooked. So feel free to comment on any post.
     Sweet Dreams!  

A Tad Dated But...

     One of my original stories was published here at Dark Moon Book's blog. Swing on by and take a look!

Uganda to Begin Killing all of it's Homosexuals

     While not a homosexual myself (death tends to stop you of any desires) this can only be something inspired by a man truly in tune with the idea of horror. Killing people just because of their nature is wrong, no matter how many ways you cut it. But just look at how the killing is to be done, and what inspires it.
     Like the old saying goes, "Why do we always hurt the ones we love?" A good question to ask the Christians that are secretly smiling at this measure their brothers and sisters in Christ have decided to break out to "contain" the spread of homosexuality, while preaching how they love the sinner but hate the sin.
     "But this isn't Christianity," Some genuinely nice person who happens to follow a zombified Rabbi will say.
     Yes it is. This is your religion, pure and simple. When you have a holy book that is written by men supposedly inspired by God, a book that is supposed to be the guidebook to your spiritual life, and it orders death for crimes such as homosexuality(1), children(2) and not producing fruit on command(3), then you have a religion that is evil. 
     Pure and simple. Take it from a guy whop spends his time thinking of tales of horror and suspense to thrill you with.
     This is why I loathe religions in general. 
     Oh, and before someone even begins to try and say "some of those rules don't matter anymore", well you're wrong(4).

1) "If a man lies with a male as with a women, both of them shall be put to death for their abominable deed; they have forfeited their lives."  (Leviticus 20:13 NAB) 
2)  Make ready to slaughter his sons for the guilt of their fathers; Lest they rise and posses the earth, and fill the breadth of the world with tyrants.  (Isaiah 14:21 NAB)
3) Go here to see Biblical Quote
4) Matt 5:17-20, NAB, a large section where it is revealed Jesus hasn't come to change anything but to fulfill it, and that everyone must obey the old laws until everything has been fulfilled. He goes on to say that anyone who teaches otherwise will not be welcome in Heaven. So essentially, the Old Testament still applies.

A Warrior's Tale, Part Three

Previously

The following days were even more surreal for James as he was touted about the underground complex like some sort of prophet. Whenever he would encounter any of the grey robed cultists, they would bow and scrape, pleading for tasks they could perform to please him. He’d had to give a standing order that he didn’t need any female companionship during the night, as he’d discovered two separate cultists offering themselves up to him over the course of three days. When he asked the disfigured priest (whose names turned out to be the Marred One), he’d only received a wide smile in response.

“You are now the acting voice for our God, by your actions he does speak to us, telling us what to do.” He’d explained with a tone of reverence. “You were able to slay those Chosen by the Horned One, thus marking you as his conduit for which we are to test his will through.”

“And by that you mean?” James had asked, once again over a small meal in the strange kitchen/dining area the cult had.

“The Horned One’s power is being channeled through captured men and women, through wolves and boar. The longer they are left with the energy, the more dangerous they become. Every New Moon, you will bear arms against the Horned One’s Chosen, testing their strength against the mettle of a true warrior. Those that are slain will only add to you and your personal power, while the ones that prove string enough to slay you shall send you on to live with the Horned One, blessed for all the work you had done in his name and honor.”

“Uh, right. Thank you Marred One.” James said, not really knowing how to respond to such a statement. I have to kill every month to stay alive? Well, that’s not terribly new to me but still! James thought bitterly as he strode through the carved halls of stone, the faint echo of his footfalls dancing about him and announcing his presence to any and all the lived within the Temple proper during the time when there wasn’t a fight.

Namely the undead.

Marred One and Spicer were pretty much the only ones willing to talk to him, among the intelligent staff to be shambling through the halls. Great long stone hallways, with walls that tilted and jutted at various points so as to successfully cause vertigo should you move towards them, dotted the honeycomb of entombed tunnels, broken up only by small living quarters where a few cultists would stay for a few days and nights.

The dead freely roamed the halls by night, when no living man nor woman would willingly walk about save for James. He’d learned early on the walking blight had no interest in him…

James had been walking down a corridor he’d come to call the Hall of Lord Marrow, due to the fact the walls, floor and ceiling were comprised of interlocking and mortared human bones, skulls with glowing phosphorescent fungi under the heel of your boot while arms dangled from the ceiling holding oil fueled lanterns. Pushing past a shambling corpse bereft of any eyes or a tongue, a young cultist had come rushing around the corner, James’s title upon his lips as he held a sealed scroll out to him.

He was never able to hand it off, as the very bones lining the hall had come alive, lashing out from the walls to slash and grab at him, skeletal arms wielding femurs as clubs or ribs like daggers, while the floor began cackling as his blood spilled down upon the dusty skulls, their teeth clattering as if they savored the taste of the screaming man’s death. James would have moved to help, if only to end the man’s life out of an act of mercy, but the shambling corpse was faster; with a lunge that belied its advanced state of decay, dirty fingernails raked across the cultists robes, ripping them open for the gap-toothed maw of the undead to sink it’s teeth into the fresh pink flesh hidden below.

What worried James the most was that the screams of the cultist, while truly screams of pain, were also cries of jubilation.

“T-take me Horned One! I o-offer myself to yo-urk!” He’d been crying as the very hall bludgeoned and tore at him, as a felsh-eating ghoul finally silenced him by tearing out his chest via the rib cage, splattering organs and splintered bones all over the floor while holding the sternum and intact ribs high above its head, drinking from the blood pouring from the bloody frame.

That memory, besides his one night in the arena, is what kept him up at night. Especially as the notice that the poor cultist had been carrying was merely a formality.

James would be fighting in three days’ time, for the glory of the Horned One. 
Next

Authors Note: Thought I'd forgotten about this little gem, eh? Well think again kiddies, as this story has only begun! Wonder what James will be facing in three days time, and how in the world he plans on making his escape. The merchant is still alive at the very least, so at least James's resume won't have a blemish on it for being a poor bodyguard.

Just one that takes his time in doing the guarding!

Dark Eclipse Magazine

     Dark Eclipse Seventeen is available for all Kindle users out there drifting about this sea of life, just dying for a good bit of literature. For a mere $1.99, you can read several short tales of terror, read up on several good new novels and stories alike through the editorial staff's reviews (including my own reviews of what I consider to be some of the better "popular" authors within our delightful genre), as well as a delightful tribute and study of one of my personal influences, H.P. Lovecraft!

     Go on then, go get a copy! Help breathe a fresh breath of life into the horror industry and support those that truly understand the meaning of fear.

     As for me, I'll just go back to my own scribblings here in the dark. I have much to write and so little time for you all to read it all. For example, have any of you picked up the latest copy of the Digest like I have? I particularly enjoy the ending to "Wolf in Chains" myself, and "Orbital Decay" was frightfully fresh!

     Ah well, I digress... back to the pit for me. You know what they say... "No rest for the wicked!"

     Sweet Dreams