About Lee Andrew Forman

Lee Forman is a writer and editor from the Hudson Valley, NY. His fascination with the macabre began in childhood, watching old movies and reading everything he could get his hands on. He’s a third-generation horror fanatic, starting with his grandfather who was a fan of the classic Hollywood Monsters. His work has been published in numerous magazines, anthologies, websites, and podcasts. He’s an editor for Sirens Call Publications and writes, edits, and is an administrator for the horror fiction website PenoftheDamned.com. He’s also a regular contributor of non-fiction articles for Living Paranormal Magazine. When he’s not crafting horrifying creatures and tales of terror, he spends his time playing guitar and writing music. For more information and a list of publications go to www.leeformanauthor.com.

OPEN SUBMISSIONS: The Sirens Call – issue 51 Halloween/Fall 2020| #Horror #eZine #OpenCall #Reprints Welcome #fiction #stories #poetry @Sirens_Call

The Sirens Call eZine is open for submissions!

The Sirens Song

Promo_Cover_for_Ezine

Halloween/Fall 2020

For the 51st issue of The Sirens Call eZine, we’re looking for short stories, flash fiction, drabbles, and poetry of horror or dark fiction that are well crafted, and since this issue publishes in October – feel free to slam home a Halloween theme!

We have a few taboos listed below, other than that, as long as you write a quality piece intended for an adults audience, we’d be happy to consider it.

We also welcome reprints as long as you hold the copyright, however, no attribution is offered though you are welcome to include a credit to the original publisher in your bio.

Your piece can be scary, sullen, emotive, freaky, elegant, bizarre, have a dark-humor twist to it, or be flat out creepy as hell!

The basic rules:

  • Write the piece well.
  • It must be primarily horror/dark fiction oriented
  • Don’t break our set-in-stone taboos –…

View original post 186 more words

This Broken Love Story

This Broken Love Story by Mercedes M. Yardley, on Pen of the Damned

Pen of the Damned

She loves him in pieces, in separate parts.  A sliver of this, a morsel of that.  He is tasty and delicious and she savors him bit by bit by bit.  There could always be enough to go around, maybe.  If she is careful.  If she only sups a little at a time, just enough to whet her taste.  If she keeps her hunger sharp enough to appreciate, but never to devour whole.  She keeps a spare collarbone in her back pocket.  She warms her hands on it, nibbles it delicately with sharp teeth.  When the desire becomes too strong, she puts it away again.  Anything else would be untoward.  Anything else would be far too terrifying.

He doesn’t nibble, or take dainty sips, or deny himself.  Anything.  He takes mouthfuls of bone, of meat, of soul.  When you’re starving, it’s difficult to hold back. When the gas tank or stomach…

View original post 128 more words

Damned Words 43

10 pieces of flash fiction inspired by this photo, by the authors of Pen of the Damned!

Pen of the Damned

Skeleton_Grin_resizedFate
Nina D’Arcangela

Jabba-jaw, raking claw, with haste to the frenzy you did make.
The fray engaged, you are quick to slay any beast brought to slaughter.
Fierce clashing, teeth snapping, bones split beneath hammering rage.
Yet fleet of feet, it has you beat, as it fells your carcass to ground.
The battle fought, fury spent naught; your grin the jester’s call.
With placid lips and eager sips, it sups where you did fall.


The Bones of Her Earth
Charles Gramlich

Her name at ten was Melody. She lived amid the avocado green woods on Millstone Mountain in Arkansas, near a town called Liberty. Melody had hair like a thicket of weeds and eyes no one ever looked into. She had thoughts no one offered a copper penny for, and all her words she kept in her mouth so they couldn’t be slapped away by Mama.

Her name at twelve…

View original post 1,922 more words

RELEASE: The Sirens Call eZine Summer 2020 Edition – Issue 50 | FREE Online #Horror & #DarkFic #eZine #magazine @Sirens_Call

Issue 50 of The Sirens Call eZine is live! Overwhelmed with joy to see us hit 50 issues! This massive 256 page release is filled with horror from many names, both familiar and new. Includes short fiction, flash fiction, drabbles, poetry, art, and features Mark Steinwachs’ new novel, ‘The Night’ and ‘Jack in the Box’ by Nicholas Paschall. Also includes illustrations and photography by Jeanette Andromeda, Lisa Vasquez, Danielle Wirsansky, and Mai Kil. It’s been a pleasure being part of this issue’s creation. Download and read for free!

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_June2020.pdf

The Sirens Song

Sirens Call Publications is pleased to announce
the release of the Summer 2020 edition of

The Sirens Call

The 50th issue of The Sirens Call eZine comes in at a whopping 256 pages and features 143 pieces of horror and dark fiction; 16 images by our featured illustrators and photographers: Jeanette Andromeda, Mai Kil, Lisa Vasquez, and Danielle Wirsansky; and two spotlight authors — Nicholas Paschall, with an excerpt from his novel, ‘Jack in the Box‘, and Mark Steinwachs, along with a short story from his newly released collection ‘The Night‘.  

Come grab a copy for free! No sign-up required, no tricks when you get there, just a free eZine featuring the works of incredibly talented writers and artists!

Click on the cover for your #FREE download!

2020_June_ezine_cover_promo

Visit the web site to check out the other free issues of The Sirens Call!
www.sirenscallpub.com

View original post

The Horseman

My latest short fiction on Pen of the Damned!

Pen of the Damned

The horseman’s shadowed eyes stared forward beneath the rim of a tattered Stetson. His steed blazed through the night. Isolated by the vast prairie, things which hide in the dark watched his every move. But his guns held firm to his belt, fully loaded. His quick hands, both ready and able.

Although he could not see the path, he knew it well. Not by a painted memory or a tale told over a hard drink, but by a map of dreams scrawled within his heart. He was drawn to that place by a pounding desire to hunt, but his prey remained a blur behind inner vision. He knew not its form or purpose, only its dangers.

One too many folk had been ravaged, and as a traveler, he knew his presence in the nearby town would be more than suspect. His grim expression could not go unnoticed among a people…

View original post 483 more words

Telling Stories

Pen of the Damned

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…

View original post 375 more words

New Release! The Bury Box

THE_BuryBox_KINDLECOVER_final

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!

THE_BuryBox_wraparound_final

Get it in paperback or eBook on Amazon HERE!

 

Shadows

Pen of the Damned

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…

View original post 736 more words

Breathless

Pen of the Damned

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…

View original post 476 more words

Fetchling

Pen of the Damned

Flash!

The light strobes; its flare blinding.

Flash!

The heat from the bulb dries the sweat from my face.

Flash!

My eyes slam shut; they flicker open to rivulets of blood running down my thighs.

Flash!

She screams for me to turn back to the camera. A line of spittle draws its way past the rag in my mouth; drips from my wet chin.

Flash!

An involuntary blink, I jerk and turn away; this enrages her.

Soothing darkness falls; I feel movement within the shadows.

The dog whip sounds its crack just beyond my right ear. Her intent to miss, I’m certain; we’ve been at this for hours.

Crack again, this time it strikes my bare shoulder. Another flick and the skin shreds, the blackness so acute I can hear her draw back for another strike. I scream through the gag, this pleases her; she returns to the camera.

Flash!

View original post 145 more words