Monday, December 17, 2012


Check out my good friend Carole Gill's latest book. Unholy Testament - The Beginnings. You will love it. Guaranteed! Buy and read!


November 4, 2012
Included in this book are the first two chapters and book cover of  Book 3, Unholy Testament - Full Circle.
The day Eco first laid eyes on Rose Baines was the day she discovered (The House on Blackstone Moor) her family's savage butchery at the hands of her mad, incestuous father.

"I saw you leave the house that day, Rose, that terrible day you discovered your family butchered. I saw you..."

Eco realizing he has fallen in love with her pens a confession documenting all of his sins committed in the course of his immortal existence. The one request is that Rose reads his confession.

Rose, having become his captive, is forced to read this unholy testament of his.

From Ancient Egyptian vampire cults to Roman vampire brothels to The Dark Ages, The Crusades, The Black Death of 1348 to his meeting with child murderer and Satanist, Gilles de Rais, concluding with his wicked affair with the Blood Countess herself, Erzebat Bathory.

Eco is, if nothing else, frankly and brutally honest. The pages are filled with debauchery and vice and murder--yet, there is also love or what Eco swears is love.

The story is continued in Unholy Testament - Full Circle, to be released in early 2013.
 Great reviews:

5.0 out of 5 stars Darker than the first - chilling and impactful November 21, 2012
Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase
Is it possible to feel sympathy for a devious, evil creature like Eco? He is doomed from the start and acts from pure self-interest but somehow, Carole Gill gives this incredibly flawed character a deeper dimension. There were times I truly felt sorry for him, while hating him the next moment, but one thing this story didn't leave me is indifferent. Written in a journal-style narrative - it is, after all, Eco's testament that the book is about - the language flows and moves at a rhythmic pace, keeping the reader's interest.

The author dives deep into the suspense of the story right from the start. We know something terrible is about to happen, and when it does, we're left wondering how it will all unfold. Eco is a very interesting character and his story is heartbreaking, shocking, and frightening at the same time. It is worth telling and Carole's foray into history is written in beautiful prose that sticks in the brain. I love Ms. Gill's "old world" writing style, the lyrical voice that seems to bleed so effortlessly into the pages. That voice is kept alive and well in this sequel to The House on Blackstone Moor. Indeed, it is made more compelling. I have to give this story five stars and nothing less. I can't wait for book number 3 to come out so I can see what happens to Rose, Louis, and the adorable Simon and Ada.
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5.0 out of 5 stars Dark, deep, and devious November 15, 2012
Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase
I am a huge fan of Carole Gill. Unholy Testament is mysterious,multifaceted and devious. Eco will not disappoint you and will surprise you with glimpses of feelings unexpected in a demon/vampire. Join Carole on her excursion of the Blackstone Vampire series. You will not be disillusioned. If you like horror at it's darkest you will like Unholy Testament. Carole brings elements to her stories that no one else can. Read it today! Get your copy today, expect the unexpected.

More About the Author


I've always written but life, as it often does, got in the way and I turned back to writing some years ago.

In 2000 I was selected by North West Playwrights of England for further development but found I preferred writing fiction (novels and short stories).

I write stories of the paranormal, horror, and love. I'm the creator of Louis Darton, a strong vampire with a dark, tortured past. Come journey with me as I help Louis find love and fight his ultimate nemesis, the evil, demonic Eco.

Louis is featured in my dark gothic romance novel, The House on Blackstone Moor which has just been released in its newly edited verison and is on sale here.

The House on Blackstone Moor is literary style horror at its darkest. The themes are madness, obsession and devil worship.
It is recommended for readers 18 years of age and over.

There are three more novels in The Blackstone Vampires Series.
Unholy Testament - The Beginnings is on sale here in November.
The next two books in the series follow that.

Dreams of a Vampire is the short story prequel to the novel. It includes the first fourteen chapters of The House on Blackstone Moor and is free at Amazon.

At the moment I am writing a novel for Aiden James' Dying of the Dark Vampire Series.

Know what I want to do? I want to take gothic romance where it's never been! I believe that even in the darkest of moments, a rose can bloom, and its beauty can make us hope again. I want to take you on a wild, dark journey of fear, despair, and pain, on to ultimate redemption and love. These tales will shock you. Between these pages, your heart will not be safe.

Thursday, December 13, 2012


This is Hunter Shea's contribution to this week's Pen Of The Damned tales of titillating horror. Read it and love the majestic styling of Hunter's words. Click on the link and read other superb tales from my other Damned kin. Tell them Blaze sent you!

Mercy – The Final Chapter

(continuation of ‘Mercy’ chapter 3
The striking of our grandfather clock woke me from a deep, bottomless sleep. The sky outside the lone window was still a dark gray, lightened ever-so-slightly by the threat of the dawn. I stretched my arms above my head and rolled my eyes, attempting to shake off my slumber.
My heart thudded in my chest.
I was alone, and on the opposite side of the parlor from my sister.
All of the candles were out.
How did I get here? The pile of books we had been reading lay a good seven feet from where I sat.
Jessamine was in the far corner, asleep and on her back.
I felt a tug at my ankle and stifled a yelp. I instinctively recoiled. In the dark, I couldn’t see what had gained purchase of the bottom half of my nightgown.
There followed the sounds of hurried clacking, as if a pair of rocks had skipped across the wood floor.
The ghoul!
Despite my inability to see it, I knew it had to be in the room with us. It must have waited until Jessamine fell asleep, then separated us so it could do its dirty deed.
“Jessamine,” I hissed, wanting to wake her, yet terrified of alerting the ghoul, lest I become its latest morsel.
There was no answer.
Willing my legs to stand, I inched my way upwards, using the bookcase shelves to hoist myself up inch by inch.
I heard a tearing sound, followed by something far worse.
The smacking sounds of mastication, broken by eager, glutinous breaths, filled the parlor.
“Jesssamine!” I shouted.
Still no reply.
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.
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. Weeping warts covered it from head to toe.
Worst of all, a strip of flesh, Jessamine’s flesh, hung loosely from its mouth.
I yelled in horror upon seeing my sister’s exposed throat. She lay, still as death, as her blood pumped onto the floor.
The demonic ghoul had truly left my poor, dear sister.
But it hadn’t gone to hell.
It had made a vile home within Lucy.
The ghoul clenched and unclenched its gnarled hands and slurped up the shredded flap of Jessamine’s throat.
I don’t know what overcame me then. I had been living for half a year under the specter of Satan and his damned minion. Fear, as much as Lucy, had been my constant companion.
There was no longer room for fear. This abomination had destroyed my family, and I knew at that moment that I would never again be the same. My heart turned cold while my temper flared like the center of a great bonfire.
Snarling like a mad person, I grabbed the candle and leapt for the ghoul. Cackling, it tried to sidestep from me, but I snared one of its slimy legs.
Warts burst open like blossoming flowers and a vile, hot fluid leaked onto my hand, burning my skin.
Still, I held on.
It shrieked. It hissed. It chomped its jaws and just missed snagging its teeth into the back of my hand.
With a flick of my wrist, I managed to get it to flop on its back.
Lucy’s blue eyes had been replaced by obsidian pools of hate. I moved my hand that held the candle onto its throat. Once I had a firm grip, I transferred the candle to my other hand.
“This time, go back to hell where you belong!” I shouted.
I brought the flames tips to its eye and heard a satisfying sizzle as the onyx orb melted. I moved the candle to its other eye and didn’t stop until both eyes were gone.
Suddenly, the ghoul’s protests and flailing stopped. Its tiny body twitched once, and was still.
Reluctantly, I let it go so I could rub the burned skin on my hand. The ghoul was dead.
Keeping a close eye on it, I walked on unsteady legs to my sister. Her face looked so peaceful, as if she had died in the midst of the most wonderful dream.
The tears came in a torrent, and I held her head in my lap, ever watchful for signs of the ghoul’s return.
I stayed there in the corner with Jessamine’s cooling body for two days.
When father returned, I was too weak to run into his arms.
His face was aghast.
“What…what…what?” he stammered.
“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.
But when Father picked it up, he held only my Lucy, her little head fractured but still the Lucy I’d always known. Her eyes were tiny points of ash, but Jessamine’s blood had somehow been cleansed from her porcelain face.
Despite my anguish and exhaustion and vexation, I began to laugh.
I laughed while my father pulled me away, and in his carriage, all the way into town. I laughed when he brought me to hospital, and even when they carried me to a room that smelled funny and was so bright, it felt like I had been thrown into the center of the sun.
And I still laugh now, ten years later.
They think I did it.
Esther passed on from infection.
Jessamine perished from her wound at the ghoul’s hand.
Mother never regained her sanity. In fact, she’s in a room not very far from my own. I pass her in the yard sometimes. She spits curses at me and blames me for the evil that befell our family.
Only I know it was the ghoul; the demon that slipped into our Old Manse and within my departed sister, the dearest person in my life. And when it tired of a human host, it found Lucy.
I tell everyone but no one will believe me.
Evil is real.
The ghoul was real.
And Lucy is still somewhere, outside these four walls. If you see a doll with burned eyes, run. Run and pray your soul hasn’t been tainted.
And pray.
~ Hunter Shea

Wednesday, December 5, 2012


Here we have another great offering of dark reading on The Pen Of The Damned by the Damned talented mistress of mayhem, Nina D'Arcangela. Read her tale An Offer, and see what I'm talking about. Also, peruse the pages of The Damned Ones and try to see what lies in their minds. As if you can!


An Offer

Bending down in front of this fawn who has wandered far astray into a place she knows nothing of, I tip her head back, cupping her chin in my delicate hand as I gaze into the enormous glistening pools that serve as her eyes.
“An odd turn of phrase, wouldn’t you agree? I give you my heart.  How does one go about giving their heart away? If you were to give me your heart, you would become useless to me. A mass of tissue, cartilage, sinew, and bone pulsing with – nothing. And nothing is exactly what you would be worth. Do you wish to be worth no more than slop for the beasts to have their fill upon? Offering me your heart is a ridiculous thought. Besides, what makes you think I would allow you to give what I could so easily take if I chose it?”
A tinge of fear seeps into her eyes, her creamy throat swallows a hard lump, I release her but do not rise.
“Perhaps what you mean to say is that you offer me your unconditional devotion. Yes? Ah, now this I understand. This has a place in my world, this I can make fair use of. You proffer yourself before me and offer fidelity by choice. There is great value to be extracted from such a deed, unlike the sickeningly tender gesture of giving away your heart. A fool’s notion that. But you are a foolish creature, are you not?”
Her eyes shimmer, and I pace several steps away to allow the searing warmth of the sunlight to penetrate the chill I constantly feel radiating from within. This one, she affects me… After a moment of silent contemplation, I turn back to her. Our gazes locked once more, she still on her knees, me standing above her – as it would always rightfully be.
“Should I choose to make you my pet? Allow you to exist only on a whim? To please me when I see fit, perform for my enjoyment? Or perhaps even allow you the coveted honor of prostrating yourself at my feet for all to see; recognition of what an obedient thing you have become. Or should I simply accept your heart here and now, ending what will surely be an eternity of anguish for you?”
Circling her kneeling form, I allow my hand to trail through her mane of flaxen hair. It glistens so enticingly in the brightness of the day. The feel, that of swirling one’s hand through warm buttermilk; the scent, Anise. Delicious. Too delicious. Fisting a clump of this glorious silk in my hand, I yank her head backwards, redirecting her gaze to mine once more. A small squeal uttered, her hands fly up in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain I am causing her. My stare unwavering, she slowly lowers her arms to her lap once more.
“Do not expect to receive the abundance afforded my loyal servants, I have broken them! They have not groveled their way into my good graces. They have earned their allowance, their right to breathe for as long as I deem it useful. Unlike you my soft lovely dove, they have withstood a trial of pain and torment that you could not begin to fathom; and they have lived – if life is what you wish to call it. But you, you have earned nothing more than my attention with your soft curves and deep somber eyes. When I no longer find amusement in your attentions, then perhaps you will give me your heart as initially intended.”
Fear radiates from those bottomless orbs as they now watch me with trepidation, fear, and, of all things – judgment. Snarling, I release her head more roughly than intended and move to stand before her once more, bellowing at her audacity in a harsh ugly tone.
“This frightens you? My apologies! I don’t see why it should. You served the opening volley; you began this bid for my affection with your profferance of dedication to ‘my wants, my needs, and dare I say it – my most sacred desires’. Yes, I am mocking you and your attempt at securing my affection! Ah, I see you understand the spark of anger flashing behind my eyes, the couched venom spiting through my words, yet still you do not understand your own part in inciting me. This haughtiness of yours will need to be stripped bare if you are to be of any use at all. You are an ignorant animal, you know nothing of what I want, need or desire – yet you bear enough conceit to believe you stand any hope of satisfying me with your pathetic attempt at comprehension. Do you not see it? Do you still not understand who or what I am? No, I believe you do not!”
In a near frenzied pitch, I force myself to stop. She cowers before me, trembling, terrified by what now stands before her. Glancing down, I realize that my hands have begun to morph into clawed appendages; I can feel the second row of razor teeth beginning to protrude from my rending gums. The realization that this gentle creature before me is a far greater danger to my world than I initially thought decides her fate for me. Eyes brimming with tears, mine not hers, I crouch before this lovely timid thing, allowing my deformed talon to graze the soft flesh of her flushed cheek, and speak in a hushed tone.
“More’s the pity. I would have enjoyed the game, no matter how briefly it may have lasted.”
One more sweep through her luxurious hair, but my changing flesh is no longer capable of feeling its soothing texture.  I gently cradle the back of her head and pull her soft form against mine. Blinding rage engulfs me, the cold from within takes over. With a slow deliberate stroke, I open her from pelvis to throat with the pointed tail I have kept hidden all this while; being sure to take enough time to truly feel the pain this is causing her. A single tear tips from my shuttered eye and with it, the last pretense of my humanity is shed. Leathery clawed wings tear free of their flesh covered prison and enshroud us.
After what lives in me is sated, and I have consumed my fill, I rise, releasing her corpse to the beautiful grassy field where I have defiled her. The warmth of the sun no longer as tantalizing as it was earlier. Glancing back at her remains one last time, I allow those that serve me to clean the foul mess I have made.
One dares to catch my eye as if to pass its own judgment upon me. Weakness amongst my kind is unheard of, and not tolerated.
With a feeling akin to what I understand to be shame, I spit at the thing before me, “Provided I do not choose to slit your throat for the disloyal thought I see passing through your eyes, I’ll allow you to keep your life and you will keep your tongue as to what you have seen here this day!”
He has the nerve to grin at me. She was but a frail morsel; the darkness beating in the soul of this servile beast shall sate me fully. I believe I shall begin by allowing him to give me his heart.
~ Nina D’Arcangela

Saturday, December 1, 2012


There's a new kid on the block spinning some wild tales. His name is Jeffrey Hollar and Keldane The Cursed is a great new read. Buy it, read it, get lost in the story, and drool over the cover art. Did I leave anything out? I sure hope not!


Book description:

Did you ever wish you had the ability to use magic and cast spells to do anything you wanted to? Well, so does Keldane. Unfortunately, just being the son of the most powerful magic user the world has ever known doesn’t come with any guarantees. It’s not without very good cause he’s known to his classmates as Keldane the Cursed.


Jeffrey Hollar was born in Lima Ohio. Developing a love for reading in his early life, Jeff read anything and everything he could get his hands on. Graduating from Lima Sr. High in 1980, he joined the army where he found a career in communications. Jeffrey remained in the army for 14 years, traveling the world to places like Germany, Turkey and England.

Jeffrey moved around the United States as well, living in Arizona, Iowa and Missouri before moving back to Lima where he met his wife. Jeffrey works in the security field during the day and writes by night. He also has a love for cooking and practices his culinary skills on his family.

Buy this book!


Wednesday, November 28, 2012


Check out this great youtube selection by Bobby Phillipps! Bobby is a great guitar artist! How great is he? He is great enough to where I am hiring him to do Book Trailer music for our books at Visionary Press Cooperative. The deal is that he will create a new song for each book. We get the rights to the music. Just think: never before heard music for our great tales! Oh, yeah, baby! I will ask Stacey at Angelic Knight Press if she wants Book Trailers done there as well.

Say hi to Bobby and listen to some great music!


Monday, November 12, 2012


Check out Angelic Knight Press and get in on this opportunity to write a short story that is really cool: in a disturbing way, of course.

You won't want to miss out on this! Heh, heh.

Valentine's Day will never be the same.



That's right, folks! Our new anthology project is all about zombies. Well, zombies and erotica. What's sexy about the zombie apocalypse? You tell us!

What we're looking for is short fiction, 1k-2k words, featuring zombies and erotica in some form or fashion. I'll be taking 50 stories for the anthology. Subs may be submitted starting today. The deadline for submission is December 31st. The proposed date of release is February 14th, Valentine's Day.

Regardless of the subject matter, stories must be well written and interesting, with definite emphasis on originality. Please read our submission guidelines page and submit accordingly.

Payment will be shared royalties.

Where did this idea come from? KillerCon of course! It actually began as a joke, but so many people thought it interesting that we decided to run with it. I have to give credit for the title to Benjamin Kane Ethridge. There are already several authors from KillerCon sending stories, so join them and us in this project!

What are you waiting for? Get writing!


Friday, November 9, 2012



Hey gang! Look at what I just received from an author friend of mine in Cheyenne. If you scroll around a bit, you'll see where Cindy Keen Reynders is a speaker at the Paths To Publication conference being held at the local library in November. Cindy has done it all, with her first two books published by a small house, her third was self published, and, of course, Seven Year Witch was published by Angelic Knight Press.

I'm very proud of Cindy for working her way into the Big Girl's Club in town. For far too long, it has been an almost impossible thing for an author in this town to get any kind of notice unless they're a part of the writing elite, a sort of back room group. Cindy is now a part of that elite. She has busted the old stereotypes to pieces. Seven Year Witch has drawn some notice!

Cindy Keen Reynders has said, "Write a great book, and you will be accepted!"

She has done just that!


It takes more than a great story
Paths to Publication
A one-day conference designed to help you navigate the next steps toward publication of your novel. Join seven Wyoming authors for a day of workshops filled with insights into the journey from “the end” to publication. Designed for teen and adult novelists at all levels, Paths to Publication is free and open to the public.
Food is available at the Library Café. Alternatively, you may bring a brown bag lunch.
The day will include a booksigning, with a portion of the proceeds to benefit the Laramie County Library Foundation.
Saturday, November 10
10:15 to 5
Laramie County Library
2200 Pioneer Avenue
Cheyenne WY
Paths to Publication – Schedule
Library Opens
10:15 – 10:30
Welcome and Introduction – Marjie Smith
10:30 – 11:20
Doing it Yourself: Self-Publishing 101 – Mary Gillgannon and Cindy Keen Reynders
This workshop will give participants an overview of self-publishing. Print vs e-publishing format will be discussed, both the pros and cons. The presenters will also offer a question and answer session during which participants will have the opportunity to ask about specifics of independent publishing.
11:20 – 11:30
11:30 – 12:20
The Writer’s Guide to Agents and Contracts – Amanda Cabot
Join Amanda Cabot, who’s hired and fired five agents and negotiated more contracts than she wants to admit, for a discussion of the most important aspects of choosing (or not choosing) an agent and negotiating contracts with both agents and publishers.
12:20 – 1:15
Lunch and Booksigning
(Food is available at the Library Café or bring a brown bag)
1:15 – 2:05
Surviving the Pre-Publication Blues – Joanne Kennedy
Rejection is inevitable in the quest for publication, and the ability to accept it and learn from the experience determines your survival as a writer. In this inspirational and informative workshop, published author Joanne Kennedy offers strategies that help you survive the submission process while increasing motivation, refining your craft, and celebrating your progress toward the goal of publication.
2:05 – 2:15
2:15 – 3:05
Contests: Getting Your Foot in the Door – Elizabeth Roadifer Nowadays, it's far too easy for editors and agents to delete an email submission without even looking at it. Most will only read a query letter. But if your story finals in a writing contest, they're obligated to read it. For some, that can lead to a book contract. Find out the pros and cons of writing contests, how to use them to hone your craft, how to prepare your story and synopsis for entry, the best contests for your type of story, what contests to avoid, how much they should cost, what score sheets look like, and how to evaluate judges' comments.
3:05 – 3:15
3:15 – 4:05
Balance: Live to Tell the Tale – Tina Ann Forkner
A writer can’t stay in an Ivory Tower writing books all day long, but for many authors, a hectic life makes it impossible to get up there in the first place. Published novelist, blogger, and freelance writer Tina Forkner demonstrates how living a more productive life can turn you into a prolific writer. Whether you are an aspiring writer or already published, this session will help participants learn processes and skills to help them better manage a productive writing schedule (both the creative and business side of writing) with the ever-increasing demands of career, family, volunteerism, and numerous other obligations.
4:05 – 4:15
4:15 – 4:55
Panel Discussion/ Q&A – All
4:55 – 5:00
Closing Remarks – Marjie Smith
Amanda Cabot is the author of more than twenty-five novels, four non-fiction books and what she describes as “enough technical articles to cure insomnia in a medium-sized city.” Formerly a director of Information Technology for a Fortune 50 company, she is delighted to now be a full-time writer and speaker living happily ever after in Cheyenne. Her most recent releases are Summer of Promise and Christmas Roses, both set in Wyoming.
Tina Ann Forkner is the author of the acclaimed novels Ruby Among Us and Rose House and has had stories appear in various publications, most recently in the gospel music publication, Homecoming Magazine. She is a speaker, freelance writer, and blogger who also serves on the Laramie County Library Foundation Board of Directors in Wyoming. Tina lives in Wyoming with her husband, three bright children, and two loveable dogs.
Mary Gillgannon writes historical, romance and fantasy novels. Ten of her novels were traditionally published. They had national distribution and foreign editions in Russia, China, Germany and the Netherlands. Over the last year she has self-published titles from her backlist and several new titles, both as ebooks and in print editions. In addition to writing, Mary works for the Laramie County Library and acquires books for their fiction collection.
Joanne Kennedy celebrates Wyoming’s unique blend of past and present in contemporary Western novels with traditional ranch settings. Her books include Cowboy Crazy, Tall, Dark and Cowboy, Cowboy Fever, and the RITA nominated One Fine Cowboy. She lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming with two dogs and a fighter pilot. The dogs are relatively well-behaved. Joanne loves to hear from readers at
Cindy Keen Reynders lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming with her husband, Rich, and her little dog, Ewok. She is the author of three books in the Saucy Lucy mystery series, published through Medallion Media Group and Amazon. She is also the author of 7 Year Witch, the first book in her Wysteria Hedge Haven Clan series, paranormal romances published through Angelic Knight Press. You can contact her at
Elizabeth Roadifer is an award-winning author whose work has appeared in magazines, newspapers, and literary journals. She was chair of the International Fantasy, Futuristic, & Paranormal Prism contest for published books, has been a judge in several contests for both published and unpublished authors, and has herself won numerous contests. An English and Social Studies teacher, she is currently at work on a Young Adult story.
Marjie Smith has a Master’s degree in Computer Science, has worked in high-tech for 35 years and loves horses and her Wyoming ranchette. Her reading interests range from Anthropology through all fiction to Zoology. She enjoys writing soul-searching memoirs and hard science fiction. A firm believer in accurate details, Marjie recently spent two weeks at an Abbey doing research for her current novel.
I posted this in June on the Angelic Knight Press blog. Tomorrow is the big day! I plan on being there the entire time. All authors can learn from events such as this one. If nothing like this is going on where you live, start one up yourself. I'm sure there are plenty of talented folks who could share a wealth of knowledge with new and established authors.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


Read hunter Shea's great continuation of his Gothic horror piece, Mercy. Read his other stories there and tales from other members of the Damned!


Mercy – Chapter 2

(continuation of ‘Mercy‘ chapter 1 s2iKoL-mercy )

Jessamine slept often, those first few days after her return. I was allowed to take her to the garden for one hour each day, where I read poetry to her and piled dozens of fresh picked flowers on her lap. The hail storm had laid waste to our vegetable garden, but the heartier flowers that lined the old house were spared its wrath.
“Do you remember how it felt when…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question. Father had told me to never mention the word exorcism again, especially in front of Jessamine.
She shook her head. “I don’t remember a thing. It just felt as if I’d disappeared, like sleeping without dreaming.”
“Please don’t go away again.”
“I promise, I won’t. Big sisters are supposed to take care of their little sisters, not the other way around. Thank heavens you had Lucy to watch over you while I was…gone.” She cradled Lucy in her hands, smoothing her thumb over the tiny fracture.
I had to say something that had puzzled me ever since her possession. “You’d think living in the Reverend’s house would have prevented something like this from happening. I mean, this is sacred ground of sorts. ”
Jessamine stares at the old stone manse, at its tall windows and gabled roof. Her eyes glazed over as if with fever. Her lips were dry and cracked and her voice was soft and distant when she replied, “Yes, you would think so.”
Despite father’s insistence that we put Jessamine’s episode behind us, lest we give the evil the power to creep back into our lives, it was hard for me to stay silent. I had so many questions.
I lay in my bed letting the questions twist round my brain. The moon was full and brilliant and cast silvery shafts of diaphaneity across our small bedroom.
How did the evil worm its way into Jessamine?
Why her?
Where did it go?
How did it go? Was it simply a matter of saying the right words by the Reverend, or was it something more, something that couldn’t be seen or heard?
“I’m sure it’s in hell, where it belongs,” my sister blurted from her sleep. It was if she had read my thoughts!
It gave me a terrible fright. I touched her lightly on the shoulder but her heavy exhalation told me she was in a deep state of sleep.
The house took on a preternatural silence and the radiance of the moon no longer seemed so gay. Sleep did not come easily.
I was awakened by Esther’s piercing scream. Jessamine and I threw off our blankets and rushed down the stairs.
Esther was still in her nightclothes. A wide, dark streak of blood marked the trail of her pained walk from her room by the kitchen to the dining room.
She reached out to us with shaking hands. “Help…me!”
It was awful. Her round face was red with strain and rivers of tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. Our charwoman had always been a source of invincibility in our home. She lay upon the floor like a helpless rabbit caught in a trap. Her leg was a mass of gore. With trembling hands she tried to stanch the flow of blood.
My father brushed past us and knelt by her side. He asked her how she had come to be hurt but poor Esther could only babble. The house was awash with our cries.
Mother had been given a prescription of laudanum to help her frayed nerves, so she remained oblivious to the commotion.
“Jessamine, fetch me that cloth over there,” he said.
When he turned to ask for her help, I saw the red, pulpy swath that had been carved into Esther’s leg. The edges of the wound were ragged, as if…
As if something had gnawed the flesh from her leg.
Esther’s moans died in her throat when she passed out, and I ran to the well to fill a basin with water.
The doctor arrived an hour later. He took Esther with him to the hospital. She awoke when Father and he lifted her from the floor and screamed like a madwoman all the way to the doctor’s carriage.
None of us ate that day. We couldn’t get the image of her gnawed-upon leg out of our brains.
“Father, what could do such a thing to Esther?” I asked. “Could it have been a wolf?”
He shook his head and smoothed the sides of his great, bushy mustache. “I’m not sure dear. Esther was in no state to tell us. Perhaps when she settles down at hospital, she’ll recall. I’d say it had to have been some animal she encountered in the yard. I want you girls to pray for her recovery and that it wasn’t…rabid.”
When mother awoke in the early afternoon, she shuffled throughout the house, calling for Esther, wondering about supper.
It seemed we couldn’t escape the madness.
~ Hunter Shea

Wednesday, October 3, 2012


Nina D'Arcangela has written a piece of majestic poetic prose for your reading pleasure! Check out all the other great posts on pen of The Damned. You will be glad you did!


She Watches

My watcher gazes upon me, great despair and longing seeping through her gently fluttering lashes. She lives a life of torment, a life filled with a depth of pain and depravity that rivals my own. Closer she wishes to draw, trying – always trying, but the measure of her success is a cruel and harsh one that denies, not grants, the wants of those like us. Unable to do more, she watches.
She watches as I sink ever further into the squalor that is my self-imposed exile, my place of preciously preserved pains, the darkest recesses of my mind where even I cannot find respite from my own deranged ramblings. Gasping for a breath that will never come, hope a thing lost to a moment that can never be regained, I will forever dwell in this chasm of nowhere. Capable of infusing life into me once more, yet unable to wade such a distance, she must simply watch as I succumb.
She watches as I prance about in this tattered garb, seeming to most a thing so giddy; a toy bright and shiny – all the while, inside… nothing but a fool. She sees my cracks, my flaws, all that makes me unworthy. She is witness to the tarnish that dulls my plating, the rust that flakes my surface, the debris that hinders my step. She gropes at the pile of destroyed dreams, hoping in vain to free me; the more she digs, the deeper the rubble becomes. She must watch as I succumb to what others have done, and what has become of me.
She watches as I shatter into innumerable shards, only to suffer my tears as I collect each delicate fragment to me; insistent upon rebuilding my ruined castle once more. Tears of acid crawl down my cheeks, the madness that accompanies them the crumbling of the world – my world – should they ever truly be unleashed. A steady stream of tangible harm inflicted by so many, each droplet a testament to the life I bear. Her desperate plea for me to hush heard only as an echo in my ear. Her arm stretched towards me, wanting so much to offer reprieve, is hindered by obstacles both beloved and unfair. She must watch as I succumb to what others have undone within me.
She watches as I flay open my own flesh for allowing moments of weakness, glimpses of joy, lies of happiness that happen in an instant, gone all too quickly. Brief encounters, an hour, perhaps two. Touching, loving, seeing, hearing; feeling – breathing; for the first time in so long, breathing. A small step that leads to a brighter existence, a false step placed upon undulating ground. A promise of the sweetest forever, but no promise ever made, a faith always held – a mourning that shall never end, my forever, my reality.  This she must watch as I succumb not to what others have undone, but what I have done to destroy me.
Would I give so much more for even a lie of something less, if that lie was not this? With all the wasted remains of me, I would…  But my watcher stands as guard. She will not allow one to crumble, for the other would fall, no longer even the loathsome wreckage that now exists. Scalding tears pour in a cascade of deafening silence from her eyes. She must always watch me from behind a glass wall that cannot be allowed to shatter for all that would be lost.
A pile of forever swept to the side so that the tendrils of this now never break for what should have been.
~ Nina D’Arcangela

Monday, October 1, 2012


Cheyenne Zombie Fest!

This past Saturday, I attended the Cheyenne Zombie Fest. I was there in the morning, afternoon, and evening. There was so much to do, and it was an awesome experience. It was a fundraiser for Cheyenne Little, which is a fantastic group of people putting on many wonderful performances throughout the year.

The events included a Zombie Walk, face painting, a brain eating contest, a Zombie Film Festival, raffles, a scavenger hunt, and a Zombie fashion show.

Book signings and seminars were conducted by Dr. Bob Curran, and multiple Bram Stoker award winner Jonathan Maberry. Mr. Mayberry and I had quite an interesting discussion about writing, Zombies, and movies. It appears we have a lot in common. He is quite the gentleman. Needless to say, I bought some books from both of these talented individuals.

There was also a huge number of comic book people there and comics were being sold. Yes, I bought some comics too. Among the talented artists and writers were Chad Blakely from Cheyenne, and Ron Fortier from Ft. Collins, Colorado. Mr. Fortier is a giant in the comic industry, having penned comics for the Green Hornet, The Terminator, Popeye, Captain Hazzard, and the Incredible Hulk. He has also written three novels with sci-fi author Ardath Mayhar, and written any number of short stories.

We had three great Heavy Metal bands playing in the evening, Arcanium being the show closer-boy, are they ever great! And there was even a Zombie Prom. Blaze even danced in the mosh pit. My friend Tim Marquitz would have been proud of me. I'm still catching my breath from that!

Anyone who thinks that Zombies are on the way out is wrong. Many of the people at the event were teens and twenty-somethings. They not only read the comics, graphic novels, and watch the movies, they buy and read Zombie books as well. So my author friends: don’t listen to the naysayers; zombies are in and will be for quite some time.

One other point I wish to make is that not only is there a demand for adult Zombie fare, there is a market for children's Zombie stories, YA, and under thirty folks. Mr. Maberry writes many tales for the younger generation. Take note.

There are many ideas spinning in my head after my discussions with the authors, the comic people, and the film industry. More on that later. Check out my picture above with my friend, Lori Sponhour Lewis. I actually have hair! I scared her husband in to taking the picture.


Friday, September 28, 2012


This is a truly great series! I can hardly wait for more episodes!

In the first episode, Barry has just lost his fourth jobs in the past year due to corporate downsizing. Desperate for employment, he jumps at the first position he’s offered over the phone, driver for OTG Courier Services. Shortly after meeting his new boss, a tiny yet fiery old lady named Margery, she coerces him into signing a questionable employment contract, which he soon regrets.

5.0 out of 5 stars One Super Read By Wendy Howard! September 27, 2012
Format:Kindle Edition
I absolutely love this great tale! The Courier Episode One: Call For Obstruction is so unlike anything else I have ever read, and I totally did not expect the ending. There is no let up in the action at all: scene upon scene roll along in perfect harmony, making you want to read more. The best thing is that this is a series, so there's more to come of this horror and insanity.

As bizarre as the story is, it is also believable, so you won't get the what the . . .thinking.

I know the economy is bad, but don't go to work for this courier service!


Wednesday, September 26, 2012


Jackie Williams wrote six great horror tales for your reading pleasure. I loved them. I believe you will too.


Review by: Robert Nelson on Sep. 24, 2012 : star star star star star (Remove)
Six Fright-Mares, by Jackie Williams, is a great collection of horror tales, all of them unique and covering a wide array of topics. My favorite is Outcasts, a rather surreal tale of what if in a what could world. The story is so realistic that I was trying to think of a way where I could come to the aid of the heroes. The superb ending allows for further exploration in to the world of Jackie's story people.

I love reading Jackie's tales for her home-spun style and fantastic usage of the Queen's English. Hurray! To tell a story any other way would be short changing the reader.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Read this great short story by my friend Tyr Kieran! Go to Pen Of The Damned to read other great stories!

Secret Pain

Logan maneuvered the Wii controllers in unison, swinging his arms like a seasoned hockey player. The boy’s passion was obvious — rivaling that of the gladiators his game was designed around despite the disparity of size in his preteen frame.
The digital puck soared past a sprawling goaltender and into the net.
Conner, Logan’s competitor, exhibited his own fervor as he chewed out the faux net minder. “What was that? Wake up and face the shooter. Stupid auto-goalie.” Conner was only a few weeks older than Logan, but already had sprouted seven more inches. He thought the added height would leverage him a scoring advantage in their rivalry, but his new friend proved to be resilient.
The boys met a couple of months ago when Conner moved into the neighborhood and over the summer they developed a healthy rivalry. Hockey quickly became their favorite battleground. They logged many afternoon hours carving digital ice, but there was more at stake this time. It was their final match-up before starting the 5th grade tomorrow with different homerooms.
Logan danced around the coffee table, punching the air like Rocky in training to celebrating his miraculous two-goal comeback to tie the game in the waning seconds.
“I hate it when you use the green Whalers jerseys.” Conner said, grumbling while he scratched at the bandage high on his arm.
“I know,” Logan said through a joker’s grin. “Green for good luck. Now, they’re gonna help me win this thing in overtime.”
Movement drew Logan’s eye to the bandage. “Uh, dude. You might want to stop scratching that. You’re making it bleed.”
Conner tugged his shirt sleeve down to hide the area. “That? Oh, I scraped it open on a nail head. My dad’s fixing the cellar steps.”
The boy’s eyes bulged suddenly. “What time is it?”
Glancing up at the wall clock, Logan answered. “Almost 4:40. Why?”
“Damn it! I gotta go.”
“I have to be home before five or my dad’s going to beat my ass raw.”
“But it’s overtime of game 7. You can’t leave now.”
“I really have to go.”
Conner shoved some items into his duffel bag and sprinted out the front door.
Logan threw his controller and flopped onto the couch. “Shit.”
The next day Conner was a no-show at the bus stop. Logan looked for him all morning — peering out the bus windows, searching the halls between classes, staring at the slotted windows in the classroom doors — but his friend remained unseen. He was beginning to worry about why Conner might have missed the first day of school, when, from the cafeteria line, Logan spotted him sitting alone at the back table.
“You make it home in time yesterday?” Logan asked, placing his tray across from the lone dinner.
“Huh?” Conner said, visibly shaken from deep thought. “Oh. Yeah.” Then he returned to biting his cuticles and plowing the mashed potatoes from side to side with halfhearted fork movements.
Logan chewed on a dry hunk of meatloaf and eyed his friend. He didn’t look well.
Conner’s eyes were shadowed and heavy. His complexion was more pale than usual, earning him another notch toward the color of coconut Popsicle like the ones they used to get from the ice cream truck on Friday afternoons. Which he skipped on the last few times. Logan realized. And look, now he’s not eating his lunch.
“Not hungry?”
Conner shrugged and Logan glimpsed the edge of a new bandage just below his shirt collar.
“What’s that one from,” Logan asked pointing to the gauze dressing, “another nail head?”
“It’s nothing,” Conner replied in a distant tone. But, like a sudden May breeze, he warmed to the conversation. A light flickered to life in his eyes, chasing away the darkness of his frown. “Hey, you want to come over and replay Game 7?”
“Is it okay with your Dad?”
“He won’t be home till later.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I feel bad about cutting out on you yesterday. We need to finish that game.” Conner smiled. “I’m gonna hit my locker before class, so I’ll catch you after school, okay?”
Logan hesitated. “Yeah, sure, but aren’t you going to eat lunch?”
“What, and risk toxic mutation? I’ll hold out for something better.”
Conner dumped the tray into the nearest trash receptacle and walked out of the cafeteria.
A few hours later the boys were immersed in their championship game and amid the chaos of crosschecks and slapshots, taunts and complaints, they did not hear Mr. O’Barr return early from work, nor his calls for Conner’s attention.
The TV suddenly went dark. Conner’s father, an imposing figure, stood before them with the plug dangling from his fist.
“You’re not allowed to have guests over while I’m gone.” He said.
Conner’s complexion moved up another notch. “Dad. I’m… I’m sorry, we just wanted to finish our game from yesterday.”
The man’s frown drooped further with nostrils flaring above his thick mustache. “Sorry doesn’t unbreak the rules. Your play time is over. Go wash up and we’ll discuss this over dinner.”
“Could Logan—”
“Get your ass up there ‘fore I throw your goddamn Wii in the trash,” his father said, pointing up the steps. “And you better come down ready to eat this time. I’m not going to serve another uneaten meal in this house.”
Conner jumped to his feet and scrambled up the stairs.
Logan watched the confrontation from eyes wide with fear. He didn’t know what to do. Would Mr. O’Barr turn on him as well? Should he just leave? Was Conner safe? That was it. Safety. It all made sense now. His behavior. His lack of appetite. The nail-biting. The bandages and scars. Conner was being abused!
Mr. O’Barr rummaged around the living room, cleaning up the video games and controllers.
Logan was close enough to hear the man’s teeth grind as he picked them up.
“I swear to God, I’m…” The man stopped, took a deep breath, and faced Logan. “It’s time for you to go home.”
He pulled Logan to his feet, shoved the boy’s school bag into his arms, and promptly escorted him out of the house. The door slammed shut before Logan could turn around.
What should I do? He thought, hesitating on the stoop. Logan stepped down and started toward the curb when the muffled sounds of broken glass made up his mind for him.
He dug out his for-emergencies-only cell phone and dialed.
Ten minutes later Logan was back on the stoop, but this time he wasn’t alone. A black man dressed all in blue stood next to him. Logan straightened and puffed out his chest. He felt a tingling surge of power run through him at the thought of justice being served to help his friend.
The officer rang the doorbell then cupped his hands around his eyes to peer into the narrow windows along the door frame. After a moment he reached up to knock but the door vanished beneath his knuckles.
“Mr. O’Barr, I’m Officer Emery and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Conner’s father glared down at Logan then stepped aside to let them in. They followed him down the hall and into the kitchen. Officer Emery surveyed each room along the way. “How many people are present in the home, Sir?”
“Just me and my son, Conner.” Mr. O’Barr picked up a hand towel and started drying dishes. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
“In due time. Where is your son now?”
“Upstairs, washing up for dinner. Why?”
The officer’s eyes paused on shards of broken glass near the man’s feet. “Sir, what can you tell me about your son’s bandages?”
Mr. O’Barr stopped. His hands froze mid-circle in drying a dinner plate.
“Conner told me they were from skateboarding or street hockey or something like that,” he said, splaying his hands.
“He doesn’t like skateboarding!” Logan said, blurting out the words with his pent-up emotion.
“Look, Officer, I work a lot. It’s hard enough scrounging paycheck to paycheck each month, but to keep track of every little thing he likes or dislikes is—”
“Hobbies are one thing Sir, but injuries are your responsibility as a parent. Do you know the health of your child? What’s the story with the glass at your feet?”
“I knocked over my tumblers before you arrived. And, I don’t like your tone, Officer Emery.” Conner’s dad thrust a finger at the cop. “I raise that boy the best I can and you can’t—”
“Sir, I’m going to be frank. There are allegations of child abuse against you. Have you caused harm to your son?”
“What? Are you freaking kidding me? No. No, I haven’t.”
“There are witnesses to an increasing frequency of bandaged wounds.”
“He’s an active boy, for Christ’s sake! You’d worry if he didn’t consistently carry a red badge of courage.”
“Sir, the amount of badges have become excessive. Logan’s outcry for Conner’s well being is not the first. His school had alerted us to a potential problem just yesterday. They spoke to Conner and he was very uneasy about the conversation. He wouldn’t even allow the nurse to check his wounds.”
“Hey, I don’t want some incompetent nurse prodding at my son!” Mr. O’Barr snapped. Veins pulsed in his neck as his frustration swelled.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you again. Did you harm the boy?”
“No, goddammit, I’d never hurt him!” The man shouted and the wet plate slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor.
The policeman jerked a hand to the Taser on his belt. “Mr. O’Barr. Stay calm or I will be forced to make you calm down.”
“Whoa.” Conner’s father slowly put his hands in the air. “It was an accident. I’m calm.”
“Good.” Officer Emery said and gestured to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”
The policeman, keeping an eye on Conner’s father, turned to Logan.
“Son, please go upstairs and check on Conner. Ask him to join us here, in the kitchen.”
Logan nodded and ran up the steps.
A moment later he screamed.
The policeman’s instincts kicked in and within seconds he cuffed the father to a chair, shouted for him to stay put, pulled the firearm from his holster, and jolted up the stairs.
The second floor came into view one step at a time. Logan was standing in the hall, staring into the opened bathroom.
“Back away from the door.” Officer Emery said as he reached the top.
Logan complied, but moved with slow, clumsy steps like a sleepwalker, never taking his eyes off his discovery.
Officer Emery heard the sobs of a child and they weren’t from Logan. He moved laterally, with his gun raised, until the bathroom interior was visible. Taking in the scene before him, the office gradually lowered his weapon.
Conner sat on the edge of the tub, arms tucked between his knees. Tears dripped from his down turned face. He was only wearing boxer shorts and his wounds were exposed—the bandages had been removed.
Emery sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of them. They weren’t the kind of injuries he expected. Mr. O’Barr’ is one sick fuck! He thought.
The boy’s body looked like some sadistic kind of checkerboard — angular chunks of flesh were missing at varying intervals, but only in areas that could be concealed by summer attire.
Emery’s stomach clenched and churned. His heart literally ached at the sight.
Conner whimpered. A few drops of blood splashed to the tile floor between his feet and that’s when Emery caught sight of the razor blade.
“Conner,” the officer said, speaking in soft and slow negotiator tones. “We’ll get through this. Please, put down the blade. Don’t give up on us, now.”
Conner lifted his head and looked at the cop for the first time. His face was wrinkled with confusion. “Give up?”
“Stay with us. We care about you. Your father can’t hurt you anymore.”
“My father? He never hurt me.”
“I… I can’t stop cutting.” Conner’s tears flowed in thick rivulets. “It hurts so bad, but I need it. I crave it.”
“We’ll get you some help.” Logan said, peering in from behind the officer.
“No, you don’t understand. I’m addicted. I don’t want real food anymore.”
Conner brought a hand to his mouth. An angular piece of flesh dangled between his fingers. He slurped it up and feverishly chewed the bloody morsel.
“The more I eat, the more I want.”
~ Tyr Kieran

Monday, September 17, 2012



I just finished reading this great tale by Kathryn Meyer Griffith! I love it!

5.0 out of 5 stars Dinosaur Lake Is One Super Tale!, September 16, 2012
This review is from: Dinosaur Lake (Kindle Edition)
Dinosaur Lake, by Kathryn Meyer Griffith, rocks! Okay, so I'm one of Kathryn's biggest fans. I suppose I might be a bit prejudiced about her talents. This story contains many aspects that particularly grab me. I have visited Crater Lake many times; I have lived in Klamath Falls; and I am in love with the wilderness the way the people in this story are. However, Kathryn takes her magic wand and stirs all of these elements together to make one super story. I would rate this a multi genre book appealing to young adults and we older readers who simply love a great tale we can wrap our imagination around. This is perfect for that. Read this great book. You won't be disappointed!

Kathryn was kind enough to have given me a copy to read for review. However, I intend to purchase copies for my friends and family.

By the way, the cover art by Dawne Dominque is superb!

Blaze(aka Robert Nelson)

Monday, July 9, 2012


Below is a description for Prison Planet by Billie Sue Mosiman

Cover art by Neil Jackson. A novella of the world in 2042. In the near future Jackie and her husband Antone are working hard to move out of the bottom class of society. Then one day while her husband is at work in another city, men in suits come and take Jackie and her children away to be interred in a prison camp in North Texas. No phone calls allowed, no explanations given. Jackie keeps hope alive that Antone will rescue them. But if he does manage to get them out, where are they going to run, where are they going to hide, and where are they going to go on the PRISON PLANET? "Billie Sue Mosiman's novels are edge-of-the-seat all the way!" Ed Gorman, Award-winning author and former editor of Mystery Scene Magazine.

My review is below. Obviously, I love this story!

5.0 out of 5 stars Prison Planet Will Imprison Your Mind!, July 9, 2012
This review is from: PRISON PLANET (Kindle Edition)
Prison Planet by Billie Sue Mosiman is not only a great horror tale, it is a great visionary peek into what I see is happening in the world at the present time. This wonderful gut-wrenching story is the 2012 version of 1984. Take a look around you: political gatherings where members applaud when a speaker says if someone doesn't have the proper insurance, then they should just die. This tale of Billie Sue Mosiman extols the worse form of greed and power-mongering. This IS the story of the 99% and the 1%. Don't take my word for it. Buy and read this story and see if you don't agree with me. I am a huge fan of Billie Sue Mosiman's writing, and this is one of her finest. Read this tale and think. I did!


Wednesday, July 4, 2012


Our symbol standing guard.
Description: cid:92ECB40E7D4F41EC8D0895E6730B048D@KeithPC
Picture of the Year - "Standing Guard"

This picture says it all! Thank you, all my friends in uniform and all those who have served. We owe you big time!


Thursday, June 28, 2012


Look at the cool Youtube video my friend Nathanael Munn made up for The Mists Of Papoose Pond, which is my online novel posted both here and the Graveyard Group on Facebook. Thank you very much, Nate for being such a great guy! 

I have included both links above. This is a full length novel that everyone can read for free. With fans like Nate, I am so very happy to be doing this.

My buddy Ed, who I named the hero after, is pretty happy with all this publicity. He wants to do the love scenes in the movie version. What a guy!

Thanks again, Nathanael Munn, for making me and Ed both look good!


Thursday, June 21, 2012


At present, I am reading Ghost Dance by Kathryn Ptacek, and I am enjoying this great horror/mystery/suspence tale. Join me in the fun!


A Death in Manhattan-a glistening feather lies near the body.

A Native American rights activist arrives in San Diego-a gleaming feather waits on the hotel bureau.

A brutal murder discovered in Las Vegas-a brilliant feather is found at the scene.

Chato Del-Klinne, drifting ex-professor, cannot let the Las Vegas murder go unsolved: the victim is a good friend.

The shining feather will lead Chato and his beautiful girlfriend Sunny into unimaginable horror - horror that may encompass the entire world...unless Chato can prevail against the renewal of the hundred year old Ghost Dance.


This great story is one of June's Dark Book club selections on DarkMedia city. Take a peek!


Tuesday, June 19, 2012


Belinda Frisch's new book Cure is out now, and might I say it is one great tale! This is a superb zombie story! Below is a book description:

"Dark, disturbing, and deliciously addictive" R.A. Evans, author of Asylum Lake

Welcome to the Nixon Healing and Research Center, refuge for the indigent sick and playground for the maniacal Dr. Howard Nixon whose cancer research has him dabbling in the undead. His human-zombie breeding program is falling apart and only Miranda Penton can save it.

Miranda gave up her budding military career to marry a fellow soldier but when their first child is stillborn, it's more tragedy than their new marriage can handle. One year later, following her painful divorce, Miranda accepts an unexpected job offer to join Nixon's security team. Her recruitment is part of Nixon's dark plan and she quickly becomes one of his captives.

Nixon impregnates Miranda with a zombie fetus, but her imprisonment at the center is short-lived. A rescue team led by Scott, her estranged ex-husband, releases her and the infected on the unsuspecting hospital population.

The virus is spreading and must be contained. The center is going into lock-down. The group's escape is threatened by a homicidal security guard and a raging storm. The town of Strandville is ground zero for the zombie apocalypse and Miranda must escape because the fate of humanity lies with her unborn child.

My review is below. By the way: all the Amazon reviews are Five Stars! 

5.0 out of 5 stars Cure , by Belinda Frisch, Is Zombie Action At Its Best-Five Stars Is Not Enough!, June 19, 2012
Robert C. Nelson (CHEYENNE, WY, US) - See all my reviews
This review is from: CURE (A Strandville Zombie Novel) (Kindle Edition)
Cure, by Belinda Frisch, is soooo good that Five Stars is not enough! This tale is in a category all its own. I read a great number of books, zombie books among them, and have never read one with this kind of twist, this kind of originality. The town of Strandville comes alive before your very eyes in the guise of the Nixon Healing And Research Center. The staff here has a whole different approach to curing cancer, and it backfires on them when Miranda's estranged husband comes tearing in to save her after Doctor Nixon impregnates her with a zombie fetus. Poor Miranda; poor world, as the zombies at the facility are let loose.

You must read this thriller! Seat of the pants horror all the way! Hang on and be prepared for a fright!

Are you still here?! Go buy this great book!

Monday, June 18, 2012


 Blaze thinks this is a great read!

The dead still hate!
John Backman specializes in inexplicable phenomena. The weirder the better. So when he gets a letter from a terrified man describing an old log home with odd whisperings, shadows that come alive, and rooms that disappear, he can’t resist the call. But the violence only escalates as soon as John arrives in the remote Alaskan village of Shida. Something dreadful happened there. Something monstrous. The shadows are closing in…and they’re out for blood.

My book review below:

5.0 out of 5 stars Forest Of Shadows Makes You Rethink Ghosts, June 18, 2012
Robert C. Nelson (CHEYENNE, WY, US) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Forest of Shadows (Paperback)
Hunter Shea's Forest Of Shadows is deeply entrenched in . . .well,entrenched in shadows. I love shadows and the allure they have to hide evil which may or may not be lurking within. Mr Shea goes a step beyond and describes what could be present in the fringes of such darkness as well. This is a novel about a paranormal investigator who travels to Alaska to unravel one weird set of occurrences. Complete with a haunted house and ghosts, this chilling tale delivers more. Much more. I found it to be a spooky, something is in this room type of tale. The shadows have eyes. And the eyes are on the reader.

Samhain picked a great author in Hunter Shea! 

A sparkling tale of horror from my damned friend Hunter Shea!


Saturday, June 16, 2012



 Lisa NcCourt Hollar, who has short stories in all three Satan's Toybox anthologies from Angelic Knight Press, has a great short story up on Amazon called The Second Wave. This is a wonderful Zombie tale. Stacey Turner did the edits on it. This is a super read for only .99cents. Hustle over and snag this great buy now.
Book Description:
A young woman, Fran, seeks refuge from the cold in an Ohio farmhouse. Wanting to forget the past several months and the horror she has witnessed, she convinces herself that she is safe, at least for the moment. Relaxing and enjoying the winter scene, she falls asleep and wakes to a new nightmare. Soon she learns that what happened at the beginning of the Zombie Apocalypse wasn't the worst of it. There was more to the virus that created the monsters that now ruled the earth. The infection was mutating and what was coming next may mean the end for all those left alive.


Lisa McCourt Hollar is the mother of three daughters and one son, ages 18 years all the way down to one year. She has spent her years working and writing in her spare time. Now a stay at home mom she devotes her time to raising her children and working on her writing. She hopes to become wildly rich and famous so her husband can retire but will settle for knowing others are enjoying her stories.

You know you want to read this!


Tuesday, June 12, 2012


This is a great short book and Tyr Kieran is very excited about it. And he very well should be! Getting Better is awesome!

Below is a book description:

Shaun is institutionalized. Traumatic events have led to his stay at Agronaville Mental Health Center, where he battles his inner demons. Witness his first group therapy session. Experience his struggle against the violent visions that threaten to consume him.

In this layered short story of horror fiction, you’ll be drawn into a psychological journey that you won’t soon forget. This tale is a gritty, emotional ride that you’ll want to read again and again. Try it. At $0.99, I promise it’s well worth the price of admission!

What others are saying about "Getting Better":

“I didn’t expect to like this so much! The writing is flawless and the story, disturbing and intelligent”
– Rebecca Hamilton, Author of Bestselling Occult Novel THE FOREVER GIRL.

“‘Getting Better’ is a dark, gritty read that takes an interesting look at mental illness from the patient's perspective. The descriptions are smooth and detailed, and Kieran pulled me into the world of his narrative with a subtle yet powerful voice.”
– S.M. Boyce, Author of the successful dark fantasy book The Grimoire: Lichgates.

“Tyr Kieran’s Getting Better is as well-written as it is diabolical.”
— Tessa Dawn, Author of the Dark Fantasy Vampire Series: Blood Curse.

“Tyr Kieran possesses a writer’s most important gifts: the ability to seduce words into bringing his unique visions to life; the imagination to conjure those visions in the first place; and the ability to bring his readers kicking and screaming along for the ride.”
– B.E. Scully, author of the critically-acclaimed gothic horror novel Verland: The Transformation

Below is my book review on Amazon!

Format:Kindle Edition
Tyr Kieran has come up with one brilliantly bold shocker! Taking place in a mental institution, Getting Better can't get any better than it is. Even though the resolution of the tale is rather gory, it is shockingly symbolic of the unstable balance between patient and doctor in the inexact science that is Mental Therapy. I don't want to spoil the plot, so I will close by saying we have a new master of the craft among us. His name is Tyr Kieran.

Read this book! 
I'm expecting a lot more quality, scary reads from my fellow Damned Writer. Hats off to Tyr Kieran!