“J” Jump by Matt Harrill

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The lights in the hangar faded as the front hangar doors opened. The planes came alive, engines whining, and began to taxi out of the hangar onto the runway.

From her vantage point, Eva watched the small planes, capable of seating no more than six people each, crawling along the asphalt. The first turned and began to power up for takeoff. Against the backlighting of the main terminal, it was possible to see a figure run out past the hangar and leap onto the wing of the plane.

“What’s he think he’s doing?” Exclaimed Madden.

“He doesn’t think,” Eva replied. “He is past that stage now. It’s all instinct for him. However he got free, he is seeking me, and thinks I’m in there.”

“We suspect he isn’t the only one,” added Jeanette.

The planes continued in their take off, despite Brian clinging to one of the wings. Both accelerated to take off speed, and left the ground. Only moments later from a different part of the airport, two rockets flared into life, one heading to each plane.

The sound of the twin explosions shattered glass in the hangar, and the wreckage of the planes covered the far end of the runway. In moments, sirens wailed as emergency rescue vehicles rushed into action.

“Now we wait,” observed Janus.

“For what?” Asked Madden. “For them to start asking who owns the planes, who was in them, and who fired those rockets?”

“Should not be an issue. We have you and your legendary anonymity for protection. The planes were registered to a phantom company who have hangars elsewhere on the grounds. They were controlled by remote. If not for them being shot down, they would have crashed somewhere close by in the state, making everybody think you had been killed. A little misdirection can go a long way. Look out now – you will see already they start to gather.”

Eva peeked out of the hangar. In the darkness, it was easy to observe the helicopters beginning to fill the sky. Nearby in the hangar, some of the black-ops peeled tarpaulins off a black helicopter and began to prepare it for takeoff.

“We will just be another bird in the sky, with all of the others scavenging for a story.”

“We will. You are all important, and what you carry especially so.”

“The books?”

Janus threw the still-wrapped texts at Madden, who caught them by reflex. Instantly he hissed in pain and dropped them.

“There’s a good reason for that, rubber ball,” Janus said as he retrieved them. “We must go now, or see all of this destroyed. These texts might well hold the key to what has been going on.”

“To Egypt? You have a strange concept of safety.”

“You are here. Everybody knows it. Anywhere is safer than here. Can you not sense it?”

Madden was still for a moment. “Demons. Everywhere, but not close.”

“Not close enough to stop us this time. We go to the source of these scrolls, and for God’s sake try to lay low for a while.”

Eva took her place beside Madden, opposite Tilly. “Not coming, Jeanette?”

The blonde presenter shook her head. “My place and my job are here. I am the face of this. You need to see me, just turn on a television. Listen carefully when you do. There may be more being said than most understand.”

Slamming the door shut, Jeanette stepped away from the helicopter as the blades began to turn. She turned, and in a blink was gone through a doorway.

“Egypt, eh?” Madden said with a smile. “Always wanted to see the Pharaoh’s tombs.”

“Best hope it doesn’t become yours, too,” Tilly observed. “This isn’t over yet.”

 

***I will be giving at least one of Matt’s books away. Come back for G-L and leave a comment for a chance to win!!!***

 

Matt Harrill is the author of the trilogy TheArc Chronicles.

Matthew W Harrill lives in the idyllic South-West of England, nestled snugly in a village in the foothills of the Cotswolds. Born in 1976, he attended school in Bristol and received a degree in Geology from Southampton University. By day he plies his trade implementing shareplans for Xerox. By night he spends his time with his wife and four children. (and he writes sci-fi horror).

I have a delightful interview of Matt as well. He really is an interesting chap and his writing is to die for…

Chat with him on twitter @matt_harrill

You can find Matt on Amazon and will be glad that you did!!!

Some A to Zers I am enjoying today:

 

428.
433.
454.

“I” Interview by Matt Harrill and Children In Need

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“Six months ago, what started off as a standard attempted bank robbery in the area of Montego Bay, Jamaica, has become one of the biggest mysteries the island has ever seen.” A map appeared on the screen, a red line detailing the route. It reminded Eva of the red line in the Indiana Jones movies when they tracked the adventurer’s movements whenever he was on board a plane.

“The high speed chase was seen by hundreds of passers-by, involved most of the Montego Bay police force, and ended when the getaway car landed in the ocean.” A montage of scenes followed, showing a column of squad cars behind an unmarked vehicle, obviously filmed from a helicopter. The car attempted to avoid a roadblock, hit the curb, flipped and dove into the sea. Eva winced as she watched it do so.

“As it transpired, underwater rescue specialists were on hand in case such an event occurred. Within a minute or so of crashing, the police apprehended the perpetrators. All of them, except the driver. All of the doors were shut. Windows adjacent to the driver were shattered, but local police were on scene. In short, there was nowhere for him to go. Yet, he has simply vanished.”

“What makes this case even stranger is that none of the other occupants of the car can remember what he looked like, or if he was even there.”

The scene cut to a police interview showing a swarthy Jamaican, one arm in a sling. The name ‘Turell Banks’ appeared on a banner at the bottom of the screen.

”Man, I tellin’ you, me dunno!” The man was clearly agitated, confused. “We had us a wheel man. Him just up and gone. No name, no face. Him vanish like a ghost.”

“The other members of the gang have offered similar explanations. They all know they had a driver, but they were all unable to provide the police with a description. Polygraph tests on all three men indicated that each man was convinced he was telling the truth. Whoever the mystery driver is, he has kept his identity well hidden. Jamaican police were satisfied with one outcome, however; the apprehension of a local underground drug lord.”

Again, the scene shifted to the man from the previous interview, a particularly evil-looking man, in an orange jumpsuit, his face a mixture of rage and confusion.

“As a result of Bank’s capture, our mysterious gang member became a hero in the eyes of the authorities through his choice of escape route, although many admit confusion when it comes to an explanation of his disappearance. One thing is certain; the legend of the disappearing driver is sure to grow. Coming up next: a man in Georgia claims to have seen a demon walking on the streets. More, after these important messages.”

***I will be giving at least one of Matt’s books away. Come back for G-L and leave a comment for a chance to win!!!***

Matt Harrill is the author of the trilogy The Arc Chronicles.

 

Robertsport, Liberia

IN NEED – As we get closer to finalizing the book “A Song for Liberia” we will need  people/ bloggers to help to share about the book.  As I was sharing with a friend the other day few people realize that there are at least 10,000 children who are now orphaned because of the Ebola epidemic.

 

Bloggers that I am enjoying today:

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396.

 

Horror melts in your mouth not in your hand #art #horrorweek #fiction #Halloween

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In my art and art history studies, we often compared and contrasted the work of different artists. When you compare an artist against himself, you deal more with his style than differences. If you look at the two pieces there are many similarities: the visual tension, the use of black and white to create an abysmal feeling, and an inability of the subjects to speak. One thing I thought curious, as Kubicki tends to deal with the darker, captive images, is the direction or flow of the two images. On the top image do feel the eyes trying to grasp what is beyond? I thought of a child staring out of a window on a rainy day – the pathos is so thick. Now look at the movement in the second image: There is a tense inner struggle. The bound figure is fighting and the more he fights the more inward he seems to be pulled. There is a great sense of a tug of war going on. No words are conveyed out of either’s lips, but one speaks with his vacant eyes and the other in his fight with the bandages.

There’s so much more I could say. I’ll leave you with this – what are beneath the layers in each of Kubicki’s subjects? Are there just more layers…

Jarek Kubicki empty kingdom

“That damned fog is thick, Jack. Chest high and dense enough to cut it with a knife.”

The bartender pours another beer for Fred and sits it in front of him. “Damned thick, Fred! I, for one, am not leaving here until it’s gone. Shit! You can’t see the *** road anyway. How could you get home in this?”

“Funny how it waited until the place was packed before the fog rolled in. It’s almost like the fog can think,” Fred says…

… A murmuring of approval spreads throughout the bar, everyone knowing that on nights like this, evil things happen, and it appears the Inn is smack-dab in the middle of a festering of growing horror. It’s not just the fog that’s thick tonight: the impending terror awaiting them all sits heavy in the air. The stench of old injustices and the need for retribution is everywhere. For some of them, it is difficult to breathe, the presence lying thick and heavy on their chests…

…  Through the fog he comes, easily 6 feet 5 inches and broad as an ox. The heavy moisture falls below his massive chest, and his eyes, black as coal, focus on the Inn. A broad grin covers his square jaw and face, and he slowly walks towards the beckoning door. “

~ Blaze McRob is a regular writer for Pen of the Damned. The short story  Old Van Tassel in its entirety is excellent with a twist. (click the link you can read the story in full)

you can find Blaze hanging out on Facebook

his blog is Blaze’s Blog 

and on twitter @wyomingbob

The art by Jarek Kubicki is an excellent pairing with the Pen of the Damned horror writers. You can find his Numbers Collection here.

feather Kubicki

 

rumors about angels Kubicki

“A complete, debilitating darkness veils my vision. For several moments, I wait, hoping that my eyes simply need to adjust, but no details emerge from the ink-black void.”…

…”Where am I? Is this a dream?”

“I experience nothing but total darkness in either direction.”…

“Ice crystals bloom inside my skull and my eyes bulge, still seeing nothing. My ears twitch and tingle in wait of a sound. Then a sound came.

A muffled string of words calling from the void, too distorted to comprehend despite their utterance so close to my ear. My entire body jerks. Startled and instantly terrified, I start screaming. My shrieks, too loud in the confined space, shoot spikes through my eardrums, but that pain is overshadowed by the agony coming from my fingers as I pull at the seam. I feel my nails tear free as a paper-thin beam of light slices into my eyes.”

~Tyr Kieran

@tyrkieran

This story and the art went so well – I just had to show them off together. Beyond Trapped can be read in its entirety here. It’s a must!

Tyr you get some extra horror love this week.

feather Kubicki

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Blaze McRob is not only an acclaimed writer of Horror but behind the mask he does much good for so many people and causes. He is the mind and heart behind Visionary Press.

Recent releases: Snow Blood 

Beware the Mold released in the summer beware the mold

 

Jarek Kubicki’s” The Art of Numbers” will be available for purchase on November 3rd!!!

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Cursed by Fire Cursed by Stalker #horror #art

 

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If you look at the contrasts of the two artists (Bosch and Kubicki), you see many. One is black and white and one is color. There’s alot of movement in Bosch‘s The Harrowing of Hell as well as symbolism in this rendition of Hell.  Do you hear the flames licking at the pleading souls? People are looking for an escape from the worst part only to find a new horror.

There is a different kind of horror in the Kubicki something akin to an inability to run. Look at the strands of hair; they closely resemble glass broken at a harsh angle. Is there a way out? No! Is the skin drying out (starting to melt) from a similar heat?

Symbolism in art is rich. As you look deeper you will see more even if you wish you had not delved into the dark.

 

Follower_of_Jheronimus_Bosch_-_The_Harrowing_of_Hell“When the Birthday boy or girl doesn’t blow out all the candles in one breath, they get the Candle-Curse.”

“And the remaining flames act as a doorway from Hell where demons escape to exact their dark deeds upon the failed candle blower,” Barney explained, speaking in a campfire spook-story voice.”…

…Dustin dreamt of fire…

…A hot and hungry blaze tore through the house. He was upstairs at the table, watching. He stood motionless, petrified by the sight of demons leaping into his world through the flames. His spine froze and he shivered despite the rising heat around him…

… It reached out a hand, stopping the upturned fist inches from Dustin’s face. Slowly unraveling its fingers, the demon revealed a single candle, standing straight in the palm of its hand.

~Tyr Kieran is a regular writer for Pen of the Damned. His short story Anti-Wish can be read in its entirety here.

 

blog http://tyrkieran.com

Twitter: @tyrkieran

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… the portrait you drew is beautiful. The careful way you have rendered each fine stroke of my eyelashes and hair. My eyes are large dark orbs, the light in them extinguished. The drawing stares back at me from the page, frail and petrified. It is as if I was really there before you as you drew me. You have captured it well, that is how I feel. But there are a few things about me you are yet to glimpse.

I have left it for you here, this is where we part for now. By the time you enter the warehouse I will be gone, slipping away into the dark maze of the city, far from you…

And then you will finally find her, over by the wall, bound to a chair with heavy tape. Will a scream, sharp as a razor, catch in your throat?…

…With a face lift and a short dark wig she looks just like me, don’t you think? My scent on her body now. I dressed her in the lingerie and dress I wore when you first saw me. I thought you would like that. The first time you singled me out from the crowd, the first time I felt the suffocating weight of your gaze. Yes, our time is coming soon. We are destined to meet, as both you and I know. But not tonight.

 

~ Magenta Nero is a regular horror writer for Pen of the Damned her story Black Widow  is featured this week. Please check here for the entirety of the short story (Stalkers)  that is excerpted above. 
Blog: Magenta Nero – Dark Fiction Author
Twitter: @Magenta_Nero

 

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Find Tyr on Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Many thanks to Jarek Kubicki who has graciously allowed me to put his art with the horror “pieces” this week. His book (below) comes out in 4 days!!!

 

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Grave Silence #art #horrorweek #horror

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I’m taking a moment to listen to the voice and the meaning of the two pieces of art. Do you hear it – The sound that is not allowed to escape the confinement of the box?

Munch gives it away in his title “The Scream.” I remember studying this piece by Expressionist Edvard Munch several times and having to make an educated guess about what was behind or in front. I personally hear footprints approaching the subject. In this work by Kubicki, there is a visceral scream that emanates from the pieces of the body that remain and the shadowy screams from what has been taken away. This piece reminds me of the opposite of Michelangelo’s captive where man is trying to escape the confines of the marble. This man (or woman) is being made a captive by what… a horrific parasite? Enjoy the words that you don’t hear and then read the words of  Jon Olson and Hunter Shea.

decaying woman

 

“Let’s see you live through this, asshole,” Michael whispered in the Erwin’s ear.

With that he tilted Erwin’s head back and cut deep into his neck.

Erwin gurgled and blood gushed out. Michael held him for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of taking another man’s life until Erwin went limp. The gurgling slowed and then went silent…

…I can’t remember how many times I’ve died; how many times I seen the light, reached out to accept its embrace only to be pulled back into this fucking existence so that I may die again.

I have felt the pain that the body goes through as each internal organ shuts down. I have felt my heart stop more times than I want to remember. My body has been stabbed, crushed, and shot many times yet somehow it always heals itself.”

 

~Jon Olson is a regular writer for Pen of the Damned. Go to PEN to read Phantom Pain in its entirety.

Jon’s Blog:  Monster Lane

Twitter @jonolsonauthor

You can also find Jon’s work at Siren’s Call Publications.

 

 

 blood drips

scream

 

I needed light. It was impossible to face the ghoul in the dark. My spirit wavered between bravery and death by panic. I fumbled around the desk until I found the matches.I struck one against the desk. It sputtered for a moment, then fizzled out. The sounds in the corner stopped. I could feel the ghoul’s penetrating gaze cut through the dark. I grabbed another match, and with unsure hands, tried again. The match stick broke in half, falling to the floor. Clack, clack, clack, clack. Those odd footsteps again. Now a gurgling sound, a bubbling death rattle of a cry.

“Please, dear God, help,” I whimpered as I reached to pick out another match.

My cry was answered, as my thumbnail flicked across the match head, a brilliant flame roared to life. And in that same instant, I wished I’d never brought light into the parlor.

“Lucy!” My doll, my porcelain companion, stood on two small legs, leering at me. Its face had turned a mottled green, and bloody teeth sprouted from a mouth that was never designed to open…

 

…“It was the demon in Jessamine. It became a ghoul. When it left Jessamine, it hid inside Lucy. You can see it, right there!” I screamed, pointing at its lifeless body…

Hunter Shea is a writer for Pen of the Damned. He has several published works of horror. To read his short story Mercy  in its entirety go here.

Hunter Shea’s Blog 

@huntershea

 

 

 “Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye…it also includes the inner pictures of the soul.” E.  Munch

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Hunter Shea Hell Hole on Amazon

The Montauk Monster on Amazon

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So grateful to Jarek Kubicki for allowing me to use his art for Horror Week. It is exceptional art. I’m excited for his book release in 5 DAYS!!!

kubicki book

Before the blood dries why not take a spin around this year’s Coffin Hop. Plenty of book giveaways!!!
coffin-hop-2014

Horror’s Diva #horrorweek #art #fiction #halloween

horror week

 

I’m looking at the art I selected for today and realizing minimal and horror works. The use of a few shapes, three or four colors, or primary colors can speak volumes as in these two pieces One by Polish artist Jarek Kubicki and the other by German painter Edvard Munch. If you think about cinematography, dark lightening heightens the senses and muted low musical tones creates an edginess.

Do you hear the woman gasping as she throws her bloodied face back? I think the bit from Craig McGray fills in her gurgling whispers. Her draping dripping necklace infers blood dripping off her nexk. It’s a great desperated effect that Kubicki has created. (

Munch’s painting “Two Women on the Shore” ,  do you feel the black figure prodding the girl forward into another world? Do you see innocence contrasted by death’s decay? The figure in white seems to be in a trance being pressed into death. The woodcut print was an excellent choice for preventing distraction from the theme.

Nina’s feathers are indeed black (and blood is flowing) in her chilling short story.

Jarek Kubicki the numbers

blood drips

“You’ll not speak of my secret in life nor death. Of this, I’m sure.”

…In one hand, a large needle with wire tailing from the eyelet; in the other, a small vial of liquid gleamed in the glowing candlelight.

Beth strained against her bindings, but she was too weak to break free. Gloria removed the cloth from Beth’s mouth and grabbed her chin before tilting her head back, forcing the potion down her throat…

…Intermittent flashes of reality only offered hints as to Gloria’s purpose; the biting pain as her stepmother forced the wire through Beth’s lips made those intentions all too clear.

Darkness devoured every ounce of light.

blood dripsCraig McGray is a regular writer for Pen of the Damned.  You can read all of the short story (excerpt above) Kept Secrets here.

Winyan Soo Hoo

… “Did I frighten you?” I ask with mock patience, patience I have not felt in a decade or more.

She stares back true and steady for several heartbeats, licks her lips – a gesture of fear, or simply to moisten them? Her eyes say the latter. In a whispered voice that carries more strength than I would have imagined, she replies, “No, not frightened. Startled.”

“I don’t frighten you? I find that hard to believe. Please don’t tell me you are some ignorant field peasant the grovlings dragged in here because your curves will suit me.” Exasperation and a growing anger fill me as my fingernail draws blood from the soft hollow where it resides.

This is not the distraction I hoped for; yet another useless mongrel, I look away. Just as I am ready to release her from the burden of breathing, her hand gently wraps around mine, forcing my nail in deeper. I turn back, ready to dispatch the second disrespectful whelp of the day. “No, I was not dragged here by those hideous little creatures. I came of my own accord.” Staring directly into my eyes, she continues, “I have seen you, in the glade. Warming yourself in the sunlight, I have seen you soar above the cliffs that house this cave. I have seen you caress your lover to death near the water’s edge. I have watched you for some time now, and I wish to be like you. To…”

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Nina D’Archangyal is the co-founder of Pen of the Damned  and a regular writer.  You can read all of her short story Feathers- here. Nina is also co-owner of the Siren’s Call E-zine.

Twitter @sotet_angyal

Blog: http://sotetangyal.wordpress.com/

 

feather Kubicki

Jarek Kubicki has given me permission to use his art this week to make the horror writing more tangible. Please have a look at his gallery this piece today is from his numbers collection and the negative of his black feathers (from Rumors about Angels collection) was an awesome addition for the end of Nina’s Feathers. In six days he has his own book release coming out in 6 days!!!

kubicki book

 

Looking for some good horror to read? Check out the Coffin Hop that runs through the end of this week. 50 authors are doing the hop with lots of free and discounted horror to keep your blood at the perfect chilled level. Nina is one of the participants and she is giving stuff away every 8 hours here  – I think she will be a Zombie by the end of the 8 day HOP.

coffin-hop-2014

 

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And… Craig and Nina have recent releases. Please enjoy their work- they are both are e51hGufXmPbL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-v3-big,TopRight,0,-55_SX278_SY278_PIkin4,BottomRight,1,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_xceptional horror writers.

The Art of Horror #horrorweek #art #pen #horrorwriters

horror week

 

This week is set aside for the darker edge of life. Why not combine the two disciplines of art and writing to see what gets dug up!!!

What is horror for writers and artists? Darkness is in the air, it suspends one against its will,  it hides in the shadows, but it doesn’t stay there. Darkness awakens the sleeper casting him into a delusional dream or awakens the dreamer into a place he tries to claw away from.

Why write it? why paint it? I ask this question often. There are too many answers and none the same (and some darker than others.)

Is horror just about Monsters?

“[Horror fiction] shows us that the control we believe we have is purely illusory, and that every moment we teeter on chaos and oblivion.”
Clive Barker

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The_Face_of_War Dali

 Dali The Face of War

“Tired. So tired… Confusion and disorientation numbed his mind like cotton wrapped hands. Thoughts felt like a jumble of dusty moths bumped plaintively against a dim light bulb. He couldn’t grasp where he was – what he was doing. His limbs felt stiff and unused.

The stony grip of anxiety seized his mind and burned in his lungs. A deep breath was impossible. Thin air pulled slowly through his nose, bringing with it the smell of fresh clothing and an acrid smell that reminded him of a dissected frog. His anxiety doubled when he realized his mouth wouldn’t open. A hand finally responded to his slow mind. It moved sluggishly, fumbled around haphazardly until it found his lips. Glue. Somebody had glued his lips shut while he slept. Anger and the inability to get a full breath drove his fingers to tear at his lips with a horrible frenzy.”

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Zack Kullis is a published author and writes regularly for Pen of the Damned.
The excerpt  above is from the short story “The Manipulator.” The story can be read here.
Blog: Official Site for Zack Kullis, author of Dark Fiction
Twitter: @ZKullis

 

 

 

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Andrew Wyeth

 

” He did not leave, that night on New Year’s Eve, because there was nowhere else for him to go. There is nowhere else when he hears every ragged wheeze, wherever he is; the shuddering breaths of a world on the brink of expiration. As best he can remember he has always heard these sounds. He did not always know what they were, or what it meant to hear the death-rattle of the stones and the trees and the earth, but he felt them all the same, and stood slightly apart from everyone else because of this, while the others ran laughing after one another, or played hopscotch, or made daisy-chains in the grass, oblivious…

… “On paper, darkness shines. Words convey savagery with the finesse of bright bouquets. Language illuminates the broken back of the world, its atrophied limbs, its eyeless face: a rotten leviathan floating in space, quivering with parasites while it sings its last whale-song through an ocean of distant stars, almost inscrutable except by those who dare to pause in their furious lives and, for a moment, listen.”

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Thomas Brown is a published author and regular writer for Pen of the Damned. Hope you enjoyed the except  from the short story “All These Voices.” It can be read in its entirety here.
Twitter: @TJBrown89
blog: tbrownonline.wordpress.com

586331203546739 BehanceThis wonderfully depictive work of art is by contemporary artist( from Bucharest)  Oana Cambrea

 

It became my ghost, that lullaby—its virulent strain infecting not only the cloaked woods that surrounded us, but also the ears upon which it fell. It haunted us all, wormed its way into our brains and cored our frightened eyes to hollowed orbs. Unlike the other girls, who mewled in dread as those tinny chords crackled out from the absolute darkness, I sought to discover its origin…

…The creature sniffed my body. I gagged upon its putrid breath. Its moist snout moved slowly along my neck as a sharp talon grazed the top of my shoulder. Feeling. Touching. Pinpricks of white twinkled in one eye—the starlight reflected back from within its inky, remorseless orb. It peered upward, measuring my response. Urine trickled along my legs and I dropped the knife to the ground.

All those same people who scold you,
what they’d give just for the right to hold you

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Joseph Pinto is the Co-founder and  writes regularly for Pen of the Damned. The short story “Lullaby”(excerpt above) can be read here.
Blog: Author Joseph A. Pinto’s Horror (and things not so horrible) Blog
Purple Hope (Pancreatic Awareness website)
Twitter: @JosephAPinto

 

zackkullis_smitethedamnedZack Kullis on Amazon

 

51dTgtdfNsL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-v3-big,TopRight,0,-55_SX278_SY278_PIkin4,BottomRight,1,22_AA300_SH20_OU02_Thomas Brown’s Lynnwood on Amazon

 

 

 

DuskAndSummerJoseph Pinto Dusk Summer on Amazon

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