Friday, September 4, 2015


I love Wolf's Blood, by Mikhail Kerrigan! I'm sure you will too. Do you love tales about Werewolves? This is for you. This is not a wimpy tome. It is 618 pages of great!

I have gifted it to friends. That says a lot.

Blaze McRob

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Book description:

 Aticus, a diseased lycanthrope, returns to Louisiana where 170 years ago a conflict with a plantation owner made him lose his eye and his soul mate. He is back with a vengeance. His twisted vision of dominance has him infecting the small town of Royal Bay and surrounding parishes, amassing an army of werewolves, to get revenge on humankind. A group of survivors including another lycanthrope, a reporter, police officers and a werewolf hunter all must survive the night the moon travels closest to Earth, where with Aticus’ help the first great werewolf returns to flesh and infects the world.

By feeling better on October 27, 2014
Format: Paperback
Have only recently began to enjoy books of this category. But do enjoy reading new authors. Mikhail Kerrigan did an amazing job of taking me through a world I normally would not go. Drawing me in page by page with increasing interest into the life and myriad of adventures of his characters. A few errors in the publishing but I understand from his fan page they will be corrected with the future prints in Nov, Otherwise the story is captivating, originally unique. In a world currently flooded with the subject, I am definitely looking forward to the future series. I would think they have the makings of a best seller. 
Format: Kindle Edition
Mikhail Kerrigan has created a wonderfully amazing story. He puts you right into his world with this highly recommended book. A very well written story.

Thursday, September 3, 2015


This is my Friday Frights for this week. Our theme this month is Hidden In The Dark. The darker the better, I say . . .

Black Sun Rising

The sun rises, totally bereft of light other than the corona being sucked down to the ground below. The vortex of displaced sunbeams spins wildly, creating a panorama of red visible for miles. I knew this was going to happen and tried to warn the others, but they chose not to listen to me and will sadly pay for it now.

As the former yellow star rises higher in the sky, the darker it becomes, until total blackness encompasses it. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow there will not even be a corona to light the way, nor will the groundswell of red, so artificially beautiful, be around to even hint at anything present in the surrounding air.

And the blind will lead the blind . . .

Yes, that was what the old scroll said, the one the scholars shunned, saying that it was not to be considered a part of the Holy Scriptures. Agnostic heresy, they claimed. And what do they say now? Did the Bible end with St.John the Divine and the Book of Revelations, or was there more? Maybe there were other scrolls and texts deliberately left out.

At the end, the Dark One will remake the landscape in His own image. 

Where are the naysayers now? Thomas was not the only doubter. If one believes in the incarnate of the Light, what about that of the Dark? Good and evil. Black and white. Life is not shades of gray. Especially now. There is only one color. Black.

An annoying breeze surrounds me, toying with me, knowing I am aware of what is to happen. For years I have known. The others will bow down on their pathetic knees and pay homage to a God who has abandoned them. Not I. To survive, I must be keen and vigilant. I must listen to my inner voice, one that at the moment is distant from all others: cold and calculating.

There is beauty in this new world. My senses are sharp, acute, fine tuned. The surprising heat being given off from the black sun is not at all like the Hell freezing over I was thinking we would have. The vegetation around me still has the odor of sweet chlorophyll. For now at least, the leaves are green. Maybe . . . just maybe, they will stay that way. Perchance photosynthesis will still occur with this black sun. If it does, there is still hope. If not . . .

Short term survival first. 

I ate well last night, knowing it would be my last evening with conveniences . . . conveniences the world has taken for granted for too long. I won't be needing them anymore. This area is known to me. For many years I have trod every square foot of land here. My memory is sharp, acute to the point of total recall. Visual acuity is a thing of the past, but my senses of smell, touch, taste, and hearing will get me by just fine. They have to.

Walking back to my cabin, I turn on my long handled flashlight, the one with all the extra batteries, and smile as the light coming from the lens is sucked into nothingness. A pretty sight actually. Sort of sad I take delight in the fact that light will never be present anymore, however.   

And the Dark One took not pleasure in the Light and destroyed it, leaving the heavens and Earth to revel in the beauty of the Dark.

Shouts and screams come from far off. What is happening is already taking its toll on the populace. They panic. I can tell by shots from hand guns and rifles that, even though they can't see a target, they are using their base instincts, ones which scream out, "I am the most important one. What I want comes first."

An old gauge of inadequacy, one that will no longer work. As if it ever did. 

Days and nights are one and the same. No light anywhere. No moon or stars. Nothing. Just Black. Beautiful Black. The very Dark has become my friend. I can hide in it when I need to, or use it to launch an attack.  

Of all the creatures in the forest, I am the one best suited for these conditions. Even the night animals don't move about as easily in this total absence of light. But then again, they were not warned. They did not prepare as I have. My fellow humans have not learned at all. They stumble around, falling over stumps and sapling blow-downs constantly. I would laugh out loud at them if it were not for the fact I don't wish to be found. I would have to be neighborly, wouldn't I, having to share my food and all? I sense their hunger, hear their growling bellies, smell their disgusting, unwashed bodies, each one worse than the last one.

I revel in their misfortunes. Had they only listened this would not have befallen them. They would be like me: masters of their environment, of their domain.

That's me alright. Master of my own little universe.

Night after night, day after day, the Dark rules and the air gets ever thicker . . . thicker with the stench of rotting flesh. The Dark ecosystem around me stays the same. There is no change in seasons, even though I know a full year has passed. The chlorophyll still remains in the leaves of the trees, and all plant life, the very basis for all food for me as well as my animal friends, continues to grow. I can hear the roots expanding and taking hold. Humanity is serving a useful purpose for a change: rotting carcasses offer mulch for the tendrils reaching out for them. Trees, bushes, and the rest, suck up the tasty remnants of life gone by.

And the end came for them, believer and non-believer alike. None were spared, other than one, the one destined to rule, the Lord of the Dark.

I walk from my cabin. No sounds reach my ears. The stench is almost over. No one is left.

My feet find the edge of the canyon. There is nothing anywhere other than my little corner of the world. I never have to leave here. Life is sweet, and I am content.

Two sets of wings lie at my feet. I feel the feathers tickling my legs. One set must be White and the other Black. Stands to reason. It all ended here. The final showdown. The Dark one molded his world the way He wished it to be. He had to: it was to be His burial mound.

And the Dark One would defeat the Creator and His body would fall into the chasm. The Dark would remain forever.

Yes, the Dark will remain forever. Armageddon took everything from both God and Satan. Both of them died at the final battle. There is no good or no evil now.

Only I remain. The one destined to rule. The Lord of the Dark . . .

Blaze McRob       


This is my Throwback Thursday Tale for this week. I'm putting it up as a pre-Halloween teaser. Terri DelCampo and I will be having a collection of Halloween tales to be published this year. This is one of many. I hope you enjoy it.

Tenement Treats

     Every year it's the same thing: no place to go for trick or treating. And if there is a place, what difference does it make? There is no money for costumes; there is barely enough money for essentials. While other kids tear up their clothes to look like hobos and such, the kids of the tenements wear those clothes every day.

     Winter will come early this year. Already the winds are tearing around town and the chill is spreading from the evening and encompassing more of the daylight hours.

     Little Danny is doing poorly. This could be his last Halloween unless his parents scrape up enough bucks for the operation he needs. But he so wants to go out trick or treating, and his parents are trying to find a solution. They want only the best for him. It's not their fault they both lost their jobs to a rotten economy and the fact the Democrats and Republicans care only about enlarging the size of their coffers. Fuck the people who need things the most.

     Across the street, on top of the roof, he sits and listens. For the past year he has been silent, standing by, observing what takes place here, wanting to help, waiting for the time.

     Damn it to hell! Someone has to do something!

     An abandoned school bus sits on the corner, obviously stolen, but around here the police aren't about to venture into the neighborhood at night without some major reason: life or death, and even then . . .

     He walks up to the bus and starts it up, the keys sitting on the floor next to the driver's seat. Smiling, he drives it to a more affluent part of town and pulls up in front of a large party store, which at this time of the year sells Halloween costumes. Pulling his black hood down over his eyes, he walks in and strides over to the manager.

     "You know what I want," he says. "I would appreciate your help. I'm sure you'll be most co-operative."

     Terrified, the manager nods and calls all of his staff over. "This man must be helped. I want all of the costumes loaded into the box truck. I will need drivers for all the other trucks as well. This will be a memorable Halloween as long as we do what is right."

     Confused about what is going on, the employees none-the-less do as they are asked. Something is happening here; something magical; something mysterious but ultimately good. They warm to the strange man and do as he asks.

     The Dark-clad man drives the bus to Danny's house, walks up to his apartment, knocks on the door, and says, "Danny's bus is here. All of you are welcome to come along. Time's a wasting. Let's go."

     Something in the man's demeanor soothes Danny's parents and they go with him. Once out on the street, they meet up with the other kids in the neighborhood and their parents. They are all putting on their costumes, getting ready for the big night. There is a festive atmosphere surrounding all of them.

     Danny's parents look in amazement at the costumes and wonder which is the best choice for their son, his crippled legs and worn heart not suited for most of them.

     "Don't worry," the stranger says. Your son is an Angel. I have his costume in the bus."

     "But he can't walk," his father says.

     "I will carry him, don't worry."

     Not entirely convinced, they go with him anyway and find themselves in the fancy part of the city. No lights are on at any of the houses, a sign that trick-or-treaters are not welcome.

     The stranger gets out of the bus, smiles, extends his hands to the sky, and all the lights magically go on, people rushing out to greet their guests, inviting them into their homes, lavishing food, candy, and money on them. The children and their parents are treated as friends: very special friends. This is not a night that will die off from the memories of those present. This is an evening of magic and happiness and will not be lost with the coming of the dawn.

     Carried in the stranger's arms, Danny is aglow with the joy of the night. His parents almost have tears in their eyes, happy that their son's last Halloween is a happy one.

     The largest house in the neighborhood opens its doors and calls to Danny to come inside. His parents stare at each other, wondering how they know who Danny is.

     "Our son's name is Danny," they tell them. "He died on Halloween night ten years ago. Every year he brings a child named Danny to our house. Always, the child he brings needs help. Your son will receive the operations he needs. Our son was wealthy and set up a huge fund for the needy and downtrodden. You are welcome to live here. The other Danny's do, with their families. This house is your house."

     Danny is in his father's arms now, a huge smile on his face. He is home; his family is home.

                      *     *    *    *

     He sits on the roof again. Another year, another Halloween. Death claimed him, but he is not ready to go to the light. There are many more Danny's, many more years.

     The night belongs to Danny. Each and every one.

Blaze McRob


The latest issue of The Sirens Call eZine is out, and it's free! This issue is devoted to Supernatural Horror and has many of my favorite authors as well as some I am new to, but that won't last long as I will certainly devour this issue. I love finding new authors.

Do yourself a favor and get yourself a copy. Sirens Call rocks!

Blaze McRob

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Featuring 109 pages of Short Stories, Flash Fiction, & Poetry of Supernatural Horror! Images by, and an interview with, artist Emilie L├ęger; plus an interview with Ela Lourenco discussing her latest YA Fantasy release - Dragon Born.
  From Nina D'Arcangela: We just released our latest ezine - issue #22 of The Sirens Call featuring Supernatural Horror!
Thank you to all the contributors: Artist Emilie Leger; Authors Ela Aysan Lourenco, Anthony Avina, Brian Burmeister, Mark Cassell, Nina D'Arcangela, Tony Flynn, David J. Gibbs, D.B. Heath, Jon Ingoldby, Rivka Jacobs, Michelle Ann King, Gwendolyn Kiste, Siren Knight, D.C. Lam, Lori R. Lopez, Kip McKnight, Helen Mihajlovic, Brian Olszewski, Michelle Podsiedik, Jonathan Rae Rivera, Brian Rosenberger, Andrew Rowland, Julianne Snow, Angelica Stevens, Karen Soutar, David-John Tyrer, Jon Steinhagen, D.S. Ullery, Jack Warren, and Alex Woolf!
‪#‎supernatural‬ ‪#‎horror‬ ‪#‎free‬ ‪#‎fiction‬ ‪#‎story‬ ‪#‎poetry‬ ‪#‎art‬

From Lori R. Lopez. 
So much terrific horror, and it's FREE. I am always proud to be part of SIRENS CALL! Here's the latest issue, which includes my poem "Unburying The Dead"!

Wednesday, September 2, 2015


This is Melanie McCurdie's latest book. Death By Poetry gives you an eclectic array of poetry. I believe any lover of poetry will find much here that will pull them into this great collection. 

Poetry is a genre that encompasses every other genre. Horror. Love. Death. Hope. Despair. All can be written eloquently and made to tug at the soul. Sit in your comfy chair and enjoy some great poetry by Melanie McCurdie.

Blaze McRob

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Book description:

 Poetry. Beautiful words, song lyrics, humorous limericks, it all counts. Long used to speak ones heart and let’s be frank, woo the opposite sex, it comes in every genre, from vicious and bloody to heart wrenchingly eloquent and anything in between.

It is also an expression of one’s heart and soul, of their pain or passion, of immediate inspiration or remembered events. Sometimes it’s nothing more than the equivalent of a creative tantrum. An outburst.

As you make your way through these pages, you will find may such outbursts and tantrums, some are bloody, and some are not, but all are from the heart.

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Melanie McCurdie is a Canadian based writer who resides in Calgary, Alberta. She is the Warrior Mom of two challenging boys, a wife, blogger with The Twisted Path Group, supporter of Independent Film and Publication, and a horror junkie with a taste for words, and bloodsauce.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015


Charon Coin Press enters the Imaginarium once again! I have stolen Jerry Benns' post from his website and posted it here. However, that doesn't mean you can't go to the link above and find out what else Jerry and Charon Coin Press are up too. There are lots of good things coming up and much that has already come out. Don't be left out in the cold.

Blaze McRob

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Charon Coin Press Enters the Imaginarium

Once again, Charon Coin Press will be attending the Imaginarium creative writing convention September 11 through 13 in Louisville, Kentucky.
The convention, in its second year, gathers publishers, book sellers, authors, editors, and readers from around the Midwest for panel discussions, author readings, and a vending Expo. This year the Expo is open free to the general public, with tickets still available for panels, gaming, and the film festival. Come meet the editors and writers behind Charon Coin Press, complete your collection of State of Horror volumes, have your books signed by the attending authors, and browse a variety of vendors in the creative worlds of books, gaming, movies, art, and more.
Publisher and State of Horror editor, Jerry Benns,  as well as author and editor, Margie Colton are guests at this year’s convention and will be sharing their knowledge and experience in the panel discussions as well as vending books, t-shirts, and other merchandise.
We are looking forward to returning to Imaginarium,” said Charon Coin Press publisher Jerry Benns. “Last year, we had the opportunity to meet some wonderful people and begin many great working relationships. The 2015 event will be even better and we will have an expanded vending area to meet with readers and authors alike.
Special guests at Imaginarium 2015 include authors Lori Wilde, Michael Knost, Tim Waggoner, musician/author C.S. Marks, and a host of professionals from across the worlds of writing, screenwriting, publishing, gaming, and more. For more information about the event visit

Sunday, August 30, 2015


Eternal, by Craig McGray, is this week's Scary Sunday tale. Craig writes about a love that will never die. Some loves are like that: eternally damned, or eternally blessed. You decide as you read this sterling story from Craig.

I have only posted a snippet here. Hit the link above to read the story in its entirety. While you're at the Pen Of the Damned website, read more great stories from Craig. You will be caught up in his writing.

Blaze McRob

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Nat Tyler sobbed over the grave of Elena Hainsley as he had every night for the nine months since her passing. Though he was 30 years her elder, his devotion to her was undying. From the moment he’d seen her across the hospital hallway, he dedicated every waking breath to trying to ease her pain and suffering, often stealing from the dispensary in order to give her the treatment her family was too poor to afford.
Nat had been employed as a nursing assistant at the institution for only a short time before Elena was admitted there for a rare form of cancer. Though he had no formal medical training, he was highly intelligent, and often snickered at the med students when they tried to make a diagnosis only to fail miserably. He watched how the treatments were given and was soon diverting medication from one patient to another, delivering his own concoction of meds as he fudged the charts so no one would suspect any wrongdoing.
Once Elena had been admitted, all of his focus and attention was on her. He knew the times her family members would visit, and he knew her complete treatment schedule. Though there was only small-talk between Nat and Elena for now, he was certain they would be together once she got better. And she would get better, he knew she would because he would see to it.
Elena began to make progress and the doctors seemed baffled because nothing they’d tried previously had slowed the cancer that was ravaging her body. Nat wasn’t surprised though, he had adjusted her chemotherapy and knew he was the reason for her ‘miraculous’ progress. With Elena’s new prognosis, he knew they would soon be together, so he began to converse more and more with her and her family.
After a couple weeks of improvement though, things took a turn for the worse. Elena inexplicably slipped into a coma; the doctors had no answers. Nat was at a loss, he stayed up night after night researching, scouring medical journals for a cause and cure to Elena’s sudden change in condition.
On October 25th, at 11:43 p.m., Elena succumbed to her battle and passed while Nat was away from the hospital. He’d gone into work late that evening with what he thought would be the answer only to find her room empty. Her family was with the case worker. Nat stood outside in the hallway and eavesdropped, sobbing silently along with the others. As he heard her family readying to leave, he turned and walked away . . .


Saturday, August 29, 2015


My friend James Garcia Jr. is having a book release event today for Infernal ( Dance On Fire Book 3 ). While he will be signing books in his hometown, you can still enjoy the event online. I have provided plenty of links for you to peruse in order to get acquainted with James and his books. I should have: I stole his Goodreads post. Bad Blaze.

Read the free samples provided on Amazon and Smashwords and you will see what I mean. James is a great author.

Happy reading.

Blaze McRob

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Infernal (Dance on Fire Book 3) Release Event

James Garcia Jr. Event for James Garcia Jr.

Date: August 29, 2015    10:00AM -- August 29, 2015    11:59PM
RSVP by: August 29, 2015    11:59PM
Venue: Trinkets & Treasures store, Kingsburg; Internet, 1449 Marion Street, Kingsburg, CA, US
Type: author appearance


"Until the sky rolls back like a scroll, I have failed nothing," said Satan.

The Devil is alive and well.

The vampire Nathaniel is keenly aware of this fact, having met Satan once before in the flesh.

Robbie and Rebekah Lopez are special, and have been since that fateful night Nathaniel saved them from another vampire. As teens, they should be concerned with only their studies, interests and friends. However, they know they are marked, and must be ready for any threat.

To do so, they keep constant contact with Nathaniel as they watch over their parents, Michael and Barbara; brother Jerod; and Aunt Vanessa and her daughter Grace. They are all that is left.

They have yet to meet the Devil, but soon will.

It is Satan who has orchestrated the destruction and ruin brought upon them from the very beginning. And he’s not done. He has been setting the stage for his ultimate revenge. At long last, the devil will step out of the darkness and the shadows, with an army of vampires and an infernal plot to finish Nathaniel off for good.

And anyone who stands with him.

I will be at the Trinkets & Treasure store in downtown Kingsburg all day, signing copies of my books to celebrate the release of the third book in my crossover paranormal series. I will also be monitoring the internet as the ebook is also available from all outlets.


Friday, August 28, 2015


This is one of two Friday Frights for me this week. The theme this month is Fatal Love. This poem has been previously published. I thought it would give a more balanced look at a different kind of love. Fatal? Yes. But this is a special love. A supreme love. I hope you enjoy it . . .

Eternal Love

Her long black hair fell down so sweet, 
gently tickling our baby's feet.

He looked so happy lying there,
feeling his mother's wondrous care.

She loved him more than her whole life,
ended so soon with so much strife.

Her body gone, she could not go,
for still her soul had love's bright glow.

On the bed where my son was born,
the blood poured out: my wife was torn.

I cried and tried with all my might,
to make so sure all would be right.

But what could I, a mere man do,
when doctors 'round me had no clue?

I saw her spirit start to rise,
slowly, upward, despite my cries.

Like a fool, my heart asunder,
I worked to stop God's big blunder.

I tried to shove her spirit back
into her body, going slack.

It mattered not what others thought,
bringing her back was all I sought.

"We're sorry, sir, your wife is gone;
 your baby's life will still go on."

I held my baby in my arms,
completely thrilled with all his charms.

And then I noticed with much glee,
that still my sweetheart I could see.

Though she was gone, yet she did live;
her soul had so much more to give.

Her body would not move, it's true;
matter not, she had much to do.

She would not leave her newborn son,
'till ev'rything for him was done.

The years went by and still she stayed,
and next to me at night she laid.

My love for her refused to wane,
and most would say I was not sane.

But love her then and love her now,
as when I said my wedding vow.

In sickness and in health agreed,
to always follow that great creed.

I do not want another love,
not even one from up above.

And the love of her I cherish,
has no chance to ever perish.

May she stay with me forever,
our sweet love to never sever.

For just the look of her sweet eyes,
makes me know I'll see no goodbyes.

Physical love is no concern;
from her sweet spirit I won't turn.

The love I want and need so much,
within my heart, her soul does touch.

Blaze McRob