Monthly Archives: July 2012

My Eye

Despite the poor lighting, that’s a picture of my inflamed eye. Don’t know why it is, but the doctor prescribed warm compresses and ibuprofen.
About a week ago, I woke up after a horrible night’s sleep and my eye like this. I’m thinking ut may have something to do with my allergies because I’d run out of drugs and I’d been leaking like a faucet every night. I got my Rxs refilled and now I’m doing much better.

Connected by DROID on Verizon Wireless

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

DRM Free Experiment

I got my hands on an old Jay Rauld story (he let’s me publish anything of his I can find) and I’m trying something I haven’t done before. I’d prefer to make the story free, but Amazon won’t let me, so I decided to do DRM free and enter it in the public domain. I’m hoping these two things give it legs and carry it further than just a regular KDP Select title. We’ll see and I’ll come back to do a day-by-day tally of the results.

Leave a comment

Filed under New Stories

The Zombie Show- Getting the Word Out!

The Zombie Show has been around for about 5 weeks now and I’ve been sitting here thinking about how to best get the word out to people who haven’t gotten a copy yet. The way I see it, I’ve already done the thinking when I wrote the thing, why doesn’t someone else put in some work?
So, whoever comes up with the best suggestion on how yo reach new readers with this fabulous novella if I may say so myself, will get a free copy. This contest is completely suggestive, feel free to share this post with anyone who might like to enter.
I’ll pick a winner based on replies to this post in a week.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Dead Right, ep 1

No new Dethm8 today.  Instead, enjoy a repeat to an old WIP.  Dethm8 will be back next Friday.

 

“Okay, so you got me here,” his brother said.  “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Dell said.  “You’ll see.”  He knew there was no way he could get Wenton here without a degree of subterfuge.  He filled the other half of the glass with diet Coke and passed it over.

“Here, have a little somethin’.”

Wenton took a sip from the glass and made a face like he’d just licked the underside of a turd.

Gah—you put any Coke in this?”  Dell flashed a smile to avoid answering the question.  Wenton took another sip and he knew his brother would finish it.  He’d always been respectful that way.  It was weird.

“So where we going?” he asked again after a few minutes.

“Place I wanna show you.”  Dell looked out the window of the limo, trying to stretch the time.  “It’s sort of a surprise.”

Dell desperately wanted to get his brother’s life on track.  He was the younger brother, but for as long as Dell could remember—way back to fourth grade, at least—he’d been self-sufficient.  Dell never could say it out loud, but his brother was smarter than him.  He’d just known how to do things that Dell didn’t until he’d seen his brother do them.  Wenton had kept him out of trouble after they were orphaned and the neighborhood kids picked on them.  He was in debt to his brother.

Now Dell felt like he could pay a little of that back.

“Surprise, huh?” Wenton mumbled.  “You’re not taking me to an intervention, are you?  Because I could stop shootin’ H whenever I want.”

Dell choked out a laugh.  Wenton was always joking like that.  At least he hoped he was joking this time.

“We got you calendared for an intervention next Thursday.”  Shit.  Dell hated working in the mayor’s office had gotten him using words like ‘calendared’.  It had never been him, but now it was like this whole other personality he’d had to adapt for work was infiltrating who he really was.

He watched the street.  They passed several people milling about, maybe prostitutes, maybe drug dealers, maybe homeless, certainly at least a few of them were dead.  He really did feel something for them, but he wondered if he was the right person for the job the mayor wanted done.  Dell sighed.

“You’re doing it again.”  He looked at his brother and made a face.  “I asked where you were taking me and you looked out the window.  You’re stalling.”  They hadn’t seen each other for a few months and it was so easy to forget there was another human being who knew him as well as he knew himself despite all the layers of bullshit he dressed himself in.  He stole another glance out the window, not sure what street they were on until they passed a sign.  Almost there.

“Really.  Can’t tell you.  But you’ll know everything soon enough.  For real.”

“Okay.”

And just like that he knew it was okay.  There wasn’t another person in the world he could have been this circumspect with who would have trusted him like this.  The truth of it was, had he told his brother what they were about to see he would probably slug him and jump out the limo the first opportunity he got, bad neighborhood or no.  And Wenton would be absolutely right to do so. 

They pulled up to a security gate.  Wenton looked around and Dell suddenly felt a wave of guilt crash down on him.  He wasn’t sure he was about to do the right thing, but it was honestly the best idea he could come up with.

The driver handed over some paperwork to the security guard.  Dell heard him speak, but couldn’t make out the words, then a voice squawked over his radio.  He handed the paperwork back to the driver and the window rolled up.

“Have a safe one,” the guard said and the gate lifted.  They pulled inside, the tires of the limo giving a staccato rap as they passed over speed bumps.  Dell looked over the half dozen or so cars in the parking lot, looking for Nibor’s BMW.  There it was.  Last car on the end.  He relaxed just a tiny bit.  They parked on the far end, the limo spreading across two parking spaces.

The driver cut the engine and got out.  Wenton reached for his door.

“Hold on a sec.”  Dell pushed his brother’s hand away.  “Enjoy the full experience.”  He eyed the glass still half full in Wenton’s hand.  “Kill that.”  He put the jack and coke up to his lips and turned it upside down and was just swallowing the last of it when the door opened.

Dell turned his knees to the door and looked back at his brother.  “After you.  Oh, and if anybody asks, you’re name is Guy LaTouche.  That’s L-A-capital T-O-U-C-H-E.”

 

Wenton’s brother always knew how to pique a guy’s interest.  Anyone else and he would have bailed long before now.  But the limo had been impressive and the way Dell set it up had been hard to turn down.

He climbed past him on his hands and knees past Dell and out the limo.  Wenton didn’t know why he that.  Maybe that was how he’d gotten out of cars when they were kids and it just stuck.  He thought to ponder it later, knowing he would probably forget about it in the next sixty seconds.  Dell swatted him on the ass and he looked back at his brother who had a, ‘Hey, I had no choice but to do that,’ look on his face.

“Come with me,” Dell had said back at the apartment.  “I want to take you somewhere.”  He’d looked his brother up and down, not certain if he was joking or not before going back to the dishes.  He knew Dell had gotten a fancy new job with the mayor’s office a few months back, but didn’t know what he did. 

“What, now?” he asked putting a wine glass in the cabinet above the sink.

“Daddy, can I have that cup?  My sippy cup?”  He’d turned to Todd.

“No, Toddy, you’re too big for those.  You’re a big boy now.”

“But you have one.”  He pointed and Wenton looked.

“Where?”

“Right there.”  Wenton picked up his coffee mug, drying upside down in the dish rack.

“No, son.  This is a coffee mug.  I drink my coffee out of here.”

Dell laughed.  “I think he’s got you, man.”

“What do you mean?”

“How does Daddy drink out of there, Toddy?  He sips, right?”  Todd nodded.  “See?  Kid’s smart.”

Wenton opened his mouth to explain how it was different, but found himself unable to come up with anything.  His son had been right and wrong.  He reached up and grabbed the sippy cup down and handed it to Todd.  So many things in his life could be summed up in so many words over the last year-and-a-half.  Right and wrong.  Two opposing ideals co-existing in a weird, quasi-harmony.

Wenton had dried his hands on his pants and looked at his brother.  “So what exactly do you want?”  He let his frustration at being underminded bleed into his tone.

“Uh, nothing much.  I just want you to come with me.  Take an hour of your time, max.”

“And where is it we’re going?”

“Ask me again when we get in the limo.”

“Uncle Dell, can I come too?”

“No, Toddy,” Wenton had answered for his brother.  “You can’t come because it’s not an appropriate place for little boys, is it, Uncle Dell?”

“No,” Dell said, but his face brightened when he reached into his suit jacket and produced a rectangular box, stooped and held it out for Todd to take.

“What is it, Uncle Dell?”

“For the life of me, I don’t know!”  Dell threw his hands up.  “Why don’t you take it to your room and open it?”  Todd took it and sauntered to his room.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Wenton had said.

“What?”

“Give him stuff every time he sees you.  He’s gonna start expecting that.”

“Well, I’m the onliest uncle he has.  I gotta make up for all the gifts he’s never gonna get from the family we don’t have.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to do something here.  I’m going for a value system here.  You undermind that when you do that.”

“All right, all right.”  Dell held his hands up.  “Sorry.  Next time I’ll just give him a kick in the nuts.”

“You know I can’t go with you,” Wenton had said.  “It’s a Sunday night and I don’t even know any sitters.”

“Got that covered.  I’ve got a sitter.”

“Who?”

“Hanson.”

“Hanson who?”

“I get an executive protection officer.  Two of them.  Hanson can watch him while we’re away.”

“No way.  I’m not letting some guy watch my kid.”

“He’s not just some guy.”

Dell stormed to the front of the house, opened the door and ushered a big, baldheaded white guy inside and led him over to the kitchen.

“Officer Hanson, this is my brother, Wenton.”

“Evening, sir.”

“Hey.”

“See the wedding ring?  Hanson’s married.  How long you been married, Officer Hanson?”

“Twelve years.”

“Got pictures of your kids?”

“Yes sir.”  Hanson proceeded to dig out his wallet and flipped it open, producing a series of pictures.

“Wow.  Officer Hanson,” Dell began a little too loudly.  “You’ve got, what is that, four children?”

“Five, sir.”

“Five.  Your youngest there looks about the same age as my nephew.  You play catch with him?”

“I coach his little league team.”  Dell had nodded, pulling a face like he was more impressed than he was.  But Wenton knew the truth; other than Todd, his brother despised children.

“I need you to do us a favor, Officer Hanson.”

“How may I assist?”

“I need you to babysit my nephew.  Just for an hour.”

Hanson shifted for the first time since he’d come in.

“I’m-I’m sorry, sir?”

“I need you to babysit my nephew while I take my brother someplace important.  Someplace little boys don’t go.  The sooner we go, the sooner we get back, the sooner you can get home and practice that slider with your kid.”

“Well, they don’t pitch.  It’s actually t-ball.”

“Okay, but if we get done quickly, then you get home quickly.  Cool?”

“I suppose.”

Wenton grabbed his brother by the arm.  “The hell you think you’re doing?  I don’t know him.  Look, I’m sorry Mr.—Officer Henson—”

“Hanson, sir.”

“—Hanson, but I don’t know you.  And I’m sure that if you were in my position you wouldn’t be eager to let some stranger spend time alone with any one of your children.”

“Well, if I may sir,” Hanson cut in before Wenton could continue.  “I am already a police officer which requires background checks.  But any officer who is assigned to a detail with a person associated with the mayor’s office is subject to an extensive history search on par with agents in the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Wenton hadn’t known that.  It was impressive.

“Good enough for the mayor,” Dell chimed in, “good enough for us.”

“It’s that important to you?” Wenton said to his brother who nodded.  He had no doubt Dell loved Todd and the fact he would vouch for this police officer carried a great deal of weight.  He turned back to Hanson.  “Take off those sunglasses.”  Hanson put them in his jacket pocket. He had clear eyes.  Good.  Hopefully, he wasn’t a drinker.  “Take off that jacket too.  He removed it and Wenton saw the gun in the holster. 

“Uh-uh.”

“Sir, I’m a police officer.  I have to carry my weapon when I’m on duty.”

“Then no dice.”

“Hold it-hold it-hold it.”  Dell put his hands up again.  “How about you take the gun off and put it up on top of the cabinet?”  Wenton looked at the cop.  He nodded.

They’d gone into the bedroom so Wenton could tuck his son in, but found him under the covers, snoring soundly and smelling like perfume.

“I was going to give it to a lady friend,” Dell said when he looked at him.

 

Now here he was, still unsure what was going on and feeling tipsier by the moment.  The driver/officer was even bigger than Hanson had been, probably as wide as he and Dell if they’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking their view of the entrance as they walked behind him.

“Good evening, sirs,” a lispy man said, greeting them at the door with two guards of his own.  A breeze had kicked up, making their clothes lick in the wind.  He handed a clipboard to the officer who turned to Dell, who in turn, nodded.  He hunched over it with a pen and gave it back.  The man took the sheet off the clipboard and handed it to Wenton.

“It’s just a non-disclosure thing,” Dell hollered over the wind.  “No big deal.  Trust me, I know a pitbull of a lawyer.  If we need to break that, he can make it happen.”

Wenton couldn’t tell if his brother was telling the truth, but signed.  The man took it back, smiled at him with his other hand clapped over the top of his hat to keep from losing it.

“Let’s get inside, gentlemen.”

Leave a comment

Filed under New Stories

Dark Tower – Error

I’m listening to the last Dark Tower book and just caught a minor mistake. When Roland and Eddie catch up with Flaherty and the gang, Roland shoots Flaherty twice before Eddie mows down the next six. Then Roland shoots down the next five.
Now you’re probably thinking, ‘Well, he just reloaded and King just didn’t write it. Author’s license, I tell you, old boy’. First, don’t call me boy and second, WRONG! Just before Roland killed Flaherty, Eddie shot someone who tried to run and reloaded in the period Roland took to take buss two caps. Why would he write about one reloading and skip the other?
And there simply was no time for Roland to reload. All of Flaherty’s ka-tet got their caps peeled before they could draw their weapons.
Unless all along, Roland has had a six shooter and a seven shooter. Then, uh, nevermind.

Leave a comment

Filed under Cool Stuff

The Ghost Toucher Author Talks about New Book

I did an interview with Fox 2 News in Detroit in October of 2010 after the publication of my first novel, The Ghost Toucher. I couldn’t find the video, but I’m going to see if I can get a hold of it to post on the site soon. In the meantime, here’s the snippet of an article.

hdr_607x37.gif

The Ghost Toucher Author Talks about New Book

Posted: Oct 27, 2010 8:33 AM EDT


Scary can be funny and one local author proves just that in his new book, ‘The Ghost Toucher.’

Gerald Rice stopped by FOX 2 News Morning to talk about the book. Learn more by visiting feelmyghost.webs.com

www.razorlinepress.com.

http://www.myfoxdetroit.com/story/18489986/2010/10/27/the-ghost-toucher-author-talks-about-new-book

Find more items like this at http://www.myfoxdetroit.com

Copyright 2012 WJBK

Leave a comment

Filed under News

Dethm8, ep 6

The boom of the air conditioner brought a gust of cool air moments later.

“All right, the air’s back on,” Guthrie said.  One of the other biker’s had called him that anyway.  Yes, the air was back on, but something wasn’t right.  Arlene looked over at Dusty who was fidgeting as if bugs were landing on her.  She probably needed her drugs again.  With these men watching them, she probably couldn’t get to whatever it was she had in her locker.  But maybe she was feeling what Arlene was feeling.  Something had happened on the roof and Gladys was not all right.  Perhaps it was just her imagination, but at the very least, she could divide the men watching them even more and she could begin implementing her plan.

Arlene looked to Todd—yes, that was his name.  She’d served him a few times before.  He ate the same thing every time he came in, tipped the same too.  A cheeseburger with extra pickles, fried potato slices, and a dollar thirty-five—exactly twenty-percent.  Todd was slow, but Arlene had always been extra nice to him even with the poor tipping and all.  You never know when kindness will pay off, her mother always said.  Well, this time Arlene did have an idea.

Todd had an oddly unimposing way of doing things.  Much like everyone did with her, she’d underestimated him.  He was slouch-shouldered and hung his head low, preferring to shuffle behind other people rather than walk by himself.  Even with his poor posture he was a giant.  But unlike Arlene, this manner of hiding himself kept people from really noticing him, whereas she was almost always the center of attention whatever room she walked in.

She’d seen just how special he was about a month ago, though.  It was raining at the Spoon and Todd’s ride was late.  Arlene had never asked exactly who was picking the boy-man up, she’d just assumed it was a parent.  He’d just sat there for two hours, not eating, not drinking, not even getting up to use the restroom.  When he heard the horn honk from outside, he’d immediately jumped out of his booth to look.

Yes, it had been his ride.  He’d been about to bolt for the door when he’d reached skyward.  At first, Arlene had assumed something was wrong.  The way his long arm dragged slowly up, his fingers widely splayed.  The normally slack expression on his face tightened as his back bowed and he made this deep, guttural sound.  The first thing she’d thought sitting on her stool and rubbing her aching foot, was that he’d been having a seizure.  Arlene had been about to run over to him to help, though she hadn’t a clue how she would have.  He was stretched to his full size and she’d guessed he had to have been somewhere north in height of her father who’d been six-foot seven and outweighed him by a good thirty pounds of muscle.

Solid muscle.

As she’d relaxed, realizing the boy-man was just stretching, her attention had been pulled taut yet again as his shirt lifted, exposing the deepest set of a six-pack she’d ever seen.  He’d let his arm fall, but flexed both in front of him, the muscles to either side of his neck popping up as if he were about to sprout a pair of fleshy wings.  But before that shirt had come down, she’d seen something else.

Tattoos.

The markings had been very distinct and as Todd snatched up his backpack and had run for the door, she’d realized she’d even seen them before.  On TV.

Todd was the wrestler, Sinistar.

Billed from parts unknown, he wore a mask and never spoke, leaving all the talking to the little Russian man with the facial hair like pubic shavings.  Sinistar had only been on a few months, but he was an instant sensation.  He’d tossed around opponents big and small like rag dolls and had defeated all of them with a crippling move called the facecrusher in which he’d palm a downed man’s face and squeeze until he’d submitted.

Of course it was all fake, Arlene had known that since she was eight years old, but upon a Google search a day after a steel cage match, she’d learned that Sinistar had actually broken Jimmy Mambo’s cheekbone.  Jimmy’s face didn’t look quite the same after that, even after the mask came off.  One of his eyes was always a little more squinty than the other.  The big Samoan retired shortly after that.  He’d been older and a lot flabbier than the other wrestlers, but Arlene had always suspected it mostly to do with the mauling he’d gotten, literally at the hand of Sinistar.

Of Todd.

Arlene never confronted him on it, didn’t want to embarrass him or drive him away.  It was odd in the same way that meeting a celebrity was odd.  Surreal was probably a better word,  but the celebrity in question was Todd.  On the one hand he’d never attempted to use his celebrity in any way, never hinted at it.  If anything, she thought he’d be ashamed.  But the man who climbed in the ring every Saturday night on TV was an unbridled monster.  Sure, it was acting, but he was so convincing at it.  It had made Arlene believe the wrestler was real and the boy man who sat in the same booth in her section every afternoon, moon-faced and innocent, was the fake.

She would find out the first opportunity she got.  Everyone around her, including Guthrie and his group, was treating her with kid gloves as if she were still in shock.  Perhaps on a level she was, but her mind had never felt clearer.  Arlene didn’t dare speak because she wasn’t ready to reveal herself and perhaps she could work her way over to Todd and once half-forgotten, she could bend his ear and forge a plan with a man who could easily murder just about anyone who had wandered into the spoon, including these would-be kidnappers.

“Okay, so the boys should be down any minute,” Guthrie continued.  “Now I wanna hear some ideas about what we do with that.”  He pointed outside with a knife about as long as his forearm.

“And why should we help you?” Arnie said.  “You’ve given us no assurances that we will all leave here with our lives intact.”

Guthrie turned and looked at him.

“If I was gonna kill you, I wouldda done it already.  I wouldda carved your face off to make Freddy boy here talk.  You do realize he’s the only one we really want, right?”

“I gathered that.  It’s his aunt you want and you need to go through him to get to her.  Let’s cut to the chase, what are the odds of our survival if we help you find her?”

“What?  I just told you—

“I’m aware of what you said, but if we implicate ourselves in your scheme, then we have all the reason in the world to keep quiet about the whole affair.”

“Arnie!” Dusty said.  Arlene’s ears perked and she locked her eyes on him.  She was surprised she hadn’t thought of it first and it made perfect sense.  If everybody agreed to be part of the crime, then the killers, thieves—whatever they were, had no cause to do anything to them.

Guthrie folded his arms, holding the knife upright and smacking it lightly against his lips as he considered.  After a few seconds he shook his head and chuckled.

“You wanna help?  Okay, help.  You got my word that if everybody pitches in an idea, if everybody has somethin’ to say about how we can get to Freddy-boy’s dear sweet aunt, you all get to go free and clear.”  Guthrie spread his arms wide, turning to look at everyone gathered in Arlene’s little section of the Spoon.  She noticed him biting his lips, trying to hide a smile.  From the glint in his eye, she could suddenly see this was not a dangerous man by nature.  That if forced, he’d hurt someone, but even then, there would be no joy in it.  How she could tell such a thing, Arlene didn’t have a guess, but the look denoted the smile was not born out of trickery.  No, Guthrie had no intent on killing anyone and so far nobody believed him.  They thought the smile was one of a liar who had every intention of putting a bullet in every single one of them.

But just because he didn’t want to kill anybody didn’t mean nobody was going to die.

No.  Only she could prevent that.  But she might have to kill a few people first.  Or have somebody kill a few people.  Arlene looked at Todd.  Innocent, sweet, completely unimposing Todd.  He was glancing nervously out the window—no doubt for his ride.  If his mentally handicapped act was real—and Arlene was ninety-percent sure it was—then he might not understand anything that had happened—still happening.  And he might need a gentle voice to soothe him over.

She slowly stood and caught Guthrie looking from the corner of her eye.  “She okay?” he said as she turned and slowly headed toward Todd’s booth.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Fred said.  “Booth seats get hard on your bottom, you sit on ‘em too long.  Yeah, see she’s heading to a booth seat.  Dusty, why don’t you help her?”  Fred pronounced ‘why don’t you’ as one word—whyonchoo.  Arlene had heard him say that a thousand times, but suddenly the phrase struck her funny.  But then she realized it wasn’t the phrase, it was something else.  She was feeling something, but not with her own body.  It pulled her attention entirely away from her own actions and completely elsewhere.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, catch her, catch her, catcher!” somebody shouted and Arlene blinked several times, her eyes slowly focusing on the ceiling.  She felt a rough arm draw from underneath her then the hard linoleum floor at her back.  The skin at her forehead and chest felt cooler than a minute ago and she realized she’d broken out in sweat.

“Must have been that stool,” someone said.

“Back up, leave her some air.”

“Here’s some water.  Don’t worry, nobody’s drunk from it.”

Someone tipped Arlene’s head up and a glass was pushed against her lips.  She drank automatically and felt the final dregs of the heat flash or whatever it had been pass like a fire dipped in water.  It would have been easy to just let them guide her to where ever they thought best and ride this whole thing out while someone else was in charge.

But shock or no, Arlene was too determined for that.  She forced her mind to focus, not her eyes because that would play into what everyone was thinking about her, especially now.  Hell, many of them were saying it right out loud.

“Poor thing, she’s still in shock.”  That was Mrs. Drury.  Her husband, Dr. Edward Drury, retired, was right beside her, a far off look Arlene could only hope to match.  He had dementia and was on the rapid decline, though Mrs. Drury kept him in a routine in hopes of retaining as much of the man she’d known and loved for the last thirty-seven years.

Hm.  That was odd.  Although she’d had the occasional light conversation with Mrs. Drury, they’d never had any such discussion about her husband’s mental health, but Arlene knew all of it to be true.  Had she read the old woman’s mind?  Was that something she could do now?

“You ready to stand, sweetie?”  One of the biker’s wrapped and arm around her shoulder and she saw him clear as day, though her eyes were mostly on the ground.  Bill Monk was a substitute teacher and amateur painter.  His wife had left him six months ago after a misunderstanding about some pictures she’d found on his laptop.  It wasn’t a big deal, he’d just found them.  It wasn’t like he’d touched himself when he saw them—only looked.  But now that damned Fontleroy and his fucking hackers—

—And just like that it was gone.  It was like a phone conversation and the line had dropped out.  Arlene looked and saw that Bill Monk was no longer touching her.  They were all watching her, like a baby making its first steps as she gingerly slid into the booth seat across from Todd.  Arlene thought she understood what just happened and if she did, all the better for her plan.  Something had happened.  Whether it had something to do with the strange man outside, she didn’t know, but she could read people through contact.  Not like a sheet of facts printed on the screen of their minds, but like in a sit down conversation if someone were inclined to tell all about themselves—cups of tea included—except it wasn’t really them they were telling about, but the idea of them.  The things they preferred to be and the things they didn’t, conveniently omitted.  That was the tricky part of it, though.  Most people were liars.  They lied about who they were even to themselves.  She’d have to be careful about what she listened to when she touched anybody, lest she believe the wrong thing about them.  Pressed the wrong button and elicited the wrong response.  Perhaps minor contact only gave her surface information.  Maybe she could dig deeper, scoop aside the dressed-up stuff people put on when they thought about themselves.

Arlene looked up shyly at all the faces pointed in her direction.  Todd fidgeted in her peripheral vision, clearly uncomfortable with all the sudden attention.  She reached out and gently grasped the hand nearest her and whispered, “Could use another glass of water.  Mighty thirsty.”  She felt rather than saw the person nod, not reading him because she wasn’t trying to read, she was trying to write.  She realized something else in the brief second her hand covered his: Arlene had also sensed everything he was sensing and feeling at the time.  She’d seen herself, looking shaken and weak—why, not even able to lift the knife and fork wrapped in the napkin left on the table next to her.  Felt his tongue lick over his upper lip as some foreign thing just below his belt tugged against his pants.  She realized it was his hard-on and how he ached to touch it, but resisted because some part of him thought better of it.  Instead, he would serve her—yes, give her whatever she asked for until she would give him what he asked for.  What he needed.  Oh, the things he would do with his tongue if only—

Arlene slipped her hand from his, seated back behind her own eyes.  Was this what every man felt when he saw her?  She’d known she’d had influence, but to experience firsthand what a man felt when he was overbrimming with lust when he looked at her, it was… intoxicating. 

Not that she would ever be interested in the man himself, just the idea that she held that much power.  The only thought she’d pushed into his mind was for him to leave and he did, but not before she’d received a significant amount of feedback in precious few seconds.

“Sit back, dear,” Mrs. Kelly said, resting a hand on her back.  Arlene flinched from it, not ready to take on another person’s thoughts so quickly.  As much as the man had pleased her, adding another person so soon agitated her.  But clearly, echoing through her mind as she ripped herself away from the forty-something year old woman who had looked upon her with envy on more than one occasion, came the word ‘cunt’.

Arlene whirled and stared daggers at the woman who had gone wide-eyed, but quickly recovered, slumping her head onto her arm stretched across the table.

“So tired,” Arlene said, letting her hand fall gently on one of Todd’s powerful forearms.  At first, there was nothing.  No, not nothing, but a sheet of white.  Then there was a little boy in a green and white short-sleeved shirt and blue jean shorts yanking the sheet off a clothesline.  The little boy had a wide gap where two front teeth were wedging their way through his gumline and blond, mop-top hair.  A pale, tall woman with raven-black hair pinned up in a bun stood a few feet away in the shade of a tall tree hanging a shirt.  The boy dashed over to her and hugged around her hips, pressing the side of his head into the soft hollow of her stomach.  Her hand, still damp from the shirt, fell against the side of his face and stroked his cheek.  The boy looked up at her and she down at him—an absolutely perfect moment of love passing between the two of them.  Then her face split open and a red thing sprang out at him.

Arlene and Todd both flinched at the same time.  He blinked several times and so did she, her head rising from the table.  Most of the people had gone back to what they’d been doing a moment before, but there was a commotion over by the kitchen.  Someone yelled something, but Arlene couldn’t translate it, despite the words being spoken in English.

“What was that?” she asked Todd.  His perfect blue eyes settled on her and at first she saw no sign of recognition.  But then he narrowed them, looking her up and down before locking into her eyes.

Todd opened his mouth to speak—

—And someone on the other side of the Spoon shouted, “It’s Gladys!”

Leave a comment

Filed under New Stories

Review of Anthony Harrington’s “Frayed”

To say Frayed is a fantastic piece of fiction is to sell the story short. I absolutely loved it. Great character development and a storyline with twists all over the place. I must have suspected the main character of being the killer a half a dozen times all the way up to the last thirty pages of the book!

But Frayed does suffer from poor editing. I seriously, seriously hope the author comes back to this or hires and editor to do some clean-up because the typos are going to definitely knock some people out of the story. There are more than a few, but the story was so good I got accustomed to them after a while. Are you reading this, Mr. Harrington? fix this awesome book!

The author handles the scientry in this book with ease and without being overly heavy-handed in explanation. He makes me believe there’s a grain of truth in the stuff I know nothing about. Then he pulls back before I feel like I’ve been whacked over the head with a caduceus.

I’ve really only read one or two other authors who write in this genre and The Broken Hearts Club is absolutely one of my favorite books of any genre. Frayed easily competes with anything Ethan Black has written and I’ll definitely be buying his next book.

Fleshbags – Out Now on Amazon, B & N, and Smashwords

www.feelmyghost.webs.com

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Check Out These Giveaways

I’m doing a giveaway in combination with The Zombie Times. They give away a bunch of stuff each month and you can get a copy of The Zombie Show. Just follow the instructions and best of luck to you. Oh, here’s the link.

Fleshbags – Out Now on Amazon, B & N, and Smashwords

www.feelmyghost.webs.com

Leave a comment

Filed under Cool Stuff

Social Media

I’d like to give a little something back via social media. I got the idea from another indie author who retweets a tweet that is hashtagged with #buyindie and I want to do my own. But I’m wondering, what exactly should my hashtag be? #indieauth? #horrorauth?

I’ve been tossing the idea around for a few days and I don’t want an overly-long or clunky-sounding tag. I also don’t want to get flooded with a bazillion tweets ready and raring for a retweeting. So here goes. If it’s a pain in the butt, I’ll stop, but hopefully folks will get something out of it. Try the hashtag #indiehorror if you’re an independent horror author and if I see it, I’ll retweet you.

Leave a comment

Filed under News