Great story from Lee A.Forman for Pen of the Damned.
Beneath the stars I entered the forest, machete unsheathed. The idea of a gun rejected early in my search. It wasn’t personal enough. I wanted to sever its ability to escape and run my hand over its face—it had no eyes; I wanted to make sure it could see me. I needed it to know it was me who consigned it to death.
I pondered the irony of where the hunt would end. Years I searched to unmask the hidden wretch, my obsession. In that time I encountered many a sinful beast, but none so horrible as the eyeless thing that took my wife. Meryl’s expression held elegance even in shock, as its shiny, coal-dark arm wrapped around her throat and took her forever.
I sought out urban legends, overheard rumors in bar conversations, asked questions no sane person would dare. But none of the things I hunted turned out…
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Holes by Paul F. Lenzi
“Grief” by Vrindavan Das
in places where
laughter and life
blood and bone
abandoned to deep
of fierce absence
we miss them
the dead and the gone
the echoes that loved us
washed out images slip
from the eyes of the mind
fade from pages of
sadness resigned with
of loss in a rich blend
of memories forming
a tincture of grief
an emotional balm
made to infill the holes
left in souls that might
incomplete and alone
A little scary Halloween story by Nina D’Arcangela for Pen of the Damned.
Muttering to himself as he always does, ole Gus shuffled to the basement door, pulled it open, and carefully descended the barely lit stairs. Once in the subterranean cavern – as he liked to imagine it – he began searching the dusty shelves for boxes marked ‘Halloween’ in Ester’s neat, tidy handwriting. God rest her soul. Given what a pain in the ass his wife had been in life, he’d never thought he would miss her nagging so much now that she was gone. Oh well, done is done, can’t dwell on the past. That’s the way he’d always lived his life, no reason to go changing now. If he could just get the damned Priest from their church to stop coming by, he could finally catch up on his shows. That old coot would do just about anything to get a little extra change on the Sunday…
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Maxwell’s Cellar by Andrew Forman.
“Brett, wake up.”
His voice echoed, came to my ears from great distance.
“Wake up, you worthless slag.”
Cracks of light burned my eyes. Slowly they grew until I saw the familiar boots of Sam Brooks. Those stupid fucking skull buckles… Peculiar how my first thought lent itself to something so unimportant.
He grabbed my collar and pulled me from the floor. “Come on, you shit, we’re going to see the boss.”
My attempts at a response led to no success. Throat dry, lips cracked, desperate for water—I couldn’t even croak. Not that I knew what the fuck I would say. I had no idea where I was and little memory of how I got there. Something about a bar and a yellow neon light; I’m pretty sure it was shaped in the name of some cheap beer.
Sam dragged me down the hall, jeans riding along the splintered…
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Sirens Call Publications is pleased to announce the release of the 2nd book in the Dragon Born series…
Child of Fire
The darkness is rising; the shadows on Azmantium grow stronger with each passing day. Only one can hold back the tides of destruction – only the Chosen One can walk the path of light – the Child of Fire…
The ever brave Lara, still reeling from the revelation surrounding her origins, will be plunged head first into the plotting schemes of several secret factions as each side battles to win the sacred Karnac – the ancient and perilous tournament to decide the future King. Lara must overcome her fear and embrace her true self if she is to learn how to control the power boiling under her skin, and evolve into what she was fated to be.
Treachery and deceit loom over her every step, her path…
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Slashed open in a fit of uncontrolled rage, my gouged and bleeding thigh is nothing but ravaged flesh; it is the thrill of his attention upon me that is beyond compare. As my blood races, he hears it pulse; as my body quivers, he feels it vibrate; as my mind screams, he hears it echo through his own damaged being. He is ever present – this beast, this creature, this untamed demon that stalks me. Believing me no match for the power his darkness wields, he has been gentle with me till now, wishing not to frighten me with what he truly believes himself to be.
Clawed arm raised to strike again, his breathing is heavy, as labored as my own; his from restraint, mine from fear and desperate longing. He pauses, his hard stare boring into that of my own, gauging if I go willingly or as that…
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