Telling Stories

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

I’ve started dreading bedtime.

It’s Emily. Oh, it’s not her fault, for God’s sake, she’s only three, but lately every time I come to tuck her in she’s dragged out that book, and always with the same demand.

Story time.

I don’t know where she found it. I certainly didn’t buy it, and it wasn’t in the house when we moved in. Trying to ask the neighbors about it has only gotten me evil looks and muttered curses and a lot of disinvitations, and I can’t say I blame them—the damned thing just looks so odd, bound in patchwork leather with some kind of crude embroidery that I guess is meant to look like stitches. And the pictures are awful: all fangs and teeth and multiplicities of limbs, sometimes blurry and seeming to slide off the page, sometimes so detailed I wake up screaming.

But Emily always…

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New Release! The Bury Box

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After Lorie and her family move into their new home, strange things start to happen – things Lorie can’t explain. To make matters worse, her husband, Tom, starts to behave oddly, leaving Lorie to deal with the inexplicable on her own.

Meanwhile, her son, Reggie, experiences a different sort of phenomena: he encounters a figure he believes to be God. This being instructs him to dig a hole and bury himself. Is something trying to steal Reggie’s body or soul, or perhaps both?

Trapped in a desperate game for survival, can Lorie keep her family together, or will unseen forces tear them apart?

My second novella, The Bury Box, explores more traditional aspects of horror than my previous release, Zero Perspective. Set in a house in rural New York, this story explores death, and how a family perceives and deals with it, both adult and child. Born from my own obsession with death from a young age, the concepts in this tale represent not only my own understanding of our connection with it, but a shared connection of all things which live, and ultimately, die.

I hope you enjoy reading The Bury Box as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And here is a shot of the wraparound as a whole, because it looks spectacular! Thanks to the amazing cover work of Nina D’Arcangela!

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Get it in paperback or eBook on Amazon HERE!

 

Shadows

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

The blast stripped his skin away, charring the flesh underneath and turning his bones to dust. His eyelids were sealed by the heat, the fluid orbs boiling and bursting in their sockets. He felt a brief moment of pain, then nothing, as his limbs were ripped from his body, his guts torn open and his head shattered. After the explosion, there was nothing left except for a few misshapen lumps of gristle and burnt meat.

He woke. He was in the boiler room as usual. He stood, dusting himself down. He quickly realised the room had changed. There was a hole in the roof and the room was full of smoke and debris. The furnace was ripped open, sheared metal hanging from the frame. He looked down and saw the charred, rendered remains of his body. He remembered the explosion. He was dead.

He’d often thought about death, not morbidly…

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Breathless

Pen of the Damned - where angst and horror flow freely...

His wide eyes shadow my every move, veins throb in his neck. A look I’ve seen numerous times. Lying stomach-down, each limb bound to the table I bolted in place. He shakes, sweat plastering cropped hair to his skull. The acrid smell of urine and sweat fills my soundproofed basement. An odor I’ve learned to ignore. Can he? I’ve never asked them, not even the ones who lasted a while.

He struggled at first, like they all do, but the bonds are too tight. Any background noise will ruin what I need. The ball gag is slick with saliva but muffles the sounds. Situations like this remind me that humans are animals—base, instinctual creatures. We’ve grown arrogant because we have thumbs and big brains.

He started with questions. Like a dentist talking to a patient, I understood every word—and ignored him. Then he begged, pleaded. Cried. Screamed.

They’re all the…

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