Zombie Fallout

Halloween 2022

2022-10-31T05:41:00.003-07:00

HALLOWEEN 2022

“A stoner, giant crocodile alien and the president of the United Earth walk into a bar.”

“Johnathan the Tripper, I have asked you repeatedly to not narrate our lives as we are living them, I find it…” Drababan had to think of the appropriate word. “Unsettling, yes unsettling will work.”

“And I’m not the president of the United States, that’s the other Mike.”

“The other Mike? How many of you are there? And they say I’m the one that does drugs.” Trip was talking to the hostess who was escorting them to their table. At first glance, to look at Trip one would believe him to be an old hippie, one who had traveled extensively with the Grateful Dead. He wore his long gray hair in a ponytail that traveled halfway down his back. Sitting atop his head was a worn Stetson hat. He wore a MAGA shirt that read Make America Green Again, with a large pot leaf as the background. His ripped and stained jeans were held up by suspenders. He looked nothing like his multi-million-dollar bank account would indicate.

At eight feet tall and wider than a refrigerator, Dee found that he had to constantly duck and turn sideways to not run into patrons, tables or light fixtures. He was wearing an armored leather vest and thick pants that traveled down past his knees. He had a blaster holstered to his back and a knife strapped to his leg that on a human would look like a sword. He garnered a few stares but only because he was the famous Drababan and not an alien.

“I’m glad we missed the lunch rush,” Mike said.

“This is Roswell, the hostess said, “we don’t have a lunch rush anymore. Ever since the aliens really came down and weren’t so nice, the tourist industry here dried up. No need to travel to see them when all you have to do is look up.”

Mike thought she looked tired and worried, tired of a job that offered no advancement and worried that even this job would go away soon, he was going to remember to ask Trip to tip her well.

“Hey!” BT stood up from the booth he was sitting at. He came over and gave Mike a bear hug. “Good to see you man, been a while. Ah Dee!” He held out his hand and they shook, each trying to make the other flinch by how much pressure they exerted.

“Oooh, a pissing contest!” Trip blurted out as he fumbled with the front of his pants.

“No!” Mike exclaimed, “it’s not that kind!” He was reaching but not too far, Trip knew very little about boundaries and would just as likely drop his member right into his palm.

“Who the hell is this?” BT asked, the distraction enough that Dee and BT ceased their competition.

“I, my good friend…” Trip held his foot up. “Wait, who am I?”

“This is Jonathan the Tripper.” Dee said.

“You can just call him Trip,” Mike replied. “He says he’s a time jumper and that it was imperative that he was here for this meeting.”

“Pill?” Trip asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a variety of different shapes and colors.

“You believed him enough to bring him?” BT asked.

“He has a private shuttle stocked with enough beer to supply this place. Belief never played into my decision.”

“Jesus, Mike you’re like a kid hopping into a van that offers free candy and puppies.”

“He also had Moxie,” Dee replied.

“Gotta tell you Dee, drinking a case of that stuff isn’t going to do you any favors,” Mike told him.

“It is medicinal, Michael, I’ve read up on it.”

“Mine too!” Trip chimed in.

“Maybe you should just tell us why we’re here,” Mike said, “otherwise, Trip here is going to go on an hour-long explanation of the benefits of Quaaludes.”

“Don’t even get me started,” Trip said, his eyes shining at the thought of doing just that.

BT had fundamentally changed when he’d come back from their time looped travel through space. It wasn’t so much the journey, as it had been that his true-life doppelganger had died while he was gone. There had been a pitched battle between a battalion of Stryvers and a squad of United Earth Marines that had been cut off from the rest of their group. In a twist, BT had accepted the posthumously given Congressional Medal of honor for his other self. Mike thought, how does one ever come to terms with something like that? Since then BT had turned to the spiritual, sometimes bordering on occult elements of life. Most of the adventures BT had set up had yielded little results but more than a few had Mike questioning his sanity. He hoped this one was more of the sitting around camp drinking beer and telling stories variety. He loved seeing his friend, it was the seeing of things that wished not to be seen that he wanted to avoid.

“Please tell me we’re not going back to Area 51,” Mike said.

“Hi, my name is Beth, I’ll be your waitress today, can I start you off with any drinks?”

Mike felt his heart constrict before he looked up at the woman who was easily double the age of the Beth that was supposedly being held in a Mental Care facility. His heart eased up once his racing mind was able to differentiate the two.

“I would like a carafe of Moxie,” Dee said.

“Coffee?” the server asked.

“Moxie, it’s a concoction of tar, mixed in with soda and stirred with the fungus covered foot of a sloth,” Mike said.

“I, um, we don’t have anything like that. I’ll come back when you’re ready to order.”

“How have you been Mike? It’s been too long. Did you have to get clearance from the president?”

“No, we just do this thing where he pretends to leave me alone while also having me constantly under surveillance and I pretend to not notice the small army of people, drones and absolute surety of satellite coverage.”

“He does, however, spend an inordinate amount of time with his pants around his ankles and exposing his posterior at any given moment,” Dee said. “That is also unsettling now that I have spent some time thinking upon it.”

BT explained what he’d found while the group ate, Trip had burned through all of the restaurants chicken nuggets and French fries while Drababan had cleaned out the allotted fruits and vegetables for the entire week.

“Five stars!” Trip slapped the table. “The ketchup was exquisite! How many Michelin stars does the chef have my good lady?” He asked before he raised his plate and licked the entire disc.

“They…they were microwaved.” The server told him clearly confused.

“How many stars does the microwave have then?” He asked.

“Is he serious?” The woman asked the rest of the table.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mike told her.

“I must have the recipe! How much?”

“We get them in bulk from Costco,” she told him.

“Excellent, I believe I have a controlling interest in that company. How much for this fine establishment? I wish to purchase it.”

“Could we perhaps get to the place I told you about? It would be for the best if we did so while the sun was out,” BT said.

Trip pulled out a thick wad of cash and dropped it on the table without even counting it. “You think that’s enough?”

“Are those all hundreds?” BT asked.

“Of course, it gets too cumbersome to carry anything smaller.”

“I think its fine,” Mike said as they walked out into the noon day sun. “How far away is this place you needed to show us?”

“It’s in Cimarron,” BT replied.

“Dude, that’s like me asking you how dinner was and you saying the plates were blue. Gonna need a little more information than that.”

“Four hours.”

“Four hours? Why the hell did you have us meet here then?”

“Because he knew about the nuggets,” Trip said. “I’ll be coming back here every day for the next year. We should get going,” I’ll have the shuttle follow us so we can leave from Cimarron.” Trip tapped the side of his head. “Always thinking, I am.”

“I do not wish to be presumptuous, but would it not be wiser to use the shuttle?” Dee asked. “We could make this journey in under five minutes.”

“Whoa, I just had a thought!” Trip shouted.

“We know, Trip, the shuttle would be quicker,” Mike said.

“Huh? I mean it would be but I was thinking about the 1919 Chicago White Sox and just now got why they were called the Black Sox.”

“Mike, if your friend is half as rich as he is crazy…”

“He’s filthy with it, the money I mean, well and the crazy too, I guess. He keeps talking about all these other timelines, normally I wouldn’t think twice about it, but we’re sort of living proof that it’s possible.”

“You sure he’s not just preying upon that?” BT asked thinking about it. The man had grown up on the streets of Los Angeles and his experience had shown that somebody always wanted something from you and cared little to how they attained it.

“What does he stand to gain? I have no money, no power besides being a dead ringer for the president. At best, I’ll be a stand in for Mike 2 should they fear an assassination attempt.”

“You’re a cop in a great many of your timelines.” Trip had grabbed the, to-go, bag from the server who was smiling profusely at him.

“Why is she displaying all her teeth like that?” Trip asked, “it’s unnerving.”

“Unsettling is probably a better word,” Drababan said.

“I see you’re making good use of the word of the day calendar I gave you,” BT told him.

“Trip, that’s what happens when your tip is in excess of five thousand dollars. Service with a smile,” Mike told him. “Does he seem like some sort of evil mastermind to you?” Mike asked of his friend.

“What’s this cop shit all about?” BT asked.

“It would seem you do your best work when you are on either side of the spectrum regarding the law. As an average citizen you tend to blow up.” Trip blew his cheeks out. “And fat Lawrence is far from jolly.”

“Who the fuck you calling, Lawrence?” BT posted up on the much smaller man.

“You appear to be angry for some reason, one of these might help.” Trip reached into another pocket, his hand full of unwrapped Starburst which were coated in a thick film of hair, fur and lint. He popped one in his mouth before extending his hand toward BT who immediately slapped them away, sending them spinning into the air.

“Not cool, man!” Trip turned and was retrieving the candy from the ground. “How would you like it if I didn’t warn you in a few of your existences of imminent danger and you were to die a horribly violent death?”

“I’ll take my chances, crazy man!”

“You say that now, but you were begging for your life when that Tarth was about to pull your leg free and suck the meat out while you were still alive.”

“Mike, I don’t want to go anywhere with this man.” BT folded his arms across his chest as he stared at the shuttle.

“He grows on you,” Mike assured him.

“That’s the last thing I want. Who knows where he’s been? Mike, he’s eating that candy off of the ground!”

Mike’s eye began to twitch as he watched the man pop a dirt covered candy with unidentifiable bits clinging to it, into his mouth. “Trip, if you give me those I’ll buy you an entire carton of new ones.”

“Why would I waste perfectly good candy?”

“Think of it as an investment.”

“Smart, good thinking. Weird that in so many of your other lives you dig holes for a living, the ones you survive in, I mean.”

Mike shuddered, he was torn, for the most part he had a difficult time believing half of what Trip had to say, the problem was, the other half, and where to draw the line.

The shuttle ride was uneventful, just the way Mike liked them, he’d had enough excitement in the air to last both of his lives currently living. BT for the most part glared at the back of Trip’s head as the other man piloted the ship.

“Is he really the person we want driving?” BT asked more than once.

“Funny thing, my operating under the influence charges doesn’t count up here. Plus, there’s usually nothing to hit,” Trip replied. Instead of landing the craft at the small municipal airport, Trip touched down on a soccer field where kids were playing. He handed each of them a thousand dollars to go get ice cream.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

“What? Is that not enough?”

“This guy is nuts.” BT pulled out his phone. “Yeah, we’re down at the park, come and get us. My car,” he explained when he hung up.

Five minutes later a sleek black limousine pulled onto the field.

“Deneaux limousine rentals? That’s your car?” Mike quipped.

“Being a National Hero has perks, I got fifty percent off,” BT clapped Mike’s shoulder hard enough to make him misstep.

An older woman dressed all in black emerged from the car, a long slim cigarette dangling from her mouth. “A genogerian? I hope it’s house trained, it’ll cost extra if that thing urinates in my car.”

Mike knew there were plenty of people that harbored a strong dislike for all things alien but very few were open in their disdain. It was generally considered unwise to speak ill of something that was so deadly.

“She would appear to be a fun one, as Michael would say,” Drababan had been taken aback by the woman’s words.

“I asked her not to smoke in the car during the rental.” BT was perturbed and was shaking his head as he went toward the vehicle.

“Quit being a pansy, a little secondhand smoke never hurt anyone,” Deneaux lit up another cigarette before getting back into the driver’s seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to hold the doors open for us?” BT asked.

“I would if your cheap ass had ordered the deluxe package.” She cackled before pulling her door closed.

“Jesus, it smells like a strip joint in here,” Mike said as he sat down. “Don’t tell Tracy I know that.”

“You’re that Talbot fellow,” Deneaux said. “I didn’t vote for you, in fact, if the big green thing was on the ballot I would have voted for him, instead. I mean, no disrespect but you strike me as an idiot.”

“Well, since you said, no disrespect, I suppose it’s fine. And you didn’t vote for me.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’re the other idiot! How does that feel? You do all the heroic shit and the other one gets all the glory! That’s rich.” She took a large puff of her cigarette nearly dragging it down to halfway.

Trip looked on in amazement. “You must teach me how to do that oh master.”

“Could you just drive please and be quiet,” BT beseeched. “Here it is!” BT said as they pulled up to an old three-story brick structure, the placard in front listed it as the Leonard Milloy public school. A heavy chain link fence encircled the structure, numerous signs warning of no entry hung on it.

“Um, okay,” Mike said as he stepped out. “Please tell me I didn’t come across the country for this. I mean unless there’s a full bar inside.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t surprise me, most people that have been wronged in life turn to alcohol as a means of solace and you my dear boy were fucked extra hard, and without the benefit of any lube, whether, water or oil based.” Deneaux was leaning against her car, face toward the sun, eyes closed as she smoked another cigarette. The way she held the smoke and slowly released it coupled with the expression on her face made Mike think she was having a near sexual experience and that skeeved him out to no end.

“It’s haunted,” BT said.

“That’s what the locals say, look around brainchild, the most fun one can have around this town is to go grocery shopping and that store is only three aisles. This is the only means of tourism money they have available and it is completely overexaggerated. Three meth heads said they saw something inside, well two did, one of them never made it out, never found his body. The good money is the likelihood the third tweaker never existed and was as made up as the sighting.”

“Who is benefitting from this?” Mike asked pulling on the thick padlock. “There’s no exchange of money. Doesn’t look like we’re going on a tour.”

Deneaux pulled off her black chauffeur cap and donned a blue baseball cap that read Deneaux’s Dungeons Etc.

“Oh, come on!” Mike exclaimed. “BT this whole thing feels like a shake down. How much did she charge?”

“You can report it to the police chief if you like, but he’s my nephew.” She cackled again. “Want me to call him?” She pulled out her phone. “No service…that’s strange. Happens out here from time to time. I find it enhances the experience, people are more easily scared when they believe they are isolated. Ready?” She shouldered Mike out of the way as she placed a key in the lock and unwound the chain from the gate.

“Buddy, you need a different hobby,” Mike said to BT as he followed the crone to the large green double doors that signified their entrance into the underworld, if the hastily scrawled words embedded in the paint were to be believed.

“Hold on, I don’t think I’m high enough to hallucinate!” Trip popped a handful of pills into his mouth and downed it with a flask of liquid that smelled highly flammable. “That should do it.”

“What the fuck?” BT exclaimed. “Do we need to bring him to the hospital? Get his stomach pumped?”

“That’s what I asked the first half dozen times I saw him do that. He’ll be fine,” Mike said.

“If he dies in here, I’m not dragging his body out. I’ll leave him where he lays, it’ll add to the ambiance of the place.” Deneaux was fumbling with her Hello Kitty key ring. The door opened with a loud creaking noise. “I had a speaker installed to make that sound.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Mike asked.

“Your friend already spent his money, there are no refunds and I like pointing out how stupid people are,” she replied.

The floor to the large foyer was a gray slate that was buffed to a high gloss, though it did not shine, the sunlight which was bright appeared to stop at the doorstep. It had hesitantly placed a toe inside and decided it was too cold to proceed. Mike found that strange but said nothing more about it as he stepped over the threshold. A chill made his body involuntarily shiver. The temperature outside had been in the high sixties it was considerably cooler within.

“Come on, come on, get in so I can lock the doors,” Deneaux spoke around the cigarette dangling from her mouth.

“What?” Mike asked turning back around.

“I told you that is was an overnighter,” BT said blocking the other man’s exit.

“You most certainly did not!”

“Oh, that’s right, I told Tracy.”

“Not cool, man.”

“I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t have come.”

“No shit, Sherlock, excuse me for not wanting to sleep in a pseudo haunted old freezing ass schoolhouse.”

“It is pretty cold in here.” BT seemed to be noticing that for the first time.

“Hey, the Smoke Master General says there’s spirits in here,” Trip said. “Exactly where would they be as I’m running a little low.” He swished his canteen around.

“I do not believe she was referring to alcoholic spirits,” Drababan replied.

“What other kind are there?” Trip asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Deneaux was laughing as she closed the doors. The sound of the heavy bolt being set into place reverberated throughout the room.

“This is fun, right?” BT asked.

“There are a lot of things I find fun. This isn’t one of them,” Mike told him.

“Then an adventure, maybe?” BT was grasping.

“We literally fought a space battle, do I look like I need a little shot of adrenaline in my life? We were mainlining the shit for months!”

“You appear to be tightly spun, Michael, perhaps this is exactly what you need.”

“It’s wound tight,” Trip corrected.

“Thank you, funny little hairy man, who enjoys an abundance of mind stimulants,” Drababan said.

“You can just call him a hippie,” Mike said. “Is there at least food in this place?” He acquiesced, realizing it was too late and complaining wasn’t going to do him any good.

“I paid extra, the teacher’s lounge is supposed to have a full spread.” BT was smiling.

“And you trust her?” Mike asked. “Best bet it’s a pack of horrid Pop-Tarts.”

“I love Pop-Tarts!” Trip exclaimed.

“They’re unfrosted,” Mike said.

“What kind of demon spawn is that woman!” Trip looked on the verge of tears.

“Seriously bud, we’re here now, so I won’t bitch about it too much, but what about this place even seemed remotely haunted to you?”

“Have you seen the curator?” BT joked. “Okay, okay take her and the hokey haunted tour crap out of the equation. This place sits on an important intersection of ley lines.”

“Oh, come on BT, was it also an ancient Indian Burial ground?”

“Native Americans,” Trip corrected.

Mike ignored Trip’s comment. “What about witches? Was this place a coven once?”

“They prefer the term Wiccan…”

“Trip, I don’t give a shit,” Mike spun on the man.

“Purveyors.” He finished.

“The old bat took your money and we’re stuck in this freezing, dark and dingy place. And speaking of which, why is it so cold and dark?” He was looking up to the large panel windows that glowed brightly but again the light stopped before entering. “Probably more tricks like the creaking door. Special coated glass or something.”

“We should check out the lounge,” Trip said. “If there’s nothing good I’ll build a restaurant next door and have them deliver.”

“You could always have another establishment deliver food,” Drababan said.

“Do you need a job? I could make you a CEO. I’d have to have office furniture specially made. I could really use hard chargers like you. What size suit do you take? You look like a hundred and seven tall.”

“Dee, I would pay good money to see you in a suit and tie, with some nice alligator shoes.” Mike smiled.

“Perhaps I could find you a vest crafted with gorilla hide,” Drababan retorted.

“It’s not an ancient In…Native American burial ground, no. But there was a catastrophic mining accident in this town and the section that collapsed and killed thirty-two men is a hundred feet below our feet. Before Deneaux snatched this building up and started selling overpriced tickets there are some well documented encounters from ghost hunting groups.”

“If you say so,” Mike told him heading down the hallway to where he hoped the teacher’s lounge was. His only knowledge of ghost hunting groups was of the audio tapes that were purported to have spirits talking, but to Mike always sounded like random noises that people then convinced each other were words or fragments of sentences. His gaze was fixed on the end of the hallway which was marginally brighter than the rest of the area. He could see dust hanging in the air and what looked like smoke lazily swirling about, he hoped it was from the food spread Deneaux was supposed to have left but he was more than half convinced it was an asbestos fire.

He paused when the smoke and dust began to coalesce, for the span of a few quickened heartbeats it took on the general shape of a face, a face in a great deal of pain. Mike closed his eyes and shook his head. “This is how this shit always starts in movies, you see this half-assed portent crap and by tonight we’ll be running from demons. I think I’m going to find a window to crawl out of. Did anyone else see that?” He had turned, frowning when he realized that none had followed.

“Just seeing shit, this stuff only happens in movies.” He forced himself forward, a sickeningly sweet smell assailed his nostrils. The closer to the open door he walked, the thicker the stench became. He’d been around enough of it to know what it was, and was in no mood to see what he figured was a pile of dead rats or worse. His senses became scrambled as he turned into the doorway. A feast fit for royalty sat atop two large folding tables. A perfectly roasted turkey steamed in the center, surrounded by a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes, cornbread stuffing, a tinfoil container full of smoked sausages, various types of breads and rolls were off to the side. The meal looked better than anything he’d eaten in the last year, but the stench of death instead of dissipating only grew worse as he walked toward the tables. His mouth wanted to salivate at what his eyes were seeing, his stomach wanted to evacuate itself from what his nose was smelling.

“Whoa!” Trip had come into the room and immediately ran to the table grabbing food with his hands, starting with the mashed potatoes which he shoveled into his mouth. “Smells frunny,” he said around a mouthful of food, butter was dripping down his beard, for the briefest of flashes Mike would have sworn it appeared to have been the lumpy congealed fat of something better left unidentified. And just as quickly it became butter again, which Trip scooped from his beard and popped into his mouth.

“Come on! Tell your freaky friend there’s utensils Mike! I’m not as bad as you about germs, no one is, really, but still, sticking your hands in mashed potatoes is frowned upon in the civilized world and who knows where his hands have been!” BT had come in immediately followed by Drababan.

“Something is not right in here.” Drababan had a look of concentration as he slowly surveyed the room.

“Do you smell something, too?” Mike asked.

“Smell? No. Visually, the spectrum of light in here is altered. I cannot be sure exactly what I am seeing but the colors are muted and gray around the edges.”

“I think we should get out of here,” Mike said as he headed over to a window. Undoing the latch he tried to push up, it did not move. “Doesn’t look like it’s painted shut.” He ran his finger along the sill.

“I have always wondered what it would be like to be such a puny being.” Drababan walked over. “I am not advocating we should leave, I just very much enjoy the chance to upstage my friend whenever I can.” He gave a reasonable facsimile of a smile, although on the huge alien it looked predatory. Drababan placed his hand on the sill and pushed, when nothing happened he got low for more leverage, he grunted loudly as he tried again.

“Upstage my ass.” Mike was watching and as much as he wanted that window opened he found it humorous that Dee was going to have to swallow his words.

“Thing probably hasn’t been opened in decades,” BT offered.

“That may be, but I have placed enough pressure that the wood should have broken into pieces by now.” Dee had bent down to investigate the window.

“Grood fing you didn’t.” Trip had food spewing from his mouth as he spoke. “Deneaux looks like she’d sue you for vandalism.”

“Yeah, she can bill the government for all I give a shit about it.” Mike grabbed a handful of cloth napkins from the table and wrapped his hand.

“I do not recommend that,” Dee said as Mike punched the window.

“Mother…” The rest of Mike’s curse word was cut off as he cradled his hand. “Like punching bricks!”

“How would he know that?” Trip asked BT.

“There are beach balls with sharper points,” BT responded. “The idea is to spend the night here, witness some supernatural events, not to try and get out. This isn’t an escape room.”

“Yeah, in an escape room you have the ability to leave, by either figuring it out or hitting a panic button, I don’t think that either thing is an option here.” Mike had unwrapped his hand and was flexing his fingers looking to see if anything was broken, when he was satisfied that wasn’t the case he looked to the windowpane which at the minimum should have been starred, even if it had been safety glass it would have given somewhat. “Are you going to try?” Mike motioned to Dee.

“It truly looked like it hurt, I do not wish to put myself through the same discomfort,” Drababan told him.

“Come on, Dee, if you punch that window as hard as you can you’ll probably knock the wall down,” Mike goaded, not caring if it took extreme flattery to make his friend get them out of what he was increasingly believing to be a trap.

“No one’s knocking walls down,” BT moved to intercept, he had his hands up. “You’re not thinking right, Mike, just have a little food and we’ll think this through.”

“I’m not hangry,” Mike told him. “This place is…”

“Wrong,” Drababan finished.

“See what you did? Now you’re just infecting minds!” BT was pointing a beefy finger at Mike’s chest.

“I do not believe he is capable of doing that,” Dee said before he took half a step backward. He was pointing back toward the door.

The swirling smoke and dust had slowed and began to take on the shape of a young girl. She was translucent, save her gaping maw, which appeared to be a black hole into an abyss. The wall behind her could just be made out, except for the light leeching mouth.

“It’s always young girls, are they inherently creepier than young boys?” Trip asked. He’d stopped eating to look at the spirit.

“Just a trick, a projector or something,” BT said although if mentally he believed that, physically he did not, as he sidestepped closer to where Mike and Dee were.

“This isn’t Scooby Doo,” Mike replied.

The spirit drifted slowly in, the toes on its feet pointing down were still some six inches from touching the floor. Where she passed, the color in the room began to fade, paint peeled, wood cracked, tile broke, portions of the ceiling caved in. As she got to the table with the food, the turkey blackened, mold and fungus grew upon it. The mashed potatoes solidified into a green unidentifiable mass. Mike was sure this was the source of what he had smelled. The decay wasn’t the illusion, it was the other way around. They were just now seeing what had always been there.

“Is this one of those movies where we’re dead, and we don’t realize it until the end?” Trip asked, he’d tossed the handful of jellied cranberry he was about to eat when he saw that maggots wriggled all along the brown surface.

“This isn’t a movie or a fucking television show!” Mike yelled backing up more so that he could smack the window with the point of his elbow. The entity stopped five feet from them before dissipating. The revealed portion of the room stayed as it was. The stink even more prevalent. A leg on the table collapsed sending everything crashing to the floor.

“Jump scare,” Trip said. “A cheap but effective element in any half decent horror movie, the quality ones though do not rely on that, but rather a slow buildup of dread and tension. Makes the audience uncomfortable. The horror comes in the form of something insidious, whereas in your typical B-Movies, it’s a slasher of some sort. Large knives the weapon of choice and the foil usually can’t be killed.”

“Again Trip this is real,” Mike told him as he went to the doorway and looked down the hall.

“This isn’t real,” BT said. “Right? How many people actually see a full body apparition?”

“Senses, especially sight, can be easily tricked into seeing what is not there. This was not one of those times. I stand with Michael on his desire to leave the premises. I think we should do so before it becomes a need,” Drababan said.

“Even if it was a ghost what possible harm could befall us?” BT asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.

“If this room was not already aged, what would have happened to us if the girl ghost had made it to our location?” Dee asked.

“Food was good, ambiance is lacking, three stars,” Trip said. “There weren’t even candles on the table to light my joints! I might make it two stars, but that seems harsh, after all they’re just trying to make a living or is it killing?”

Mike had begun to walk down the hallway when he felt something shift, he was unsure if it was external or internal. It wasn’t that the hallway had grown in length but rather he was moving at a much slower pace that would not allow him to get to the end and the foyer. He felt fine, not the molasses movements of one stuck in a nightmare pursued by a monster, or the relentless sliding of one’s feet as they sought purchase on an icy surface. He turned, Drababan was no more than ten feet behind him and was moving, yet the distance between them stayed constant. Dee’s expression became one of confusion before quickly moving to anger at whatever had him trapped.

“Is this happening to you as well?” Drababan asked. Mike had more than half expected the words to sound as if they were moving through syrup, instead they were as they should have been.

“Let’s try to move toward each other,” Mike said. “I don’t get it.” This after a few steps. He was moving, he was sure of it, as was his friend, yet when he spoke he was certain they were further apart. Mike tried everything he could think of to close the space, walking sideways, backing up, even taking leaping steps, each go was less successful than the previous. His heart began to hammer in his chest, it was one thing to be stuck within a haunted schoolhouse with others, but separated and alone was more than he felt capable of dealing with.

“Nothing appears to be working,” Dee said.

Mike nearly said, no shit, but his friend didn’t deserve that. “Tell, BT and Trip not to come out here.”

“What’s that?” Trip asked stepping out into the hallway. “Whoa, this is weird.” He began pantomiming as if he were stuck in a box. Drababan was easily within his reach yet when the man went to swat at his arm, he came up short. “Going to go out on a limb and say physics is broken here.”

“Is this an aftereffect of the time loop?” Mike meant to think that.

“This iteration of myself was not aboard that ship, Michael, why would I be affected?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m grasping at straws here.”

“Just use a dollar bill if you need to, for a straw I mean.” Trip pressed his finger to the side of his nose and made a snorting noise.

“I’m not talking about snorting coke, Trip,” Mike told him. “This isn’t the time.”

“That’s where your wrong because there’s never a bad time,” Trip told him as he patted himself down for his stash.

“It would appear that we are stuck here and forced into isolation of a sorts.” Dee had stopped moving as was attempting to reason out exactly what was happening.

“I’m going for the front door. Where’s BT?” Mike asked.

Trip turned to look into the room he’d moments before exited. “I think the hallucinogens are kicking in. But instead of seeing things that aren’t there, I seem to not be seeing things that are supposed to be there. Is that a thing?” he asked.

“Less High-enese and more English,” Mike told him.

“The extra largeth man with the attitude, is no longereth contained within the confines of the four walled area I have previously vacated. Is that high English enough for you? I met Shakespeare once, he did not at all talk like he wrote. Sailors on shore leave for the first time in six months are less foul. Man could put away a barrel of wine like nobody’s business, though.”

“Dee, can you check?”

“Michael I do not believe I will be able to get close enough to the door to do so.”

“What’s the point of this?” Mike threw his hands up. “I suppose it could be some form of purgatory, leading us back to the, our we dead, theory. But this doesn’t feel like that. We’re being toyed with. A cat blocking off the escape of its ensnared mouse. Maybe whatever it is, isn’t powerful enough to take us all on at the same time.”

“Or…” Dee began, “it wants us to watch.”

“Come on Dee, why would you go there?”

“It is a viable outcome and until blood starts spilling, I am curious.”

“And if blood starts spilling, then what?”

“I will reevaluate my stance.”

“I would rather not get to that point. I’m going for the door, follow if you can.”

“Is it wise to separate?” Dee asked.

“We already are,” Mike told him before turning and walking, as he kept his gaze fixed ahead he realized he didn’t appear to be making any headway, but when he turned to tell Dee and Trip that, they were somehow noticeably further away. “I have no idea what’s going on but I don’t like it.”

“Did you say something?” Dee asked his voice was oscillating, as if he were passing by on a fast-moving car.

Mike closed his eyes doing his best to assuage the panic that was rising within him. He was acutely aware of how poorly it was working. He’d never been one able to contain his feelings or change them quickly. “Going to have to ride this out. Just hope the carnie operator doesn’t go on break and forget to turn it off.” He shuffled along, keeping his eyes shut tight and was surprised when the front of his boots collided with a wall. “What?” he stumbled back when he opened his eyes and was staring directly into a sepia-colored old photo of the third-grade graduating class of 1909. He couldn’t be sure be he felt positive that whoever the ghost had been she was in this picture. A little bit like, The Shining, he thought sourly. “I swear if I see twins, I plan on shitting myself then scooping said shit up and tossing it at them like a pissed off monkey, that’ll teach them to scare the crap out of me.” Mike forced himself to smile, it felt like something he’d had to relearn after a life altering accident, wholly unnatural.

“Feel like I pulled a muscle.” He rubbed his cheek. “But I moved, what did I do differently?” Then he realized it may have been nothing on his part and only the entity screwing with their lives enacting part two of her evil plan. He could no longer see Trip or Dee, though he could see down the entire hallway. “This does seem an awful lot like the time bubble, a bending of space or something, the question is why. First things first, let’s see if there’s a way out.” He wasn’t sure what he was going to do at that point. If he got out would he dare to go in again and be stuck? He turned to head to the door which wasn’t more than fifteen feet away, but no matter how fast he tried to get to it the distance remained the same.

“Think, think,” He rapped the side of his head so hard he saw stars, he closed his eyes as he shook away the pain. Then it dawned on him. He was nearly too frightened to try it. “What if it doesn’t work? Then what? No worse off than you are now. How much trouble am I in if I need to give myself a pep talk? A lot,” he answered before nodding at his response.

He closed his eyes, took a breath and moved much faster than he’d meant to, instead of the toes of his boots he smacked his nose hard enough into the door he bled. The pain was immediate and his eyes teared up, partly from the pain but some from his success. He tried the door but it was locked fast. He knew beating against it would be futile.

“I, at least, know how to move around this fun house, now I need to find the rest. Slow, this time, though.” Blood dripped down his face and into his mouth. “Five steps at a time, no more than that.”

He’d just finished his short journey and opened his eyes only to realize he was now less than a pace away from a ghost…the ghost Her opaque eyes were cloudy and weren’t focused on anything at first until Mike saw her, then her head spun quickly much too quickly and her rheumy gaze was fixed on him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed breathlessly, closing his eyes tightly like a seven-year-old might do when they believe there’s a monster under the bed, certain in the fact that if you couldn’t see it, then it couldn’t see you. Mike took a few steps to the right to be out of its immediate path. He was convinced his logic was utter bullshit, the same kind generally reserved for people when they were extremely drunk and everything spoken sounded like world breaking revelations. He knew as soon as he opened his eyes she would be in front of him ready to syphon his soul away.

“Wheeeeere are yoooooou?” The words were coldly whispered and drawn out over rusty razor blades.

He couldn’t hear movement, as much as sense it, she was looking, in so much as she could through her film covered eyes. Mike desperately wanted to open his, unsure if she was merely teasing him, waiting for him to look and she would be less than an inch from his face.

“Killlll yooooou,” she said, her voice dancing along the tops of gravestones.

I know the general layout of this place, Mike thought as he sought his way back down the hallway, he kept close to the wall, trailing one hand on it and the other straight out in front of him, he didn’t want to take another strike to his nose, he was afraid no matter how much he tried to stifle it, he would scream out. And if the ghost were dependent on his vision it stood to reason she could hear him as well.

A high-pitched echoing giggle emanated from the girl and like the passing of a dangerous storm, the air pressure within the room changed, becoming more buoyant. She had left, most likely going to play with someone more willing. Mike squinted just enough that the majority of his sight was obscured by eyelashes. He breathed a sigh of relief when the ghost’s pallid purple blue features were not staring back. He opened them fully and did a quick three sixty to make sure he was indeed alone.

“Okay, I sort of get the whole looking through my eyes aspect, but what’s that got to do with moving around this place? They’re connected somehow. Just need to find the rest.” He thought it would be easy now that he could more or less move freely throughout the building, even if he had to do so with his eyes closed. He was back by the teachers lounge, none of his friends were there. The room had not changed from its disturbing display, although the stench of decay had mellowed to more of a sickeningly sweet stink. “I mean why wouldn’t the passage of time be affected as well,” Mike said as his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m going to be pissed if another one of me pops out of this freak show of a building.” The was said mostly in jest but he was deeply concerned how he would find anyone if they were flittering in and out of his timeline.

He stood by the door frame for a few moments closing his eyes for a couple of seconds, testing out if that would alter time enough that his friends would come into focus, then he became concerned that by doing this he might be pushing them further away. He had no way of knowing. Whoever had printed the rule book for this game wasn’t sharing the directions. He was stuck in indecision when he heard a low moaning coming from the floor above him. “I always give the actors in horror movies shit for the dumb things they do and here I am going to find out what made that noise without so much as a flashlight to light my way. Stupid.” He repeated his last word when he took three steps and went nowhere, he clamped his eyes shut and headed for the stairwell at the end of the corridor. He nearly fell over and onto the stairs when he reached the opening and was leaning too heavily against the wall. He opened his eyes to get his bearings, an underground graveyard would have been more illuminated than the staircase he was considering climbing. He could only see the bottommost two steps and then for all he knew he would fall into an abyss with no end. Even though it was as dark as Beth’s soul here, the thought that he had to climb those stairs with his eyes closed made it somehow ten times worse. Like it would matter somehow.

“No handrail, perfect, why would there be? Never heard of safety in the twentieth century? Fuck.” Mike muttered wishing he had something to grab onto when he invariably fell away. The moaning grew more pronounced, he couldn’t say for sure, but if he had to bet he would say it came from a human and a still living one at that, and he wanted to make sure that whoever it was remained that way. Although he had not a clue as to what he was going to do to about it. He climbed the first step without any problem, immediately opening his eyes, he could now only see the step in front of him. When he turned, the hallway was still dimly lit. He took the next step, following the same routine. It was when he lifted his leg to climb the third that everything began to change. The air was so frigid he could feel his pants begin to stiffen as they seemingly flash froze. He completed his step up, his body reacting immediately to the change in temperature, he was shivering before he could open his eyes, look down and then look behind.

He thought perhaps his heart had frozen, he could see nothing, not even the hand he was waving in front of his face. He could not get his runaway panic under control, worried that this was his life now, blind in a frozen hell. This time it was a scream of agony from above, so high pitched he wondered if a woman was here with them. His body was convulsing with how frantically his muscles were rubbing together in a last-ditch effort to keep him warm. He physically moved but made no advancement, in his terror he’d kept his eyes open wide in some small hope that a pinprick of light would find its way to his optic nerve.

“I seeeee you,” the words spoken in an eerily sing song way. Mike quickly clamped his eyes shut. The air around him had somehow grown colder, he was positive that the water within his blood cells was beginning to crystallize, he was convinced if he had been able to see his hand, it would have been as black as his surroundings from frostbite. Stumbling up the remaining stairs, Mike tripped and fell onto the second-floor hallway, the cement while cool, felt like a furnace in comparison to the place he’d just left. He opened his eyes only long to orientate himself, he stood and pressed against the wall away from the stairs and began to walk down the corridor. It was so quiet he could hear nothing but the rush of blood through his ears, and right now it was a torrent.

“Help meeee.” Drifted along past him. He looked around for the source, only to see the ghost girl begin to emerge from the stairs, a ghoulish grin forming, her mouth overly large and packed full of razor-sharp teeth. “There you are,” she hissed, darting straight for him. He clamped his eyes shut so hard and fast he was surprised he didn’t hear them slam. Somehow, he felt her fetid breath upon him wondering how a spirit could breathe, he knew if he dared to even twitch an eye open, she would be upon him in an instant using those teeth to rip his flesh free from his face.

“Fuck off,” Mike replied, not knowing if he’d screwed up and had revealed his location. When he realized he wasn’t in excruciating pain with portions of facial meat hanging down, he figured he was alright. “Okay, you can only see me when I can see you, or maybe that’s not it, maybe you are somehow using my sight to see. You may or may not be able to hear me, but can’t act upon it. Does that cover everything?” The sight thing made no sense to him. He’d known, he'd absolutely known that at one point she was less than an inch from his face, she or it, had to have known he was there, she could have stuck out her pus oozing tongue and licked his face if she’d had a mind to. “What am I missing? Can she attack at all?” That left him wondering, though, he was not in the, fuck around and find out, mood. It was true she’d turned the lounge into a macabre horror scene, but as of yet and hopefully never, he’d not been hurt nor seen any of his friends hurt. Because he had not visually witnessed an act didn’t make it true or false, though, as he had no idea where his friends were, and in what condition they currently were in. The screams could have been theirs but again he didn’t know.

He moved slowly down the hallway staying low, hoping that would make a smaller target of himself if the ghoul were still searching. When his hand came to open space he paused, believing it may be a door, he kept feeling around for the other side of it then came to the realization it was a juncture, which couldn’t possibly be. The building wasn’t big enough and there had not been a corresponding point on the bottom floor, then he laughed at himself for thinking it couldn’t possibly be, when everything that was happening couldn’t possibly be. Two hallways intersecting was the least strange thing thus far. Instead of blindly walking down he gave the briefest of looks, at the far end, huddled in a mass in the middle of the floor doing its best to fold in on itself was BT, a ring of iridescent children with hands linked spun in a circle around him, their feet a foot off the ground, they were giggling and singing.

“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” In that echoing eeriness that sounded as if it were being spoken through a tin can on a wire. When they finished each verse they would swoop down and into BT’s face. The big man was wide eyed staring at them, tears streaking down his face.

“Close your eyes!” Mike bellowed.

“M…M…Mike is that you?”

“Close your eyes! Do it now!” Mike screamed, the ghosts had taken notice of him and were racing to this new plaything. Mike clamped his mouth as tightly as he did his eyes.

“Are…are they still there?” BT’s voice was nearly closed off from fear and a fair amount of mucous.

“Just keep your eyes closed, I don’t know how it works, but they need you to see so they can see you!”

“S….sounds crazy, Mike.”

“Are they bothering you right now?”

“N…no.”

“Then shut up about it,” Mike told him. “I’m going to make my way over to you, don’t fucking move.”

“What’s taking so long?” BT asked.

“My eyes are shut, too.”

“Right, right,” BT muttered. “But still, you should hurry up.”

“Move to the wall on your right. I think I’m close.” Mike could hear BT’s boots as they squealed on the cement as he pushed over. The big man let out a high-pitched grunt of surprise when his hand grabbed at Mike’s leg.

“Please tell me that’s you,” BT said.

“Don’t go any higher or I’m going to owe you dinner.”

“Really? Right now?”

“It’s how I deal with stress. So stupid glad to have found you,” Mike awkwardly reached down and clapped at his friend’s hand.

BT grasped it and held on. “Do you mind if I hold it for a while?” he asked.

“Normally I’d feel a bit self-conscious about this but since neither of us can see, I’m cool with it.” Mike wanted to smile for the first time in what seemed like ages.

“What’s going on?” BT had moved so he had his back to the wall, Mike scooted down so he was next to him.

“I don’t know, apparently our lives weren’t full of enough adventure that you decided heading to what might be the most haunted location on the planet would be a good idea.”

“I didn’t think it would be anything like this, thought maybe we’d hear something or if we were really lucky see a moving shadow.”

“If seeing a moving shadow was us being lucky, then we hit the lottery.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Were you crying?”

“What?”

“Earlier, when the horror movie kids were dancing around you. Were you crying?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I most assuredly wasn’t crying, though.”

“Most assuredly?” Mike asked.

“You planning on telling anyone?” BT asked as he began to crush Mike’s hand.

“No! Fuck no! Stop!” He yanked his hand free and frantically waved it around hoping the bones would slide back into their natural position.

“Any idea where Dee and that hippie Trip are?” BT asked.

Mike shook his head, then when he realized the other man couldn’t see the gesture, he said, “no, I lost sight of them almost right after they lost sight of you. Speaking of which, do you know what happened? Wasn’t like you could go anywhere.”

“I…don’t know, or I can’t explain it, which I suppose is the same thing. One second I’m in there watching Dee and then I was nowhere for a while.”

“Was it cold?”

“Freezing, how do you know?”

“I was nowhere for a while, too.”

“The wall or something in the wall changed, a black mass reached out, snatched me right off my feet. It was not human and I don’t think it ever was.”

Mike could feel his friend shiver and it had nothing to do with the lingering cold, he did not even want to entertain what that could mean. Not the shivering part, which was self-explanatory.

“If I had a little less character, I’m not ashamed to admit I’d try and find a way out, believing that Dee and the hippie already did. I think if I told myself that lie enough times I’d eventually be able to get a decent night of sleep.”

“What if I found a way out and you went and got them then? That way we both get what we want,” Mike said.

“I guess it’s about time to go look.” BT grabbed Mike’s hand, pushed against the wall and stood, dragging Mike up with him.

“I suppose so,” Mike said as he got to his feet. “You’re not going to let go of my hand are you.” It was not a question, didn’t matter, BT didn’t answer.

“Any idea where to go?” BT asked after they’d moved back to the hallway junction.

“I have a feeling that we’ll get to where we need to be,” Mike replied. “And by feeling, I mean sense of dread.”

“Yeah, I got that,” BT told him.

“I think if we get out of here, you should ask for your money back.”

“No can do, I had to sign a form that said I wouldn’t no matter whether something was seen or not. Even had to sign a no sue clause.”

“What? Didn’t that make you stop and think for a second, what might have happened here previously that would have necessitated it?”

“She said it was standard boiler plate stuff.”

“Well, I guess it’s sort of good,” Mike said. “At least that meant they survived so they could sue.”

“Um,” BT began.

“What?” Mike begged.

“She only mentioned this in passing, and I didn’t think much about it until right now, but the form also states that’s surviving family members couldn’t sue, either.” BT got the words out of his mouth as fast as he could.

“BT, you basically gave the witch, carte blanche with us!”

“No, no it’s nothing like that,” BT attempted justification.

“No? Well, I beg to differ, I’d have you look around but that’s unwise.”

“Fuck you, Mike.”

“Sucks being on the wrong end of logic doesn’t it? Welcome to my world.”

“Fuck you, Mike.”

They were moving slowly down the hallway, Mike was positive that there was a chilling suspenseful soundtrack playing along as they did so, while everything imaginable swirled around them, patiently waiting for their opportunity to strike. Apparently BT was feeling somewhat of the same thing. As he asked: “Do you think it would be scarier to hear the Jaws prowling music, duunnn dunnn… duuuunnnn duun… duuunnnnnnnn dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn dunnnn or Jason’s ch, ch, ch, ah, ah, ah?”

“Dude!”

“What?”

“Don’t what me, we’re in a real-life house of horrors and you’re trying to figure out the best sound track we die to.”

“I feel like you’re being overly dramatic, Tracy warned me about it.”

“I…I don’t even know what to say to that. It’s like you’re blind to the whole situation!”

Incredulously BT started laughing. “That’s hilarious!”

Mike couldn’t help himself, the stress of the situation was going to manifest one way or the other, it was laughing or shitting his pants. He decided laughing would be less odiferous.

“You think the ghosts are getting a kick out of this?” Mike was wiping away the tears that were leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Probably staring at us right now shaking their heads, they’re doing their best to scare us into early graves and we’re laughing at them.” BT raised a lone eagle above his head and twisted his arm around making sure that it could be viewed from every angle.

Deep groaning sobered them up quickly enough, it was one thing for you to personally be in danger but a whole other thing when it was someone you cared for. It was a strange phenomenon. When an individual was being threatened, the response tended to be very subdued, subservient even as a means of preserving one’s life, but when someone they cared for was in danger, it became all hands-on deck with little regard for personal safety.

“Any idea where that’s coming from?” BT asked.

Mike thought it was coming from everywhere, all at once. Which was no help and uttered, he did not.

“I need to open my eyes.”

Mike couldn’t decide what to say, sure on one hand they needed the orientation, on the other, didn’t need much explaining.

“You going to say anything?” BT asked.

“Better you than me?” Mike shrugged.

“How in the fuck did your doppelganger become President?”

“I would imagine he was the one that counted the ballots.”

“Damn!” BT yelled, yanking on Mike’s arm and pulling him to the side.

“What?”

“There’s a dozen of them, maybe more.”

Mike didn’t need any clarification on what the them were. “You see anywhere we need to go?”

“The end of this hallway is black.”

“Come on then,” Mike sighed, knowing full well that was their destination. “Did they see you?”

“What do you think?” BT answered sarcastically.

“You have no desire to hear what I’m actually thinking, because it’s a bunch of swear words with your name intermingled.”

BT paused. “Fair enough.”

“And bacon.”

“Let’s get this over with.” BT pulled on Mike’s hand.

As they approached, the air began to cool, Mike knew if he were to open his eyes he’d be able to see his breath.

A voice rang out from behind them. “Leaving so soon?” It cackled.

Neither of the men had to look to know who it belonged to.

“Deneaux,” BT breathed.

“How are you enjoying my home away from home?” she asked. There was no warmth in her question. “I do hope you leave a good review, that is of course if you are able to, and from where I’m standing, that is unlikely.”

“What is this? And why are you doing it?” BT asked.

Mike thought it was a waste of breath, whatever her reasons they would never sound rational to either of them.

“What is it, is easy enough. This is a portal of my own construction. You see, I have created a world within a world. A place where I can make unimaginable nightmares come true. Now nightmares would be subjective, because for me this is a dream. A dream you willingly stepped into. For years I’ve been looking for a way to get Michael in my clutches, I had no idea his best friend would hand deliver him to me.”

“Me? What the hell did I do? Okay, wait, don’t answer that. What did I do to you? Before today I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“The correct sentence would be, you have never seen me before in this life. But you and I have quite a rich history.”

“What is she talking about?” BT whispered.

“How would I know, she sounds nuttier than chunky peanut butter and I hate that crap. It’s like you’re eating bugs.”

“Mike, focus.”

“It is never easy, but I have managed to kill you in quite a few of our shared existences. The problem is that you have done the same to me.”

“Why?” Mike asked. “Why would I possibly want to kill you?”

“I have asked myself the same thing may times. It is a compulsion of sorts. We are destined to destroy each other. No matter what has befallen the world, we gravitate toward each other and begin our deadly dance.”

“Um, we didn’t gravitate, you actively set this up. Seems to me you’re forcing this perceived narrative,” Mike said.

“As an uncouth, lower middle-class heathen I would imagine you enjoy the sports ball, you should understand that the best defense is a good offense.”

“Sports ball?” Mike was stuck on the strange descriptor. “How about you just go your way and we’ll go ours.”

“Of course you would say that when every advantage is mine.”

“Duh,” Mike’s head turned, though he didn’t open his eyes to the familiar voice.

“Trip?” he asked.

“Sorry it took so long to get here. Your big green friend found a soda machine that had Moxie, we had a luxurious meal of meat sticks and soft drinks. Or I had meat sticks, he is apparently a plantatarian.”

“Are you kidding me?” BT was riled. “We almost died!”

“But did you?” Trip asked, his words slightly garbled as he chewed what smelled suspiciously like spicy pepperoni. “So dramatic that one.” This punctuated by a loud slapping sound.

“You are a small hairy man, and I am a large formidable Genogerian warrior, it is unwise of you to continually slap me when you wish to make a point,” Drababan said.

“I had you two contained!” Deneaux shouted.

“You did, but in terms of interdimensional realities it was a bit rudimentary,” Trip explained.

“Rudimentary? You cried in frustration for eleven minutes straight.”

“There is no need to tell her that, we have to have her believe that her sorcery is outclassed at every turn.”

“What is going on?” BT asked.

“No matter who or what you are, you are still within my domain and I rule here!” Deneaux’s voice was so loud it had a physical presence.

Mike couldn’t help himself, he had to open his eyes, what he saw had him more confused than he could ever remember being and that was saying a lot considering he had often showed up to his trigonometry class stoned out of his mind.

Trip was garbed in a purple robe befitting a wizard, although instead of a tall pointed hat he wore his Stetson. Drababan had a two-liter half drank Moxie bottle in one hand and a large gleaming curved sword in the other. He was doing his best not to look at Deneaux. The circle of children ghosts had spread out to encircle the entire group.

“BT, I think I dosed one too many times, pretty sure I’m locked up in an insane asylum somewhere.”

“’Bout time,” the big man responded.

“Open your eyes and please tell me what you see.”

“The ghosts?” BT asked.

“Seem to be busy, but thank you for your concern about me.”

“No sense in both of us going down.”

Mike thought, he wasn’t wrong.

“Jesus, Mike you could have warned me, looks like she dressed up in a costume from a budget Halloween store. How am I ever going to get that image out of my mind?” He was referring to their less than accommodating host.

Deneaux was wrapped in black leather straps and a sheer negligee that hinted at her being a bitchy witch and left little to the imagination, though all involved wished it had.

“Enough of this!” She screamed, bolts of blue lightning issued forth from her gnarled hands, splitting and splintering. The streaks raced out and struck the children, causing their faces to become masks of pain and anguish, loathing and hate, Deneaux was fueling their corrupted souls. The children danced about like the puppets on strings they were. They began to tighten the circle, even as their bodies were twisted into savage mimicries of what they once were.

Mike didn’t know exactly what was going to happen when they got to him and the rest but it was likely it would not be good, far from it. He stood back-to-back with BT waiting for the end.

“I will save us!” Dee bellowed as he swung his strange sword at the nearest figure, the steel that had passed through the ghost, blackened and fell away like the ash of a cigarette. “That did not work!” Dee kept yelling as if no one had seen what had just happened.

The air around Trip was crackling but as of yet he’d not been able to stop the advance of the demon children.

“I can’t get my magic up! I should have brought a bigger wand. I bet this never happens to other wizards.”

“I wish someone would do something that worked!” Mike blurted out and almost on command the air around them began to shimmer as if on the verge of boiling.

“What is going on?” BT asked as a giant red demon began to form and take shape.

“I am Kalandar!” he bellowed. “Breaker of dimensions, destroyer of worlds, third conqueror of Aradinia, and soul-eater of ghouls! The right-hand demon to the possessor, first of my kind to go forth into the wilds and return. I am the bringer of chaos into order, the slaughterer of Bazzaros, second kin to Denderia (she of the famed raid on the heavens), and fabled defender of the Red Witch. Friend to the one who calls himself Talbot and has wandered the realms. My exploits so legendary as to span multiple tomes. I have borne witness to the descent and will be there leading the ascent. My might so feared, my skill so dreaded, my knowledge so vast that entire prison realms have been erected to keep me trapped; all have failed. I am the chain breaker, a gargantuan among gods, the one so feared I was removed from Hades. All that stand before me quake in awe. My name alone strikes foreboding into the hearts of my enemies. There are none alive, now nor ever, who could stand before me. Those who would oppose me are impotent in their challenge! You would dare now to defy me?”

“You know him?” Trip had asked looking over his shoulder at Mike.

“Yeah, we go way back, same kindergarten class. No, I don’t know him!” Mike responded.

Kalandar gave what could be considered a smile in the underworld, though it nearly froze the blood in their veins, he gave a slight wave of his hand to Mike.

“What in the fuck is going on?” Mike asked, wishing desperately he could back up further but there was no where to go.

The demon swiveled his massive head to Deneaux, the bloodlust had waned slightly in her eyes but had yet to wink out. “You go too far!” He stretched his hand out, his enormous finger touching her chest. “How dare you bring the children of the damned here!”

“This is my realm to do as I please!” Deneaux shouted back.

“Soul stealing is above your station.” Kalandar told her.

“It is not their souls I am interested in, it is the torture of the flesh that I desire.”

“I cannot allow this!” Kalandar thundered.

“Allow? I have created this reality, I am god-like in my abilities within its confines!” Deneaux retorted. She motioned with her hand and the children moved toward Kalandar.

“You are about to learn that there is a vast difference between god-like and being one.” Kalandar snatched one of the children from the air, smoke poured forth from his fist as he squeezed the entity into non-existence.

“You…that’s impossible!” Deneaux’s eyes grew wide with fear.

Kalandar clapped his hands, the percussion loud and hard enough Mike thought his innards had shifted, the children disappeared.

“Come Vivian, if it is torture of the flesh you desire, I shall grant your wish, though not as you expected.” Kalandar said and with that Deneaux vanished. The enormous demon turned to Mike. “Hey buddy. Tell Tracy I said hi, or is it the Azile reality for you? Wait, please tell me it isn’t the Beth one. Those are always so messy, if you want you could come with me, the change of scenario could do you some good.”

“Not the Beth one, dodged that bullet and I umm, I think I’m good, I’ll stay here. But who is Azile?” Mike asked.

“Ah Tracy then, she was always good for you. Always knew how to calm your inner demons. “Until the next time.” And with that he shimmered and was gone.

“Bravo, bravo!” Trip was clapping his hands enthusiastically. “Encore!” he placed two fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly.

“Shhh, little hairy man.” Drababan placed a large hand across the other’s face.

“I think maybe we should see if we can get out of here now,” BT said.

“Ditto what the big man that got us all into this mess, said.” Mike was heading for the door.

Less than a minute later they were standing in the sun-drenched parking lot, the building was still dilapidated but had appeared to have lost the menacing feel it had exuded.

“BT, I’m going to wish you a Happy Halloween and the next time you want to get together on this most sacred of holidays it had better be to hand out full sized candy bars. I’m partial to anything with peanut butter.”

Christmas Story 2019!

2019-12-23T13:22:00.001-08:00

BACON-MAS TIME

Part 1

The forest was quiet except for the creak of trees groaning under the weight of ice they wore like a clinging lover. The large black cat strode purposefully through the dusting of snow; he was angry he’d been sent on this fool’s errand.

“I’m a Gate Guardian, not a bloody babysitter,” Sebastian hissed. He had just become Azile’s familiar; it was strange that one of such importance as himself would be relegated to what amounted to indenture, but, the powers that be had been determined it likely she could become one of the very strongest to wield the craft. It was important that she should have a wise and powerful guide beside her. Puh, Sebastian thought. “Wise and powerful my whiskers; it’s wasted on her. She’s a young girl pining away for a man she can’t have and a family that’s already forgotten about her. How long must I stand watch over these commoners?” He looked at the seemingly daunting wall to the compound and casually licked a paw before dematerializing and materializing inside. “Not as safe as you think, humans.” He walked to the home he’d been watching for the past two weeks.

He was sitting still as death, in a hedgerow, hidden from all but the most adept and diligent searcher.

“Hey, you!” Ben-Ben yipped.

Sebastian hissed, startled he smacked the top of his head on a low hanging branch. He spun quickly to glare at the little dog. The Yorkshire Terrier was all mouth and wagging tail.

“You a cat?”

Before Sebastian could answer the animal, asked if he had any bacon. Then he launched into a rapid succession of questions that became more and more inane.

Sebastian's whiskers could grow no tighter. “Shut up,” he commanded quietly as he smacked his paw across Ben-Ben’s face.

“Patches does that, but she usually uses her claws! Do you know Patches? She’s a cat, too!”

“Not all cats know each other, lowly creature. Dog, right? Well? Do you know every dog?”

“Every dog I need to," he answered proudly.

“We’re done here,” Sebastian said as he winked out, landing himself once again in the peace and quiet of the forest that surrounded the base. He returned the next day, careful to find a new spot to watch from. He’d just settled in when he was once again set upon.

“Did you know it’s Bacon Eve tomorrow?”

“How are you doing this!?” Sebastian queried.

“You smell like charcoal and charcoal means cooking meat and I’m very, very, very crazy about cooking meats.” Long lines of drool were dripping from his mouth and pooling on the ground as his thoughts swept him away.

“I do not smell like charcoal!” Sebastian answered indignantly.

“Just like it,” Ben-Ben said as he sniffed the cat’s tail.

“I will rip your face off, puny creature!”

“Patches says the same thing! You sure you don’t know her?”

“I don’t, but she seems wise, and perhaps I should confer with her. Maybe she knows how to get rid of you.”

“Rid of? We’re best friends! Well besides Riley, Henry, Chloe, Holly, Tracy, Michael, Justin, Travis, Nicole, Wesley, BT….”

“I get it, I get it.”

“But she’s the one that told me about Santa Claws and how he hides bacon all over the place on Bacon Eve. Bacon is glorious!”

“Bacon Eve?”

“It’s the day before the two-leggers celebrate Christmas Eve. I miss my Winke Santa.” Ben-Ben’s head sagged. “He died.”

“Got a secret for you, dog.”

“Ben-Ben.”

“Whatever. All of you are mortal and quite capable of dying. It’s easy, in fact.”

Ben-Ben tilted his head. “I know that, cat.”

“Sebastian.”

Ben-Ben sighed. “Whatever. I realize that our lives are but a fleeting moment, therefore, I will do all in my power to enjoy each and every moment I am granted on this most wonderful of planes. And that, my feline friend, involves eating as much bacon as I can possibly find.”

Sebastian’s head tilted at an answer he hadn’t been expecting. “Strange to see a canine with more than three working brain cells. Well, as you can see, there is no bacon or cooking meat here, so I will need you to leave, preferably never to return.”

“Stop smelling like charcoal then.”

Sebastian got angry. “I do not smell like…forget it.” An idea dawned in his mind to get rid of the pest, if only for a little while. “I know of where this hidden bacon is.”

Ben-Ben eyed him suspiciously. “You’re willing to share?”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Sebastian lied.

“The place where they poke you with needles?” Ben-Ben shuddered. “They never have bacon there; it always smells like fear and urine.”

“Apologies; I misspoke when I said you had a working mind. Come with me.”

Sebastian led the smaller dog to the wall.

“You going to go over and bring it back? Ben-Ben was craning his neck to look up. “I could probably jump over it…but I don’t know what’s on the other side.”

“Really? You can jump twenty feet?”

“Twenty, what now?”

“Just reach out with your paw and touch my back.”

“This a trick?”

“Sort of.”

“It doesn’t involve your claws because I touched you, does it? Because Patches is very particular about being touched, especially when she’s sleeping, and I’ll tell you what, she sleeps a LOT! Like, so much I eat her food most of the time. Tastes horrible! But I get worried about it going to waste. Usually get a stomachache then throw up on the soft inside floor, sometimes it’s better if I get to eat it again before the two-leggers shoo me away and pick it up. Did you know they throw it away!? Makes me sick even thinking about it.”

“You have problems, dog.”

“Ben-Ben. Did you know I’m a rescue dog?”

“Makes sense someone would try to get rid of you.”

“What?”

“Rescue dog. That means someone tossed you out with the garbage and another human foolishly brought you back inside, along with all your issues.”

PART 2

“That’s not what Riley says. She says I rescued our family who took me away from the cold-cages.”

“Just touch me so I can drop you off.”

“With the bacon.”

“With the bacon,” Sebastian added.

Ben-Ben placed his paw on Sebastian’s hindquarter. The cat immediately took them outside before the dog could move away.

“I told you I could jump it!” Ben-Ben did a small circle and yipped excitedly.

“Yes, you did it. Congrats. Now, if you look straight ahead, you’ll see one tree that is much larger than the rest.”

“Oh, I see it. I must mark that to show how mighty I am!”

“You do that. But be careful of the bacon; it is close to the base.”

“Bacon-topia!” Ben-Ben was off and running.

“Powerful witch or not, this is ridiculous. I will let her know exactly how I feel about this.” Sebastian headed back over the wall to the house, convinced he would not be bothered again. He summarily fell asleep, awakening as the first of the snowflakes fell upon his nose. “None of this cold nonsense where I’m from.” He shook his head and stood. He did not think at all of the dog he’d led outside as he trudged through the burgeoning snow to his shelter, where he could get warm.

TALBOT HOUSEHOLD

“Hey Holly, have you seen Ben-Ben?” Riley asked. “I have checked around the entire dwelling but I cannot find him.”

“He was looking for bacon the last I saw.” Holly stood and stretched her front legs.

“He’s always looking for bacon; that doesn’t help.”

Riley went over to Michael, who was sleeping on the floor, his head propped against the couch and a book on his lap. She barked directly into his ear. “Need you to get up!” she told him.

“Holy shit!” He sent the book flying as he sat up. “What’s going on, girl?” Riley was peering at him from less than a foot away.

“I’m thinking she wants to play.” Tracy had come into the room to see what was going on.

“Naw, that’s not it,” he told his wife. “She looks serious.”

“When did you become the dog whisperer?”

“Don’t need to be one with a dog this smart; she’s a people whisperer. What’s going on, pup?” he asked, gently grabbing both sides of her face.

Riley pulled away and barked a command. Holly nudged Chloe and they both came further into the room and sat down next to Riley. Henry replied from the kitchen where he had been dining on the scraps of a salad Tracy was preparing. Patches padded silently into the room. “What’s all the noise about?” she asked.

Mike looked around the room in bewilderment. “I wish I knew what this….wait, where’s Ben-Ben?”

Riley barked at that. Mike’s attention snapped to her. “That’s it, right?”

“Seriously, Mike? Who are you? Dr. Doolittle?” Tracy laughed.

“Again, it’s Riley that’s the smart one; I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“Not going to argue with you there.”

“Have you seen the little monster?” Mike asked her.

“Funny…no, and I was just thinking about how quiet the house was. He sure does make a lot of noise for such a small dog. Probably locked himself in a closet again.”

Without saying another word, they separated and began searching throughout the house, calling his name repeatedly.

“Shit.” Mike was back in the living room, running his hand through his hair. He opened the front door and was looking at a particularly nasty snowstorm. “He can’t be outside; I didn’t let him out.”

“Any luck?” Tracy asked as she came from her rounds. “Did you let him out and forget?”

“No, I took them all out earlier, and you know how he is when he comes back in. Fifteen-pound dog pushing to the front to get his good-boy cookie. I even laughed more than usual because he sent Chloe skidding headfirst into the wall.” He absently rubbed the wronged dog’s head.

Riley turned to Patches.

“What?”

“Patches.”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone! I just wanted to take a nap. I told him about Santa Claws and how he leaves bacon around for all the good little dogs.”

“Leaves bacon all around, where?”

“Outside, of course! How could I be expected to get enough sleep if he was overturning furniture looking for something that wasn’t there?”

“And how did he get out?” Riley asked.

“I don’t like your tone,” Patches turned away and began grooming herself.

“You’ll like a lot less about me if you don’t tell me.”

Patches sighed loudly. “There’s a window in the basement that opens up if you push against it.”

“It’s too high up.” Riley was suspicious.

“We may have moved a few things around so he could reach.” Patches said, moving deftly to a higher perch, should Riley want to express her disapproval in a more physical manner.

“If anything has happened to him, Patches…” She left the rest unsaid.

“You should all be thanking me. Tell me, have any of you slept that well recently?”

Riley had turned back to Michael. She barked and stood, heading very deliberately for the basement door.

“Oh good...is he down there, girl?” Mike opened the door, expecting to be greeted by a small dog whose entire rear end would be swinging back and forth in merriment. His countenance slipped when that wasn’t the case. “Ben-Ben?” he called out as he turned the light on and descended the stairs. “Shit, why is it so cold down here?” He immediately spotted the reason. Snow was pouring in through an open window, and even more troubling was the makeshift ladder comprised of boxes and a table that led to the opening. He stuck his head out and called. When he heard nothing in return, he quickly dashed upstairs and began to dress for the weather.

“What’s going on?” Tracy asked.

“He got outside, crawled through a basement window.”

“Ben-Ben did? Are you sure? That’s not something he’d do.”

PART 3

“Not unless someone told him to,” Riley growled, looking at Patches, who was now slouched into a small, humped furball.

“It doesn’t, but he’s not in the house and there was an open window. It’s snowing pretty hard out. We need to search outside; I’m going to scold the hell out of him when I find him.”

“As if. You’re going to give him cookies until his belly drags on the floor.”

“True," he answered as he pulled his boots on. Riley was nearly attached to his hip as he went for the door. “I take it you want to go?” Now he was looking at the entire pack. The dogs generally listened to him, but not always, and he was already looking for one lost pup. “Sorry, girls, just Riley.” Henry let out a savage bark. Mike got on one knee to hold the large dog’s head in his hands. “You sure? It’s cold out there.” Henry barked again. “Good enough. Hon, Riley and Henry are coming with me.”

“I’ll call the squad to keep a lookout,” she replied from the transition between the kitchen and living room.

Mike and the dogs slogged through the snow, looking for some signs.

“I’ve got a faint scent of him,” Riley told Henry.

“And something else,” Henry added as he was next to her.

“I don’t see anything,” Mike said as he watched the two dogs investigate a nearby hedgerow.

“Something was just here; see where the ground is disturbed?” Riley stated.

Henry was looking at the pushed away snow, but was confused when he saw no prints leading away.

“Bird?” Riley asked.

Henry shook his head. “It would still have to hop out from underneath before it flew,” he told her.

Riley put her nose to the ground and followed Ben-Ben’s scent.

“You got something, sweetie?” Mike stayed close behind.

Riley stopped at the wall and looked up before whining. She did a few circles, trying to locate another trail but was unsuccessful. “He was here, right here.”

“And so was that other scent,” Henry said suspiciously.

“Did a two-legger take him?” she asked.

“This is different; I’ve never smelled anything like this.” Henry looked up as well.

“What’s going on guys?” Mike asked; both dogs were staring at the top of the wall. “There’s no way he went up there.”

Riley went over and placed her paw on the barricade.

“Are you sure?” Mike asked.

Henry barked in response. Mike hurriedly headed back to the house. If he was going outside the gate, he was going to need a hummer and his rifle.

“Nothing?” Tracy looked distressed as Mike came in and shook off the excess snow.

“I think, well, the dogs think he’s outside the gate.”

“They tell you that?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

Mike merely looked at her.

“Not even sure why I asked. This is supposed to be a nasty storm, Mike—it’s not safe out there.”

“Even more reason to go now. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve; how am I possibly going to enjoy myself if I know he’s all alone in the cold?”

Tracy bit her tongue; she knew how much Mike loved his dogs. He’d no sooner leave one of them to fend for themselves than he would his family, friends or squad.

“Want me to tell, BT?” she asked.

Mike was surrounded by the dogs. Chloe and Holly were not going to let him out without them this time. “I think all the seats are going to be taken.”

“Are you coming?” Riley asked Patches.

“You’re the ones with the big noses; what could I possibly do besides get wet?”

“You could help look for your friend.”

“Friend? Fine. Stop looking at me that way. My eyesight is better than all of yours; I’ll look from inside the vehicle.” Patches leapt gracefully down from her loft.

“You, too?” Mike asked as Patches padded for the door.

Mike helped Henry up into the passenger’s seat; the rest piled in the back. Chloe and Holly were giving Patches as wide a berth as possible, given the confines of the vehicle.

“Captain Talbot? Umm, strange day to head out to the dog park.” Sergeant Ventz had bent down and was eyeballing all the occupants.

“I know. I’ve got my reasons.”

“I’m going to have to radio this in.”

“Can you give me an hour? One of my pups has gone missing; I’m just trying to find him.”

“How many you have?”

“It’s been an adoption process.”

“You seriously think the dog is outside? In this shit storm?”

“I do.”

“And this isn’t just one of your crazy ass ideas or something?”

“It isn’t.”

“One hour, Captain, and then I’m going to have to notify the boss. Don’t go getting your ass killed while you’re out there or I’m going to get in trouble.”

“Nice to know you care.”

“Oh, I care, sir. I care about that 12-year-old bottle of Scotch you’re going to get me on your next run.”

“Deal.”

“And sir, bring your dog back safely.”

Mike nodded before speeding off as the gate opened. He immediately went to the place in the wall where Ben-Ben had disappeared. He noticed when he stepped out, that the snow completely covered his foot.

“Riley, you going to be able to smell anything?” He opened the back door.

“I don’t see anything,” Patches was peering through the snow.

“Henry, he was here,” Riley barked, waiting for Mike to help the other out. “And so was the other thing. Could it have flown him over?”

“His trail leads away.” Henry was doing his best to peer through the burgeoning blizzard.

The fur on Patches neck bristled. She turned quickly to see what had caused it; she immediately froze when she saw it. “Uh, oh.” She was looking at a huge black cat, peering at the group. “Riiiiiiley!” she meowed, hoping the dog could hear her through the closed door.

Riley wanted to ignore the cat; she was still mad at her for letting Ben-Ben out, but when she looked up and saw the fear in her eyes, she knew she needed to check it out. Once Patches got her attention, she looked to where Sebastian had been, but the strange cat was gone, leaving Riley to question what had got her riled up.

PART 4

BEN-BEN

Ben-Ben ran off in happy search of his holiday prize. His tail moved quicker the closer he got to the tree, and faster still as he circled the trunk. It was only on his third loop that he began to slow his wag. “I don’t smell anything.” He looked up and then back to the cat, who was no longer there. “It’s got to be around here; that’s two cats that told me I could find bacon. What are the chances they’d both be lying?” And he wholly believed his thoughts. “Maybe he meant that tree!” He padded off quickly, his tail picking up steam. He was on his ninth tree when he looked around and realized he had absolutely no clue where he was. It was then that the snow, which had been threatening, began to fly and Ben-Ben suddenly found himself chilly.

“I need to get home, snuggle with Riley for a while!” He yipped excitedly and then whined; he had no clue how to get home. He should have been able to pick his own scent up and work his way back, but he began to panic when he figured out he was alone and beyond the gate. The wind had picked up significantly, and he was having difficulty seeing through the thickness of the snow falling.

SEBASTIAN

Meanwhile, Sebastian had entered into the dream world seamlessly, the blackness enshrouding him, quickly evolving into a scene more to his liking. An endless field unfolded before him, resplendent with tall grasses and his favorite flowers.

“Catnip, my dear Sebastian? How quaint,” Azile laughed as she walked toward him, dragging her fingertips across the tops of the bright green perennial.

“There’s a problem.”

The smile quickly faded. “Is Michael all right?”

“Yes, yes, the half-vampire you adore for some misaligned reason is fine, as is his wife, should that be of some concern to you.”

“I wish none of them ill-will. Don’t start, Sebastian. Tell me why you are here and what the problem is.”

“I lost his dog.”

“What? You lost Henry?”

“Not the oaf; the noisy one. Len-Len or something.”

“Lost him? How? Forget it. Just get him back.”

“Oh yes, you are correct. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“You can’t find him.”

“I can see your wisdom is beginning to catch up with your skills.”

“‘Get a familiar,’ they said. ‘They’ll guide you and watch out for you,’ they said. Not once did they say they’d cause you sarcastic grief, which I didn’t think was a thing until I met you. How did you lose the dog?”

“I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“It’s relevant, Sebastian, because maybe if I know how you lost him, I might be able to help you figure out where to find him.”

“He would not leave me alone.”

“Tell me you did not send him to the underworld.”

Sebastian hesitated as he thought upon that. “It would have been easier had I done that, but no. I merely led him away so he would stop bothering me.”

“Sebastian!”

“Fine. They are living within a walled community now, which I don’t think will hold up against a sustained attack, by the way.” He noticed the scowl Azile was giving him. “Oh, for purgatory’s sake. I brought the dog outside to look for bacon, of all things. He followed, like a daft dog is apt to when food is involved. Nearly as bad as human men being led by their…”

Azile waved away the catnip. In its place was a lava field. Sebastian was now perched upon a small outcropping; all around him, thick flows lapped against the edges.

“I can almost feel the heat,” he stated, staring passively.

“It’s real. Or real enough.”

Sebastian, who was about to test the illusion, wisely thought better of it. “Oh, alright. When I realized your Michael was frantically looking for the smelly beast, I decided it would be for the best if I brought it back. Except when I went to get him, he was gone, something had grabbed him.”

“A person? A zombie? A wolf? What grabbed him?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know what it was; I have never smelled it before. There was some familiarity, a mixture of many things, perhaps, but nothing I could identify.”

“One thing, Sebastian, I asked you to do one thing.” Azile was looking off into the distance, the lava field faded away to a purplish sunset. She left without saying another word.

BEN-BEN

Ben-Ben had begun to shake in earnest, his teeth clacking together. “Need shelter, then maybe bacon.” He began to look frantically for something that could be used to keep the worst of the weather away. With his sight limited to ten feet, he wasn’t having much in the way of luck. The snowfall was accumulating quickly, the powder already scraping the bottom of his belly, making the onset of hypothermia quicken. He spun in a circle, clearing the precipitation away until he was staring at the frozen ground consisting of pine needles and dirt. Instinctually, he knew his only chance lay in using the snow as a cold thermal blanket between himself and the howling wind. He let out a long sigh as he curled up, covering his face as best he could under a paw and tucking his snout into his shoulder. “So…cold.” He couldn’t stop shivering as the snow began to pile atop him, coming up over his sides. “R…R….Riley…where are you?”

PART 5

MIKE

“Shit!” Mike stuttered. “It’s cold out here. How are you guys doing?” he asked his pack of dogs.

“I’ve got a scent!” Chloe’s nose was coated in snow as she lifted her head from the ground. She shoved her face back down and was following the trail. Sometimes she had to backtrack to pick it back up before heading off in a new direction.

“You hanging in there?” Mike petted Henry’s head.

“Not a fan of the snow,” Henry barked back.

Riley made sure she could see Mike and Henry behind her while also keeping an eye on Chloe. “Not too far!” she warned the young dogs.

Holly was keeping a lookout for her sister, like she’d been doing their entire lives. She nosed the others’ hindquarters to let her know to stay close.

“I’ve got him!” Chloe barked much too loudly, not realizing her volume because of her lack of hearing.

“Inner head voice, Chloe,” Holly told her.

Chloe’s tongue was lolling as she happily sought out the funny little dog. “Getting closer!” She sniffed hard, shooting snow out of her mouth. She made a large loop before settling back to an empty depression. “Right here, Holly, he was right here.” She had her head up and was looking around.

“And now?” Holly asked.

“Just gone. He was lying down here—I’m sure of it.”

Riley got to the two dogs first, then Mike and Henry caught up.

“I can see where he was laying low, but there are no paw steps leading away. They’d still be visible, if this depression is. Where you at, pup?” Mike placed his hand on the disturbed snow before standing. His gaze was pulled to what looked like two, human-sized footprints, but they were alone in a sea of pristine snowfall. “What the hell is going on?” Mike grabbed his rifle off his shoulder. He looked to the trees around him. Other than a helo rescue, not much of this made sense. “Riley?” She looked and whined; that was all the answer he needed.

“We can’t stay out here much longer; I didn’t realize it was going to be this bad. Shit. Where are you at, Ben-Ben? We’ll never find him in this mess, and I can’t risk losing you guys, too.” Mike was weighing his options. He knew he would have stayed until he couldn’t take it anymore, but this wasn’t like being out with his squad; he couldn’t order the dogs to go home. He would bring them back and strike out again.

“I was just about to report this," the sergeant said as he waved Mike in. “Any luck?”

“No.”

“I’m truly sorry, sir.”

“I’m dropping them off and heading back.”

“Not going to happen, sir, the base is on lockdown.”

“Maybe we can do the same deal?”

“Sorry, sir. It’s a shitty thing to lose a dog, but I’m not going to compound it by having you get lost or me getting caught breaking the curfew. Military food is bad enough; I’m not going to start eating jail food.”

“There a less conspicuous way for me to get outside?”

“You could get a ladder, but are you going to start walking around in this? You’d get turned around in twenty feet.”

“Dammit.” Mike pounded the steering wheel.

“Go home, sir, get warm. Tomorrow when this blows over, I’ll get half the base to join you to look for him. He’s probably fine.”

“I hope so," he said before reluctantly heading back empty-handed.

Tracy was standing at the window as the Hummer pulled up; she didn’t have to ask how it had gone. The defeated body language of each of them as they exited told her everything she needed to know.

Mike opened the door, gently letting Patches jump from his arms as the dogs padded in.

“Anything at all?” she asked, hopefully.

“We saw where he had been, but it’s like he vanished.”

She didn’t press him on it. “Why don’t you get your wet clothes off, get warm.”

Mike went to do as his wife suggested.

“Okay, out with it,” Riley said to Patches.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Henry added.

“I always see spirits; that’s nothing new. This was different, though.”

“We’re listening,” Riley told her.

“I think it was a Gate Guardian.”

“A what?” Holly asked.

“Ethereal beings that are tasked with watching the gates between realms.” Patches shivered. She looked like she wanted to crawl up into a dark hole and hide for a while.

“What’s it doing here?” Chloe asked.

“More importantly, did it have something more to do with Ben-Ben’s disappearance?” Riley’s tone let Patches know she was still angry about the cat’s part in all of this.

“How could I know any of that?”

“I smelled something funny when I found Ben-Ben’s bed and the Mike saw something, too.”

“Just, Mike.” Riley corrected.

“Just Mike or The Mike?” Chloe asked.

“Forget it,” Riley said.

“The Mike saw footprints like a two-legger.”

“That your guardian?” Riley asked of Patches.

“It’s not my guardian, and no, they appear as cats in this realm.”

“Something strange is going on. A small dog somehow got over a huge barrier and then left a spot without leaving any paw prints. None of this makes sense,” Henry said gruffly.

Mike came down a few minutes later wearing sweatpants, heavy socks, and a hoodie, yet none of that could keep the chill from his heart. He stopped short when he saw all the animals in a circle.

“I’m so sorry," he told them. “I thought we’d find him.” He sat down next to Henry and gripped the big dog before burying his face into his fur.

“We just haven’t found him yet,” Henry offered as his Mike softly cried.

BEN-BEN

“Well, what do we have here?”

Ben-Ben was surprised he’d heard anything, with how violently he was shivering. He shook the snow off his head to look at a large pair of black boots that transitioned into a red camouflage-patterned pair of pants. He had to crane his neck even further to look up at the ruddy face peering down at him.

“You look cold, little fellah. What’s a good doggo like you doing out in a storm like this?”

Ben-Ben lapsed into unconsciousness just as an impossibly-sized pair of white gloves reached down and picked him up. He didn’t remember much beyond the sensation of floating; he thought this perhaps was the feeling one got just before they went to the Forever Field.

PART 6

TALBOT HOUSEHOLD

“Come and eat some dinner,” Tracy called from the kitchen. Mike was about to decline the offer, but he figured he was going to be out all day tomorrow and would need all the strength he could get. He reluctantly stood and went to the table. One by one, the animals followed, partly to comfort their human and partly because he was generous when it came to handing out treats under the table, even though the alpha female scolded him for the action.

Mike’s sleep was fitful. His legs twitched in anticipation of getting back to the search. Riley stood a silent sentinel by the living room window, waiting, watching, hoping her friend would come back. Mike arose early; to say he “awoke” would imply he’d slept. He quietly grabbed his clothes and headed out of the bedroom. The sun was sparkling brightly atop the new coating of white. Riley was at the door waiting for him. Mike hesitated.

“All right, just you and me.” Mike scribbled a quick note letting Tracy know he’d taken her. He was outside and was now realizing how much snow had accumulated. “Got to be over a foot.” He didn’t think Ben-Ben would be able to walk in it to get anywhere safe, he didn’t voice his fear, as Riley was adept at picking up verbal cues. “Ready?” He opened the passenger door and she hopped in, her eyes staring straight out the front windshield as if to tell him to get moving. Mike was glad for the heavy-duty diesel engine and the four-wheel drive; he was going to need all of it to cut a path through the unplowed roads.

“Heading out again?” Sergeant Ventz asked.

“I am.”

“Want me to get some help?”

Mike shook his head.

“Good luck, sir.”

“Appreciate it,” he said through tight lips.

Mike drove as close as he dared to the last known place of Ben-Ben. He would have kept driving around, hunting for some sign of the small dog, but he was afraid he might drive right over him. Looking out, his mood soured, thinking this might turn out to be more of a recovery than a rescue. Riley didn’t wait for him to come around, jumping instead through the driver’s side and landing next to him, the snow nearly covering her hips. Four hours later, Mike was convinced he was going to lose some toes to frostbite. He’d put a reluctant Riley back in the Hummer with the heat on an hour ago when she’d begun to limp.

“FUUUUCK! Where are you, Ben-Ben?” he yelled before heading back. Riley’s tail was wagging as she saw him coming, but it quickly ceased when she realized nobody was with him. “I’m so sorry, Riley.” His eyes wet with the news. He pressed his head against the steering wheel for a few moments before composing himself enough to drive, and even then, he was unwilling to move forward. Once he left, he would be admitting to himself that they’d most likely lost Ben-Ben forever.

Sergeant Ventz, having seen the captain’s face, wisely said nothing as he saluted and let the Hummer in. Henry barked to let Tracy know she should open the door. The mood in the household immediately changed, from hopefully optimistic, to sullen. Even the apathetic Patches seemed affected.

“You’re freezing,” Tracy told her husband as she hugged him.

“Inside and out,” he replied.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. We’re all going to miss him.”

“I know, I know.” He couldn’t stop the flow of tears that fell. “I just, I’m going to get myself composed before the kids come home.” It was Christmas Eve, and Mike had never felt less like celebrating. It seemed the day was a cursed one for the dogs in his family. He thought sourly on the heroic loss of Bear, who had sacrificed himself so that they all might live, on a not-so-distant Christmas Eve. Mike sobbed until his head ached, then cried some more, his skull feeling like it had been filled with expanding concrete. By the time he was done, night had settled and he made his way downstairs. His kids were all home and helping Tracy prepare the traditional Christmas feast. It wasn’t quite the spread they’d had in the past, but it was appreciated more. No mention was made of Ben-Ben in the hopes that they could delay the topic, at least, until after the Holiday.

Mike smiled at all the appropriate times and did a reasonable facsimile of a happy man, but every time he looked over to the dogs and the glaring omission of the loudest among them, his mood quickly sank. Patches had, at some point, padded down to the basement and her secret way out.

PATCHES

“Get him back!” Patches hissed. Sebastian jumped, his tail puffed huge. For the first time in a very long time, he’d been scared.

“How do you all keep finding me?” He was annoyed that she’d seen him startled.

“Get him back!” she repeated.

“Is this about guilt for your part in his disappearance, or do you really want him back?”

“He is an obnoxious dullard, who, for the life of him, cannot be quiet for more than five minutes. Yet, he has saved my life, and I love him for that and because he is an obnoxious dullard who cannot be quiet for five minutes. So, to answer your question, yes. I want him back, and you’re going to do that or so help me.”

“So help you what, feline? You know what I am, do you believe yourself capable of making good on your threat? Yet…that you would even dare to challenge me so lends believability to your claim. I would gladly bring him back, for I, also, in part, am responsible for him going missing, but I cannot. Some…thing has taken him, and I do not know to where or for what reasons.”

“It wasn’t you?”

“It was not.”

“Why are you watching this family?”

“A favor for a friend.”

“You are not doing a good job of it then,” Patches said before turning tail and leaving.

“You would be correct,” Sebastian said quietly, “and for that, I am sorry.”

PART 7 - Conclusion

Christmas Eve

The night went well enough; there were laughs aplenty among the team, family and friends. The party broke up around midnight. Tracy was standing in the kitchen, her hands upon her hips as she looked at the mess on the counter and sink.

“Want some help?” Mike asked, coming up behind her.

“I was going to leave it for tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”

“You are so full of it, woman. I’ve been married to you long enough to know that you won’t be able to sleep knowing it looks like this down here.” He moved past her to start tossing trash. “I can’t believe you give me crap about my OCD when you make a strong case for yourself.”

Tracy began to wash dishes, and Mike was busy drying. “I find it strange that, in a house full of guests and family, four dogs and a cat, it still feels silent. Do you know what I mean?” She handed him a large bowl.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about. I almost tossed the bowl of candied bacon, couldn’t stand to look at it. Ben-Ben would have harangued the hell out of me until I gave him damn near all of it. As it is, I stashed a few pieces for when…” His words stalled as his throat constricted. They both knew the odds of the small dog having survived the storm were as minimal as they could be. “Damn dog…I’m almost mad at him for making me feel this way. Does that make me a bad person?” Mike buried his face in his wife’s shoulder. They finished the chores in silence before heading up. Mike was first up the stairs.

“Avalyn? What are you still doing awake?” The little girl was sitting on the top step.

“Waiting for Santa. I asked for a very special gift.”

“You know he can tell if little kids are awake. He won’t come if you’re sitting here.”

“But Ben-Ben might be cold when he brings him home; I wanted to give him my blanket.”

Mike had to swallow back the emotions that threatened to flood out. “Come on, kiddo, let’s get you in bed.”

Tracy checked on the little girl twenty minutes later so they could do their part and play Santa. “She’s out; let’s get the presents under the tree.”

“Next year, could you remind me to find toys that don’t have stickers?” Mike bemoaned an hour later when he’d finished the assembly-required gifts.

“You’ve said that every year.”

“Definitely meant it every year.”

“You love it.”

“I know,” he replied. Mike gave each dog a healthy pat before heading upstairs to get some sleep. He was so tired, bone-weary, really, the stress and loss had drained him. Patches meowed loudly at him from the windowsill. “You too?” Mike gently petted her head, she purred affectionately. “You know, you generally avoid me, right? I think that’s partly my fault and for that, I’m sorry.” She moved her head into his palm. “We’ll work on it going forward. You cool with that?” She purred again. Mike took a long, wistful look out the window, looking for a Christmas miracle. Sadly, he was not surprised when he did not find one.

3:00 am.

Mike had fallen asleep. Even in an unconscious state, he was thankful his dreams weren’t haunting him with all the loss he’d suffered. It was somehow comforting to sleep that of the dead. That changed suddenly when he heard first one dog barking, then another, until finally it sounded like an overcrowded kennel.

“What the hell?” he asked as he sat up. The echoes of the discord were dying down as he stood; Tracy was still sound asleep. Did I imagine that? He grabbed his M-16 off the dresser and headed to the top of the stairs. There was an unnatural, reddish glow emanating from downstairs—his first thought was fire. He headed down fast, to check on it first to see if an evacuation was warranted, taking the stairs two at a time. Just as he turned the corner into the living room, the aura coming from the fireplace faded out.

“What the hell?” he said for the second time and would think it rapidly the next few moments. Then his heart nearly stopped in his chest. He was looking at the back end of a sitting dog that very much resembled a Yorkshire Terrier. “This is a fucking dream.” He was reasoning it out. He’d heard barking that no one else had heard, he’d seen the light of a non-burning fire, and now he was having visions of a dog that was gone. “Doesn’t feel like a dream, though…Ben-Ben?”

The small dog turned slowly around.

“Okay, if this is a dream, he’s going to turn and I’m going to be looking at a clown face or something equally as scary.” Instead, he saw a familiar, lolling tongue. Mike almost dropped his rifle. “Is that you, boy?”

Ben-Ben looked confused, like perhaps he had awoken from a very long and intense dream, and was not quite sure what was real or not—pretty much the same thing Mike was going through. Once he sorted out his feelings, he bounded toward his human, tail wagging at an accelerated pace. The dog couldn’t have weighed more than fifteen pounds, but struck Mike with enough momentum to bowl him over. The resounding thud was loud enough to wake the nearby dogs, who began to bark in earnest, this loud enough to wake up the rest of the family.

“Mike?” Tracy was coming down the stairs. “Is everything all right?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic!” he cried as Ben-Ben savagely licked his face.

“What…what is going on?” She stopped as she looked at the scene unfolding before her. Riley was going crazy; it was strange to see the usually so reserved dog spinning in circles and occasionally stopping to lick her little friend.

“Don’t know, don’t care!” Mike was flat on his back, the animal pack celebrating all around him.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Avalyn clapped before clasping her hands together.

Mike was absolutely sick of crying, yet did so again. It was rare in this world, especially now, to lose something and then get it back.

“I was saving this…seriously never thought I was going to use it, but…” Mike headed to the fridge and grabbed the candied bacon. Ben-Ben sat patiently on his haunches; as Mike approached, he turned his head when Mike extended the treat to him. “Are you sure you’re my dog?” Ben-Ben nudged Mike’s outstretched hand so that the bacon was in front of Riley. “Sharing? Seriously? You? Fine.” Mike broke up the bacon and gave a piece to each of the dogs, coming full circle to the terrier, who did not refuse his offering this time. “I feel like you learned a Christmas lesson, boy. Maybe we’ll get you a Lifetime movie or something.” Mike hugged the dog again.

“Mike, the mantle.” Tracy was pointing.

Besides the candles and the stocking holders and a small Christmas tree globe, there was a red envelope with gold lettering, addressed to him.

“I don’t have to open it just yet,” he said.

“That’s the thing; it’s not from me.”

Mike turned to the kids; they all shook their heads. There was no cause to be nervous, yet he was, as he stood and grabbed it. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he would swear he felt a small electrical spark when he touched it. His hands were shaking as he ripped the envelope open; there was a card inside with a picture of coal on the front. He read it silently first, then aloud.

“Merry Christmas, Michael! As I tallied my list for the year, you fell short of the Nice column, the dolls you procure put you squarely within the Naughty.” Mike sheepishly looked up at that part. It wasn’t like his black-market business was a secret, but he also didn’t advertise, nor talk with his kids about it.

“You have dolls?” Avalyn asked.

“You ever think about editing what you’re reading?” Tracy asked.

“He doesn’t when he’s talking, why change now?” Travis asked.

Justin fist-bumped his brother. Mike had a red hue of embarrassment flushing up his neck.

“Ahem," he cleared his throat. “‘But this isn’t about you, this is about a good dog named Ben-Ben, and the family that loves him. I have immensely enjoyed his company through this busiest of nights. Take care of him as he would take care of you. I wish you all the Merriest of Christmases.’ It’s signed with an S.” Mike held the card up to show.

“Santa’s the best!” Avalyn yelled.

“You had nothing to do with this?” Tracy asked as an aside.

“I would never pretend not to have found a lost dog. I’m all for a practical joke, but that would be cruel," he told her.

Patches slowly walked up to Ben-Ben. “I am sorry.” Her head was down.

“Sorry? You were right! I had more bacon than I’ve ever had before! Santa is so nice.” He gave the side of her face a wet lick.

“It’s good to have you back," she purred.

The Talbots celebrated the day in earnest, remembering all they had lost and reveling in all they had.

The Tufo family wishes you the best of Holidays! Thanks to you all for your love and support throughout the year(s)!

2016-07-25T17:05:00.004-07:00

As a surprise to fans Sean Runnette read a portion of Zombie Fallout live at the Scares That Cares Convention July 2016

https://youtu.be/gbKVb1-X6ZU

SPOILER! This is the raw Prologue for Indian Hill 6. I wouldn't suggest starting here!

2016-07-10T11:06:00.004-07:00

SPOILER*SPOILER*SPOILER

IH6

Prologue 1

What a strange planet we live on. We act like there are these huge differences between us, the color of our skin, the religions we believe in, the sex between our legs, the politics we vote for, the patch of land we call home. When in reality we are the largest, most dysfunctional family in the cosmos. And we act like it, we will beat each other mercilessly, unfortunately many times we even kill one another, in the name of God, of Allah, of insert deity’s name here. For things you have that we don’t, for example, oil, gold, land, water. Talk about not sharing on a global level. But like any family, Whoa unto thee that comes over from outside and smacks your baby brother upside the head or calls your sister a slut. Retribution is swift and oftentimes harsh.

I mean in this case we got our ass kicked,the ruling Genogerians came down with their Progerian fighters and basically beat us up and down the sidewalk. Not at first, I suppose, no I got sucked up into a life or death cage match with an entire venue of concert goers and somehow came out on top and was given the moniker of Earth Champion for whatever the hell that meant. We caused some damage on that mothership, but it was like stubbing the toe of a giant. They leveled cities and destroyed vast swaths of the human population. If not for some sympathizers and militia groups we’d already be under the iron yoke of the ruling class, fighting their wars and feeding their soldiers.. and by feeding, I mean we’d be on their diet. We’re apparently very tasty with a light alfredo cream sauce.

From the brink we fought back, landing some effectual punches putting the aggressor on the ropes and actually wresting control back from our potential enslavers. All was partially good. With our bell still sufficiently rung we knew we weren’t out of the woods just yet. Our infrastructure and government were a thing of the past and we were under the gun. Their ship the Julipion had sent off a distress call, it would only be a matter of time until someone came to investigate. Those three years on earth were among the most civil, well-behaved of our entire history. We had a much larger and more dangerous enemy than ourselves to contend with and it was going to take all of us that remained to pull together if we even wanted a chance. If not for the threat of complete extinction one might even be able to use the word idyllic.

Sure there was still your normal human drama, Beth was still alive and I guess she just liked to continually stir the pot. Hard to fathom that I killed people in the hopes to get her back, now I’d kill them to make sure that never happened. Something snapped in that fragile mind housed inside that beautiful face. I felt bad for Paul, my best friend and pretty much leader of the world. He had all he didn’t want and could not have what he so desperately needed. Beth had married him as a way to stay close to me and I think she thought it was going to drive me into fits of jealousy. Oh it drove me into fits but not for any of the traditional reasons. She was a pain in the ass and an extremely dangerous one at that for she had the ear and the bed of the most powerful man on the planet.

For three years we pooled all of our resources into making our planet one giant united weapon, we had Genogerians and some Progerians on our side. We produced massive plants to reverse engineer and create our own space fighters, we didn’t have the time or the materials to build planet busters, we could only work on the Julipion which we retrofitted and renamed the Guardian. It was our flagship and really our only ship. She was our first and only means of any type of defense, sure we could harangue occupation troops but we learned they would only suffer that for so long before they’d make the planet uninhabitable. Something they had done to another species that had decided it did not want to be under Progerian rule. The Stryvers became our ally, would have been a lot more helpful if they looked like fuzzy koala bears and not the living, breathing, nightmare that they were.

They supplied us with weapons and some technology, though this felt very much like a robbing Peter to pay Paul type of scenario. We’d figured out soon enough that the Stryvers weren’t really here so much to help us as they were to help themselves. In their perfect world we would be wiped out at the same time as the Progerians or worst case scenario the victor would be so completely and thoroughly weakened that the Stryvers could come in and claim the victory for themselves. They were a race without a planet and it looked like Earth would suit their needs. We could not fight on two fronts but it was no fun fighting forwards with one eye to our rear.

When the Progerian reinforcements came, we punched them square in the nose, though we busted up our hand, shattered our forearm and threw out our shoulder in the effort. We’d won a major battle that might have cost us the war. Yeah, try and figure out the math on that one. I’d come across another unlikely ally in the form of a Los Angeles gang member and together with my tough as nails Marine wife we did what we could to save all that was precious to us. The world and more importantly what my world revolved around, my infant son. The same son I had entrusted the safety of to a Genogerian by the name of Drababan.

He was enormous, eight feet and somewhere in the six hundred pound range, as mean looking as a black mamba with rabies yet I loved him like a brother and I trusted him implicitly. It was my goal, no that’s not forceful enough, it was with every fiber of my being that I was going to get back to him and my son. We had a war to fight, a war to win and I would keep doing all of that until the end came. Not sure what that end would entail and honestly I couldn’t think that far ahead and so we continue…

Ask Me Anything Thread - 6/27/2016

2016-06-27T18:52:00.001-07:00

Sorry, still feeling the after-effects of a 3 day concert on this vid!

Book Tree

2016-05-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

So I've got this big old blog and I do so damn little with it! I suppose I could do some bitching about some injustices in the world but that gets so old. Screw it, I'll let the haters spew on their own sites. Where the hell am I going with this? Oh yeah! I'm finally going to post something LOOOOONG overdue. Padraig Skelly a reader and fan came up with this book tree that shows how all of the books diverge from a central theme. I hope this helps folks that are looking to figure out how they all interweave!

2016-01-07T20:17:00.002-08:00

Dystance got a facelift thanks to Dane@ebooklaunch. http://amzn.to/1RnbPgB

Book Trailer is Live!

2015-04-07T19:01:00.002-07:00

No words. Hope this gives you some chills.

https://youtu.be/FUQEUWy-v5o

Winter of Zombie Tour - Jaime Johnesee

2014-11-02T06:55:00.001-08:00

Today I'm honored to have on a friend of mine that I actually got to meet this year at the World Horror Con - Without further ado - Jaime Johnesee!

Thanks for having me on your blog today, I really appreciate it. I promise I'll try to keep everything right where you left it. Except the bratwurst. I have to be honest and tell you right up front, I ate the bratwurst out of your fridge and for that, I am sorry. There, I feel better now that I've confessed so I think I'll go ahead and move on to the less delicious topic at hand, zombies. I love zombies. They are such versatile monsters and so intrinsically linked with our fear of death and what lies beyond in the afterlife. Zombies represent the possibility that there is no peace and that is something that makes more than a few people uncomfortable and it also explains why zombies are such a great subgenre.

The history of zombies in American literature and film all begins in the Carribean. Haiti, to be exact. The lore says that Bokors practicing voodoo would essentially shanghai people by using a powdered mixture that caused paralysis and mimicked death. The victim was thought to be dead and was buried while in an unconscious state. The kidnapper would then come back under cover of darkness, dig up the grave, and wake the confused soul within. The zombi had no memory of who they were or what had happened. These folks were then said to have been sold to plantation owners, or kept by the Bokor themselves to be used as slaves.

In time, zombi mythos migrated to the Americas where, in the swamps and forests of the southern half of North America, it thrived and grew. These stories morphed from the zombi being sold into slavery to them becoming aware and attacking the slave masters. As more time passed the word morphed from zombi to zombie and the creature itself began to change. This time they weren't merely humans who had their memory erased, now they were the dead brought back to life seeking vengeance. As the decades passed the stories, and the creature itself, changed and morphed throughout all mediums.

In 1932 the film "White Zombie", and its star Bela Lugosi, brought the zombie into the public theaters for the first time. This paved the way for other films like 1944's "Voodoo Man" These zombies were of the hypnotized/drugged variety and the mainstay in these stories is that the zombie themselves was not evil, but whomever turned them into a zombie was.

Other movies, like "I Walked With a Zombie" from 1943 showed the creatures to be magical and under the total power of a voodoo priest/priestess. Then came the undead. In the thirties, forties, and early fifties zombies start casually shifting from victims to monsters. By the time the man we refer to as the grandfather of the modern zombie, George A Romero, came around these beings were no longer something to pity. Gone were the days of the human robot being controlled by another through words, spells, or drugs.

The monsters Romero envisioned are the ones you read about most often today. The term 'Romero zombie' is actually used when describing a vicious, flesh eating, nearly indestructible terror out to spread the virus it carries in any way it can while feasting on the flesh and viscera of humans.

These beasts are still changing, still evolving, today. There is the more widely known zom-poc (zombie apocalypse) category but there are also other subspecies of zombie tale. Some, like Jeffrey Kosh's "Revenant", bring us back to the deep South and illustrate the lush voodoo tales of old, highlighting an undead creature's desire for revenge. Then there is the funny and entertaining world of zombie comedy --zom-com for short. Jeff Strand's "A Bad Day For Voodoo" being one of my personal favorites. These types of books and films poke fun at the thought of undeath. They seek to make this underlying fear of death --intrinsic to humans-- become something more light hearted and fun. When done properly, as Strand did, these books can be just as fun and thrilling as their survival type counterparts.

Whatever form the zombie has taken, wherever the story is set, and what the zombie itself is capable of doing changes based on the author/filmmaker. Zombies have been around for a long time and I honestly don't think they're going to disappear anytime soon. Some brush aside zombie fiction as being too mainstream, and to them I say; wade a little deeper into other areas of that pool, you just might find something you like after all.

* * * * *

The stench of frozen rotted meat is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 10 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don't miss an interview, guest post or teaser… and pick up some great swag as well! Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them! #WinterZombie2014

https://www.facebook.com/events/1524813084430035/?ref_notif_type=plan_user_joined&source=1

AND so you don't miss any of the posts in November, here's the complete list, updated daily:

http://armandrosamilia.com/2014/11/01/winter-of-zombie-post-list-winterzombie2014/

What does the FluffyRedFox say??: Hallowed Horror Collection

2014-11-01T16:19:00.001-07:00

What does the FluffyRedFox say??: Hallowed Horror Collection: What a fantastic collection this book is, some amazing authors who have supplied some huge novels and brilliant novellas. Everyone sh...

ZF Fan Fiction

2014-09-05T07:46:00.001-07:00

Hi all hope you enjoy this piece of fan-fiction as much as I did, the author wishes to remain anonymous but I'm sure would wish some feedback!

My Journal

Entry one: Today I am starting a journal because it was suggested by a traveler that my thoughts may prove interesting for someone in the future. I have never kept a journal but he finds it comforting and I want to give it a try. I hope the reader will forgive my writing style, Mike says just write it in a way that tells the story. So here goes.

Mike and his family/friends arrived here the day before yesterday. I saw them calling out and knocking on doors in my neighborhood. I liked the way they tried to be polite and walked up to them. They looked exhausted and hungry. I introduced myself and offered to take them to a shelter house Robin (my sister) and I had prepared for refugees. They looked surprised and a little leery but agreed to follow me. I took them to two homes on Foxrun Avenue. These two houses have running water and propane hot water heaters. There is a working stove and gas fridge and it is stocked for guests. I thought Mike was going to hug me when he realized he was getting a hot shower. I liked this guy. I told him, "Welcome to Georgetown, Kentucky".

I went by last night to check on them and everybody was in bed. Mike was standing guard duty. I told him it was unnecessary but he said he didn't sleep much anymore would feel better keeping an eye out for trouble. He said it liked to follow him around. I laughed and said I could understand that but that I hadn't seen a zombie weeks and nobody would come into my neighborhood anymore. He laughed and asked me if I was a badass. I told him I was much, much worse, a pariah. Since we were sitting out and it was a nice night I told him my story.

I used to like zombies. I read every zombie book I could find. If it was about zombies...I was up for it. I recorded The Walking Dead on two DVRs to make sure I got it. I would have watched it "live" but it was on late and I go to work at 4:45 a.m. I especially liked audiobooks, had an entire zombie collection.

I worked as a nurse at the University of Kentucky, Chandler Medical Center. A level One Trauma Center, capitalized because it is a big deal. If nobody else can handle the train wreck of your problems, you end up at a Level One Trauma Center, nearly everybody I took care of was on life support.

I was at work when I heard the first reports of the dead coming back to life. The announcers acted like they thought they were being punked...my mind went into overdrive. No...it couldn't be...could it? I thought about it all day and then said, “What the hell, why not?” After work I started on my crazy plan. I have a $10,000 credit limit on my credit card and I am going to max it out. I put a down payment on a nice little RV and stocked it with everything I thought I might need. I got a solar package with the RV for power, a case of solar lights, sterno, case of lighters, case of coffee (I like coffee), cereal, dry milk, canned and dried foods, toilet paper..well you get the idea. I went to Lowes and got plywood for my windows, I got hardware to secure my doors. I left everything in the packages--so I could return them if the zombie thing didn't happen. The prevailing theory was that it would take about 10 years for the zombies to get to Kentucky--we are about 10 years behind on everything else!! HaHa. That was what people thought.

I called Robin in New Mexico and MADE her come for a visit. Robin worked as the director of the commissary at the largest prison in New Mexico. She barely knew what a zombie was. I liked fantasy--Robin watched stuff like Scared Straight, too much drama for me. She is a logistical genius. 3000 prisoners and their families relied on her to provide snacks, clothes and hygiene stuff for the prisoners. Do you know how handy it is to have a logistical genius during a Zombie invasion? Wow she was unbelievable! The help she provided for families was incredible. You know how in the zombie books people take over the stores and protect the assets with guns? That didn't happen here. Robin and her crew dispensed the supplies as they were needed and people BROUGHT stuff to the stores for trade. She made it work with a no nonsense attitude--just like she used with the prisoners. You can have a guy with a AK47 show up to take over the store vs. my sister and my sister will winevery time. Look how she organized your family when you got here! Did anybody get a vote? No, I didn't think so! But...she was right, you all got what you needed. Hot showers, good food, privacy and the special things that make this place a respite for travelers. We offer these homes to travelers who are passing through the area. If you want to stay, we can send you to people who can help you get established.

Anyway, back to my story..the zombies were in the major cities and spreading devastation within days. Panic was starting but people here still thought the government was going to do something to stop it. I thought the government was going to make it worse. So I made a plan..yep me...a plan. I am not a military commander and my only experience was, get this...I liked to read zombie books. There is a gravel pit about 2 miles from my home. Every afternoon between 5 p.m. and 5:30 p.m. they set off explosives. My neighbor is an engineer and used to work there. He said the tunnels go back for about a mile. I went there and inquired about buying some gravel and talked to the guys about the set-up. They didn't offer to show me how to set off explosives but I got a good bit of information that I hoped to never need.

A few days later, zombies came to Lexington. Within hours they were here. The plywood went up and we waited it out. Within 24 hours my zombie fantasy was reality. I spent those hours storing information on my ipad (car charger). I wanted to know where to go if we survived. I wanted places to go where somebody had set-up their house off-the-grid. Solar, wells, septic tank, food gardens. I wasn't looking for the dumbass that built a castle in the woods to keep out raiders, I wanted the Mother Earth News kinda guy. I am an optimist that way. I didn't buy a lot of guns and amo. This is Kentucky, you can't throw a rock without hitting a gun collector here. I figured it wouldn't be much of a problem. Mike wanted to know more about my information hoard. A virtual survivor is a person who dosen't want to commit the funds to surviving--but wants to know where to find what you might need. I surfed the net for y-tube videos, off-the-grid solutions, primitive living solutions, home-grown medications etc. Like football fantasy team for zombie geeks. The information is stored on my computer--not on the web, since the web went down a few days into the disaster. Personally, I want my own island in the Caribbean sea. Hard to get here in my RV hybrid though! I've got a few other possiblities...but it is hard to leave home. We have a pretty good set-up here but the winter is tough. Plus what is going to happen to the zombies? Will they rot and just disappear? I heard from Mike they hybernate. Crap.

Here is the way it went down. You know, the best zombie stories are the beginning of the series. Where you get to see how they survived and see what worked and what didn't, well here goes...Georgetown is a place where they made theCambry for Toyota. About 50% of the people worked at the plant, about 10% at the schools and another 10% in local business. The rest didn't work or went to Lexington. The Toyota plant is about 10 miles east of my house and the schools (elementary, middle and high) are on the other side of town about 8 miles to the west. Georgetown University is in the center of town but was basically closed for the summer, Thank God!! Toyota must have treated the zombie invasion as a terrorist event and shut the plant--with the workers inside. Nobody gets in or out until the situation is under control, departments locked down. At first everybody was okay with the plan, after all they didn't think it would be more than a few hours. Then they started getting panic texts from family about zombies in the schools. Moms and family members were rushing to pick up the kids. Kids had been bitten and teachers were taking care of them. You can guess how that went. Zombies took minutes to hours to turn. Soon there were hundreds of bitten kids, moms, teachers and it was spreading like wildfire. The west side of town was overtaken within hours.

The people at the plant were not getting updates from family. Those that were getting news got unbelievable reports. The workers wanted to go home. The managers understood but denied all requests to open the doors. It wasn't long before the auto workers found equipment to start breaking out. But Toyota isn't made up of a bunch of stupid people and they were right, the workers should have just stayed there for a few days or weeks. They know how to secure a plant but the workers were determined to get home to their families. It was terrible. From what I understand the workers went a little crazy, who wouldn't? The zombies got to them because they forced holes in the defenses. I don't know anybody who made it out, but that is what I heard. I wonder what happened. Maybe someday I will hear the story first hand.

We still had electricity and internet in those first few days. I went on the Georgetown city page (where people were posting messages for police and firemen to come save them) and proposed my plan. Lure the zombies to the gravel pit and blow them up in the tunnels. I thought zombies would be attracted by sound and wanted volunteers to play the car stereo loud and get zombies to follow them to the pits and others would have arranged IUDs for the zombies and others would shoot any that survived from the ridge of the pit. I wanted drivers like the Dukes of Hazard, military guys and hunters. I was a idiot. I watched too much TV. I read too many fantasy books. These hillbillies jumped on board The Plan. We worked it out onlineand people who were trapped in their houses wanted a way out, and something to do. We are Americans! We can do this. I was a total dumb ass, any military leader would tell you this idea would take a couple of months to work out. We did it in days over the internet.

If we had enough military experience, maybe we could have made it work perfect. We made it work a little. The first day two 20 something girls died, they were drivers--bringing the zombies to the pits. They missed their turn. They made a u-turn to correct their mistake. A FREAKING U-TURN!! The zombies that were following the cars that made it to the pit were not as interested in following the sounds of the Grateful Dead CD we were playing, as they were in eating the drivers in the parked cars. Imagine that! I stood there on the rim with the gunmen and watched my plan not working. I ran down the side and started yelling at the zombies from the bottom. "Come here...Got your nice juicy human"! Idiot. Well they started coming..but just a few. Then others came down to help me. "Get out of here" I told them "I am an old lady (54) and I don't have kids, get back"! They came anyway and six of us got the zombies to follow us into the tunnel. There was a way out and we ran for the exit. I was the slowest. These guys ran like track stars! Dammit! I needed my inhaler but I made it. I pantomimed a boom while gasping, the demo team set off the explosives. The end of the tunnel collapsed and a lot of zombies were ended. The gunmen got the stragglers and we had a meeting to work out the problems. No celebration let me tell you. We were drained. We decided to do it again the next day and cleared out another area of town. By the fourth day, the guys looked pretty bad. I didn't think they were sleeping. We had destroyed hundreds of children zombies. Their families were fractured. Their souls were disintegrating. This must be what it is like for soldiers, I thought. We knew what we were doing was important but it was killing the humanity that made us the people we thought we were. We held it together long enough to clean out the town... Afterwards, two guys killed themselves.

If you think for a minute that the townspeople thought I was a hero for pulling this together you are wrong. I was told that I was "just like Hitler with the Jews". I led their family members to the pit and killed them in cold blood with my Nazi helpers. I am a nurse and know how grief works. DABDA we call it. Denial (10 years for zombies to reach KY), anger (Hitler and hernazis) bargaining (if we hate her then we are not responsible for killing our kids, friends and family) depression and acceptance. We have the anger and depression in full force here. Nobody is ready to say that what we did was for the best. You can't say what you are thinking. Not yet, maybe never. All these houses are empty because anybody alive in my neighborhood moved out—wouldn’t want to be associated with me. It is too bad because my sister, Robin had been helping a lot of people get food and clothing organized as I was working on my project. She is driving me nuts with nothing to do.

Mike thanked me for nursing his friend who was zombie bit and I told him is was okay because we were bit too and knew how it felt. He said he hadn't heard of anybody surviving the bite. So I told him about getting bit on the fifth day of the crisis. I was stupid and let it happen during the pit project. I went home and asked Robin to kill me. She said she would tie me up and take me out after I turned into a zombie. I talked and cried and talked some more and we waited. I had to pee. I chair walked to the shower and sat there waiting to turn. I got hungry and Robin made me a sandwich (which she fed me with thebarbecue tongs). I got tired and slept. Days went by. We talked about why I wasn’t turning. I wanted to get untied. She wanted to give it more time. I wanted to kill her. I had been tied up FOUR days before she cut me loose!! We were hardly talking by that time. Yeah laugh now—you try it! A couple of weeks later Robin got caught out in the yard. I had a gun and got the zombie but not before he got a piece of her. Now it was her turn to get tied up. Four days later I turned her loose. Good thing I had the gun is all I have to say. We talked a lot about why we didn’t turn and we have a couple of theories.

Mike wanted to hear some more but I was tired, I will tell more tomorrow.

Mayan Prophecy

2014-01-16T09:21:00.003-08:00

I was getting ready to lay down and I heard something bang up against the side of the house. I'm thinking 'deer' because we live in the sticks, maybe a friggen moose because that would be awesome. So I go downstairs the puppies are in the back room hiding under my office desk. I was like 'typical!' I turn on the porch light and I didn't see anything. So I'm a little scared, I said screw this, grabbed my .357. Now I'm brave! I opened up the front door, and I'm looking around, I can see nothing because it's dark as hell, but I hear this real heavy breathing.

I'm like 'shit what is going on?' Went back in grabbed a flashlight (still have the gun). I walk out on to my deck and go behind my house. The breathing is louder, I shine my flashlight down and there's a friggen black bear, looking up at me, I may have screamed, it was dark I couldn't tell. The bear didn't move except his head, he swiveled up to look at me. His eyes were wide and he looked petrified, I noticed wounds on his forearms and his back. I'm thinking what the hell attacked a bear. Pack of wolves maybe?

So now I'm thinking I'm way too far from the front door. I start edging back, the bear makes this low moaning sound and I hear him go thundering through the woods to the west side of my house. If he's spooked, I'm spooked. I start to hear shit in the woods on the other side of the house and I'm thinking, what a poor choice of weaponry I grabbed. I stayed a minute longer to see....them coming. It's started, my house is surrounded I don't know how much longer I'll have power. Good luck and God Bl....

I'm so exhausted. We made it through the night. The basement is lost...they...are...in...the...house. We've barricaded the door that leads downstairs, heavy oak, should hold them. But what's disconcerting is that I see the handle TURN from time to time.

It's just Travis, Tracy, Henry, Riley and myself. Maybe we should have done shifts to watch that damned door. I just want to be the first and hopefully last line of defense. I don't know what they are, human once. Not anymore. If you're reading this, you need to know THEY ARE FAST.

I thought I could keep them from getting inside the basement, went through two magazines. It looks like a head OR a heart shot will stop them. When I turned to pop my 3rd magazine in, they came and they came fast. I barely made it up the stairs ahead of them, felt more than one hand reach and grab for my calf. If Travis hadn't of opened the door I guess I would have been a late night snack.

It sickens me to think they're below us. My wife's Jeep is 25 feet and 500 ravenous sub-humans away. We're stuck, I heard sirens about 5 hours ago, pretty sure they're not going to make it. Once upon a time I'd wished for a zombie apocalypse. Be careful what you wish for, I don't know if we'll make it through the day.

I guess I figured it wouldn’t end like this. It’s kind of ironic, my last meal is going to be a fucking cherry pop-tart. I’m wincing every time I have to take a bite. The basement door is cracking, all efforts to keep that from happening have failed. Travis, Tracy me and the dogs have grabbed all the ammo and all the guns, and have retreated (fuck that Marines don’t retreat, we’ve withdrawn to readjust!) to the upstairs. We didn’t even bother grabbing anything besides some snacks this was not going to be a long withdrawn siege. Unlike ZF1 I do not have the luxury of being able to remove stairs.

Travis and I are shoulder to shoulder and will blow zombies to whatever maker they belong. Tracy after a quick lesson will be our re-loader. We’ve got enough bullets to coat my living room floor in 6 inches of enemy blood. If and when we finally fall even the zombies will have to take pause at the losses they suffered, and if this were middle-earth they would sing songs of our heroics.

Travis stiffened, I sagged, as we heard the basement door splinter, it’s show time. We locked the dogs in the master suite bathroom, I hope when the zombies are finished with us they leave them in peace somehow I could die a tad bit happier if that thought held true. The first zombies rounded the corner they were running so fast they couldn’t make the sharp turn to come up the stairs. More than a few slammed into the far wall and so it begins, Travis fired the first shot. I think it hit a shoulder but it was impossible to tell as we started to light them up. Rounds fired this close were devastating, arms fractured off, heads ruptured, dripping gray diseased mass across the wooden walls.

More than once my mind began to wander and wonder how I would get those stains out. They didn’t stop, no matter how many we blew apart, no matter how many times we changed out rifles and handguns, no matter how many times Tracy reloaded magazines and cartridges, they still came. No matter how many times that fucking cherry pop-tart threatened to reemerge, they came.

So far the zombies hadn’t got past mid-way on the stairs, still entirely too close, what’s that five, seven feet max? I thought for the briefest of seconds we would have to retreat to my bedroom. At that point it would have been a waiting game. This was our Alamo, our final stand was here, we left this spot and we might as well have turned the guns on ourselves and saved the zombies the trouble. It’s a stand-off right now, they’re slowing up trying to slog through the death and detritus of their dead, and we’re exhausted, thankfully we’re not yet running low on ammo, but the zombies seem to be in endless supply. I’ll write again when I can. Is it Christmas yet? We could use a miracle.

Been up 48 hours straight. I can barely focus. There were times in the Corps during battle I’d stayed awake 72 hours. But that was 6000 miles and 25 years ago. I’m a different man than I was then, I cared for little, including myself. This constant worry for my wife and son (and dogs) is draining. There is no cessation in fighting, the enemy needs not regroup, re-plan or reform, they just come unmercifully. There will be no quarter, no surrender, and no Christmas greeting across the span of the battlefield.

We were spent, physically and emotionally and it didn’t help that we had all suffered a fair amount of hearing damage from so many shots. Dialog was difficult. “Running low on 9 millimeter!” Tracy shouted. That was fine with me, gripping the small Glock 26 was murder on my hand and forearms anyway and if I didn’t damn near have the thing pressed against a zombie head it was difficult to hit something.

I could hear Henry barking off to my left, that was unusual although he could be hungry or Riley was beefing so bad he couldn’t breathe, both were highly likely. “Did you hear that!” Tracy yelled.

If she was talking about the mini-explosions that heralded the outgoing trajectory of a bullet, I’m pretty sure I’d heard it about twelve hundred times. I’d sent Travis into the master bedroom to see if he could get some sleep, we were going to have to do this in shifts if we were to have a chance. Typical teenager he was somehow able to sleep. The dead zombies had piled up so high they were an effective barrier against a bull rush of the smelly bastards.

Tracy even had some time to sit down next to me on the top step and take some shots. She kept closing her eyes as she pulled the trigger, maybe because she was afraid of the noise or just in the off-chance she would hit something and have to see the devastation the bullet caused. Either way I didn’t blame her.

I laughed.

“You laughing at me?” Tracy asked as she almost fell over from her last shot.

“Hell no, my enemy is to the front I see no reason to have one from the side.”

“Then what?” She asked.

“I’ve written, what? Ten books on zombies.”

“Probably.”

“I guess I thought I’d be better at this.”

“We’re still alive.” She said tenderly.

“Yeah that’s a positive. I’m going to be pissed if we die though.”

“What?”

“Do you know how many readers I’ve told that if I’m the first zombie or the first victim in a zombie apocalypse I’m going to be ripped!”

“I think they’ll understand.”

“Did you hear that?” I asked Tracy as I stood up.

“Gunshots. Our neighbors?”

We live in the sticks, ‘neighbors’ is a term used loosely. I’ve lived in houses where I could have reached out my window and borrowed my neighbor’s ketchup (not that I would mind you, who knows where that bottle’s been). We’d heard shooting from houses in our general vicinity but nothing for a long while.

“Mark you in there?”

‘It’s Ron!” Tracy and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Hon.”

“On it.” Tracy answered.

Our bathroom window over looked the driveway, the only viable approach. Although I guess that was wrong, the zombies had materialized through the dense thorn laden woods. Enough to stop a sane human, not so with our latest dinner guests.

I could hear them exchanging words, but like I said earlier I had suffered no small measure of hearing loss since this started and since I had been attending concerts since the ripe old age of 12 I didn’t have much I could afford to lose going into this battle.

“We’ve got problems.” Travis said coming out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.

“You don’t say?” I asked him popping off the head of what looked like a 12 year old girl.

I retched a little inside my mouth, that was about the sixth or seventh time I tasted that fucking cherry pop-tart and it got worse each and every time. Serves me right for eating Devil’s fare.

“Uncle Ron’s leaving.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” What I thought was the cavalry was merely a message delivery.

Tracy’s head was hanging low when she came back out of the bedroom.

“He had to leave. They started to surround his car.”

Ron’s car was a 1992 Subaru, that was one pot hole away from its final resting place.

“Did he tell you anything?” I asked.

“Yeah he came here hoping to get more guns. There’s zombies everywhere.”

“Wonderful.”

Then our Christmas miracle started to happen (that would be a heavy dose or sarcasm laced with dread). Our post and beam house was starting to protest LOUDLY the number of uninvited we had in our living room and our stair case. A huge snap that was equal to or greater in sound than any of the guns we had fired exploded in the basement. I could only imagine that it was some sort of structural board as the house was being tested to the limits of its design and it was about to come up wanting.

“What was that?” Tracy cried. “Is someone in the basement?”

“I think our house is getting ready to fold in on itself.” I said in despair.

“Get some clothes on.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Tracy asked.

Travis knew better and had already headed into my closet to grab some hoodies.

“The roof.” I told her.

“What? Why?”

“Hon this house is going to collapse, we can’t be in here when it does.”

She was looking at me with panic in her eyes. My stomach was in full on tilt mode. My idea (see how I didn’t say plan) was to go out the skylight in the bathroom and onto the roof. Although from there I had no idea what we were going to do. It was twenty feet down to my yard which was frozen solid. It would be akin to landing on cement. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“What about the dogs?” Travis asked.

“Gonna have to shove them in the laundry basket”

“The both of them?” He asked.

“It’s gonna be tight but we have no choice.” I told him.

I grabbed the sheets and started to tie them together, when I was fairly certain it would hold I tied it to the handles of the basket. This time I was confident enough to go with ‘plan’. I’d lower them down and they’d be able to get out when the basket went onto its side. Travis and Tracy got out on the roof, I was hefting up a very pissed off Bulldog basket and had it about halfway out when I heard in rapid succession the collapse of another two beams. And there were now zombies at our bedroom door. The hits they keep on a-coming! (Use your favorite DJ voice).

It’s Christmas Eve, I wish all of you that are still hanging on a very Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays.

Getting down off the roof wasn’t quite as bad as I had anticipated. The scariest part was when one of the handles on the Bully basket let go, cantilevering them off to the side. Not sure if they cared or not, probably asleep. I hated using the pups as test dummies but it wasn’t like they would be lowering us down. I knew the tied together sheets could hold at least the combined weights of the dogs, somewhere in the 130 pound range. Tracy was easily under that, she was up next.

“Run to the car when you get down.” I told her.

“Okay give me the keys.” She replied.

Pretty sure the expression on my face gave it away. “You don’t have them?” She phrased it as a question but it really was never in doubt.

“First things first.” I told her when another series of wood splintering sounds resounded from inside the house. “Go towards the street. Travis and I will be right behind you.”

Henry and Riley were outside the basket just looking back up at the house. I wanted to yell at them to ‘scram’ but I didn’t want to be a zombie early warning detector.

“Take the dogs with you.” I told her.

“Henry won’t leave until your there and Riley won’t go without him.”

“Fine go to the street.”

I gave a fast demonstration to Tracy on a quick rope decent I’d learned in the Marine Corps it really revolved around the one fact of getting down and away from the rope as fast as possible so you didn’t get your ass shot. It usually came with rope burns if you didn’t have gloves, we all were going to have red palms tonight. I could only hope that was our biggest problem for later.

She was down and heading out the driveway before I could even begin to churn up some stomach juice.

“You’re next.” I told Travis.

“You sure about this?” He asked looking over the roof line.

I had a smart ass answer all lined up for him, the caving in of the center roof line was all the impetus he needed. He was down faster than his mother if that was possible. Then I got my answer.

“Fuck my hands!” He yelled.

“No swearing.” Tracy yelled from the woods by the side of the roadway.

I was next and I was having the same doubts as the boy, plus I had an additional 30 pounds of added desk weight. (You know the kind you accumulate by eating peanut butter laden snacks as you type at your workstation.) I would later blame the sheet giving on the added ammo I was carrying in my pockets.

I was halfway down when I felt the free fall sensation of free falling or for you truly optimistic, ‘short flight’. I thudded to the ground solidly. This was punctuated by the rapid firing of guns, luckily not mine. Zombies were bearing down, I didn’t have time to lament the air getting knocked out of me. I’d once been blindsided by an opposing lineman in high school once. I felt that daze like quality at this very moment. And I didn’t have the luxury of taking the next play off at the sideline.

I stood up and wobbled mightily. Zombies were literally falling by my feet.

“Dad move your ass!” Travis was screaming.

I just about had those little stupid cartoon birdies swirling around my head. I started to head towards Travis’ yell. Zombies close on my heels. I saw Tracy jumping up and down waving her arms. She was facing away so I don’t know what the hell she was doing, I’d find out soon enough as I sped down towards her.

Travis waited until I got flush with him before he turned and followed. I could hear a car or something fast approaching, now I knew what Tracy was doing. She was trying to flag them down. Would they stop? Would I if the roles were reversed? I could hear the engine revving as if in answer. And then just as suddenly I heard tires sliding on gravel.

“Son of a bitch.” I breathed out.

Only in Maine. If we had the misfortune of living in New York they probably would have given us the finger as they sped past.

“Get in!” A grizzled old man said sticking his head out the passenger side window.

Tracy was hopping into the back bed, Travis had long since passed me and was getting in.

“Might want to pick it up dad!” He yelled.

“Yeah and you might want to kiss my ass.” I grumbled.

The truck was starting to pull away just as I got my first foot into the truck, I would have been left in the dust if Tracy hadn’t of grabbed my sweatshirt. It was close until Travis helped. I felt a zombie hand scrape down my back. And then we were off.

“Holy fuck.” I said as I leaned back, zombies were almost abreast of us and we were still building speed.

When I caught my breath, I thanked our savior.

“Name’s Jed.” He said sticking one hand through the middle glass that separated the cab from the bed.

Tracy looked at me. ‘No fucking way.’ She mouthed.

I could only agree. Life imitates art and all that shit, I get it, but Jed is a fictional character in a book that saved Michael Talbot’s ass a couple of times. Looks like I’ve found my own.

“Where you headed!” he shouted as he swung the truck to the left in a valiant but failed effort to avoid a zombie.

The resultant mist of bone and blood that shot over our heads reminded me of the cherry pop-tart I’d eaten a couple of days ago. “Headed to my dad’s in Belfast!” I shouted over the roaring wind.

He looked back, longer than he should have. “Belfast is gone son.” He said slowly. He didn’t offer a clearer explanation. “I’ve got relatives on Foster island that’s where I’m headed.”

He paused. Not sure what he wanted from us. I was still trying to wrap my head around my grief.

“You folks look like a deer in the crosshairs, do you want to come with me?”

I looked over towards Tracy. I didn’t have an answer, I mean it’s always easy to think up one when I’m sitting at my desk sipping coffee maybe eating a Devil Dog or two. But my house had just been destroyed and I had no idea where the rest of my family was. I needed some time to think.

I apparently took too long, Tracy was all about making sure her son was safe. “We’ll gladly take your offer.”

The truck came to a stop we all piled into the cab, I don’t remember much on that 4 hour drive. There was some traffic, some fighting and more zombies. I was lost, emotionally and spiritually, and hell even physically I had no fucking clue where Foster Island was.

When we finally did reach Jed’s destination, there were greetings abounding. I didn’t much care to stay in the house for small talk I went out onto the deck to watch as the sun went down, I was unsure if it would ever rise again.

When I was confident I had sufficiently frozen my body and thereby my brain so I didn’t have to think anymore, I went back in. The clock had just turned to midnight and two thousand, twelve years ago baby Jesus was born.

To paraphrase John Lennon - ‘So this is Christmas’ - Would there be a happy New Year?

More to come around the New Year

Thank you everyone!

Twelve Days Of Christmas Talbot Style

2013-12-27T08:11:00.002-08:00

The Twelve Days Of Christmas....the end!

’T was the night before Christmas, when all through the home-stead

Not a creature was stirring, not even the dead.

The entrails were flung to the wall with care,
In hopes that Eliza soon would be there.

The Talbots were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pop-Tarts danced in their heads;

And Tracy in her ’kerchief, and I in my Red Sox cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But the dead of the day, and eight ripped open reindeer,

There were old ones and slow ones, some lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be the sick.

More rapid than eagles her curses they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Pestilence! now, Plague! now, Death! and Famine!
On, Vomit! on War! on, Demise! and Contagion!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now attack away! attack away! Destroy them all!”

As hard enemies that before the wild apocalypse bound,
When they meet with an obstacle, smash it to the ground,

So up to the front door the zombies they flood,
With their mouths full of meat, and hands covered in blood.

And then, in a sinking, I heard in the room below me
The prancing and pawing of each little zombie.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the front door Eliza came with no sound.

She was dressed all in black, from her head to her foot,
And her clothes were all tarnished with blood and soot.

A bundle of heads she had flung on her back,
And she looked like a murderer just showing her pack.

Her eyes — how black and flat! her mouth how tight!
Her skin was like snow all dried up an withered like corpses,
her nose dark as night!

Her droll little mouth was drawn up in a growl,
And the pallor of her face was as white as the snow.

The stump of a finger she held tight in her teeth,
And the smoke of destruction encircled her head like a wreath.

She had a oval face and a flat little belly,
That growled, when she ate, what looked like a handful of jelly.

She was crabby and bitchy, a right mean old self,
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself.

A wink of her eye and a twist of someone’s head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
And caved in all the skulls; then turned them with a jerk,

And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up into the air she arose.

She sprang to her sleigh, to her team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the flight of a missile.

But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-bite!”

Chances to win audio CDs signed by Sean Runnette and Mark Tufo!!

2013-11-12T06:29:00.000-08:00

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The Walking Dead Actors stop by for some lunch with Mark Tufo

2013-01-26T10:56:00.003-08:00

Hershel Zombie: William Sibley Hart 

What is going through your mind when are acting as zombies?

 To be honest, I spend much of my time as a zombie doing my Transcendental meditation practice, or playing with Reiki. The days can be incredibly long and I don’t know if you have been to Atlanta during the summer, or even the winter, but the weather is neurotic. We go out there in just about everything accept big storms. When we are in between takes team zombie tends to be silly to try to make the long days easier.

 Do you think if something in particular or do they have their minds blank? For my zombie walk, I tend to recreate the first time I got drunk, in my mind. I was 18 and downed 3/4 a bottle of 151 with a buddy of mine, it wasn’t pretty. I find this keeps my zombie walk uncoordinated and without a set rhythm.

What are the zombies eating or biting in the show when they are biting people or bodies? 

It depends on the scene. They have used actual cooked meat for some of the longer eating scenes, although when the meat is fully eaten it can be any number of things.

I swear the KNB EFX guys can turn anything into a nasty effect. In fact, in the scene where I am biting Hershel on the leg, the tendon you see me pulling is in fact nylon. That is right, that nasty effect was created with pantyhose and a well timed squirt of fake blood. 

What other roles have you played? 

Well, the first role I had, about 10 years ago, was a featured role in a television commercial for Turner South. At this time of my life, I had just recently been homeless; in fact I had turned 19 on the street.

I was a young dread locked kid, with an unbreakable spirit. A friend of mine, sadly now deceased, told me about an audition his parents were having.

They run Stilwell Casting, here in Atlanta. They were looking for the stoner look, and I fit the bill. I prepared for my audition by getting stoned; I figured it was just a little method acting.

After the audition I figured that I had just had a really interesting adventure for a day stoned, and nothing more. Bright and early the next morning, I get a call from Annette, asking me to come in the following morning for a call back.

I really couldn’t believe it, but once again prepared for some method acting by getting stoned. Turns out I was meeting the director and he hired me on the spot. I guess I truly looked the part of the stoner.

From there I took part in a training video for the post office, as the ‘what not to do’, also by the same director. I went out to Arizona for school and then stayed years. I did not do any acting while I was out there and really feel that my life was incomplete.

Since coming back to Atlanta, I have been in Hallpass, Vampire Diaries, and 2 seasons of The Walking Dead. 

After your scene, do you become one of the extra Zombies or do you go through the makeup for the one scene? 

You are locked for the day; you just get rotated to a spot where you won’t be recognized by the camera. For last season’s finale many of us were inside the barn, breaking into the barn, up on the fence, and by the house. It was a long, cold two weeks, but damn was it fun. 

Are you going to audition for Zombie Fallout if it goes to production? 

Don’t hate me for saying this, but I haven’t read Zombie Fallout. Since my kindle broke I feel as if I have been out of touch with the literary world. I have learned to stay away from the bookstore as I have two 150 pound boxes full of books and I have moved, a lot. That being said, if a character really spoke to what I feel my skills are, I would be all over the audition like flies on a corpse.    

C-Section Zombie Clair Danielle Canterbury

       Who was the c-section zombie? My daughter thought she looked like Crystal from True Blood? 

The c-section zombie was me, Clair Danielle Canterbury. As a fan of both True Blood and Lindsay Pulsipher (the actress who played Crystal) I'm very flattered at the comparison, though, thank you.

 If you ate a Zombie would you turn into one? 

I think everyone already carries the zombie virus. So, I suppose it wouldn't really matter if you ate a zombie or not. You're gonna turn either way. 

Will a Zombie eventually just rot away?

 At a certain point when the brain fully deteriorates, yes, I think so. But it would take a lot of time. 

Do you think Zombies and Ghouls are the same type monster? 

Nope. 

Do you think denial is the zombie’s best form of defense against its upcoming meal? 

No. 

How long does makeup usually take and how long is the scene? 

Transforming me into the c-section walker took three people roughly three hours. There were full body prosthetics involved so it took quite a bit of work. Generally speaking, though, it takes about an hour to an hour and a half to process a performer through the full zombie makeup. 

What Would Talbot Do? wristband/ bracelet thing contest

2013-01-09T17:47:00.000-08:00

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tim 2 Signed Print Giveaway

2013-01-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Award Winning Author Jonathan Maberry sits down for a chat about writing with Mark Tufo

2012-12-31T20:41:00.000-08:00

MARK TUFO: What was it like to be on TV as one of the History Channels experts on Zombies?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I had a great time with the guys from the History Channel. We shot my segments in a deserted and crumbling building in New York City during a couple of the hottest days. It was about a million degrees and they had lights on me. But even with all that, we had a blast. The producer, director and writer were all pop culture geeks like me, so between shots (and later over beers) we talked zombies, apocalyptic fiction, monster movies, and comics. It was great.

The documentary itself, ZOMBIES: A LIVING HISTORY, did a lot of good for putting the monster in its proper historical context. They did a top notch job with the production, and it’s been an enormously popular special that’s been re-run over and over again.

MARK TUFO: Seeing the Indy publishing market boom, is it something that you would ever consider doing?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I worked with Indy publishers before I signed with the bigger houses, and I contribute short stories and novellas to many Indy anthologies. I have a lot of respect for the independent houses, particularly in the creative freedom they offer. But for my novels, I’m quite satisfied being with the bigger houses. They have a longer reach into the reading community.

MARK TUFO: What is your schedule like, do you write daily? Take time off after writing a book? Switch between writing comics and books?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I’m a full-time professional writer. I write 8-10 hours per day –and a little less on weekends. My agent keeps me hopping by selling projects before I write them. I’m in a cycle now where I write two-three novels per year (one teen novel, one thriller, and one horror novel), as well as short stories, novellas and comics. It comes out to about a million and a quarter words for publication per year. Since I have to produce a novel about every four months, I don’t get much time off between books. And, over the last two years, I’ve been touring heavily in support of my books, which means I have to write while travelling.

MARK TUFO: My wife’s favorite saying is “No writer can please all readers, its an uncertainty.” I saw you go head to head with a reviewer which you advise others not to do. Do you regret it, or did you find it liberating?

JONATHAN MABERRY: Only someone with a weak ego or a delusional mind thinks they can please everyone. Otherwise every book would sell seven billion copies. I usually take negative reviews in stride because everyone gets them. Occasionally though a particular review will be so asinine or offensive that I break my usual ‘non-involvement’ rule and post a comment. It’s never a good idea. There seems to be an unwritten rule that writers are not allowed to defend themselves, even from those reviewers who clearly are using the anonymity of forum-based reviews to publish what amounts to libelous character assassination. Usually, though, my better angels encourage me to ignore those comments and focus on other, more positive things. Usually I listen.

MARK TUFO: With all of the changes in the publishing industry in the last few years, what do you think are the best? Worst?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I love the upsurge of digital markets for books. A lot of authors –conventionally published and self-published—are making good money because of eBooks. But the thing that makes me really happy is the dynamic increase in audio books. Because the digital recording and editing technology has changed to become easier to use and far less expensive, more audio books are being produced. And, because most audio books are bought as downloads rather than on CD, it’s drastically lowered the cost for the producers and the consumer. As an audiobook fan myself, I love this change. It’s also resulted in anthologies being produced on audio, which was quite rare a few years ago.

MARK TUFO: I read that your profession of choice is writer with 2nd being a teacher. It looks like you have successfully tied the two in together with your writing conferences and workshops. Did you set out to be a writer or happen into it?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I’ve always been a writer. Even before I could read and write I told stories with toys and drawings. Everything else is second to that for me. That said, I haven’t always been a full-time writers. For much of my career I worked various day jobs and wrote on the side. Most of those day jobs involved one form of teaching or another. I taught at Temple University for fourteen years (Women’s Self-Defense, Martial Arts History, etc.), I’ve been a jujutsu instructor all my life; I was the CEO and chief instructor for COP-Safe, a company that provided defense workshops for all levels of law enforcement including SWAT; I developed self-defense programs for special needs groups (the vision-impaired, the disabled, etc.); and I’ve been teaching writing for quite a while now. Over the last decade or so I’ve been teaching a number of writing programs that are a balance of craft and publishing-industry savvy. Many of my students have gone on to publish.

MARK TUFO: You write both adult and YA fiction. Which is your favorite and why?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I don’t really have a favorite. I’m fickle in that the book or genre I love most is whatever I’m currently working on. For example, I just finished FIRE & ASH, the fourth (and final) book of my ROT & RUIN post-apocalyptic zombie series for teens. While writing and revising that I was totally in love with that genre and with YA fiction. But right now I’m writing CODE ZERO, the sixth book in my Joe Ledger series of thrillers for adults. Which means I’m totally immersed and in love with science thrillers, espionage, global terrorism and hard-core action.

MARK TUFO: What is your favorite thing to do in your “off ” time if there is such a thing?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I definitely take time off –usually nights and weekends, with the occasional vacation. My wife and I love to travel, so we build that into my book tours. For personal relaxation, I’m a film and TV geek, an avid book collector and a science geek. Lots of stuff there to keep me interested.

MARK TUFO: What is the strangest thing a fan has ever sent you?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I received a formal printed obituary for one of my characters, along with photos from a memorial service a group of readers held. Everyone wore black and people were crying. Yikes.

MARK TUFO: What do you have in the works that the readers can look forward to?

JONATHAN MABERRY: Geez…how much time do you have? Issue #3 of MARVEL UNIVERSE VS THE AVENGERS hits comic book stores soon. My first anthology as editor, V-WARS is out in hardcover and it’s full of very scary vampires. My teen zombie series, ROT & RUIN is now in development for film. And in March EXTINCTION MACHINE hits stores –it’s the 5th Joe Ledger novel and deals with an arms race based on technologies reverse-engineered from crashed UFOs.

MARK TUFO: What is the one question you wish someone would ask you but never has and the answer?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I guess I’m surprised no one’s asked about how I feel about how fast everything’s happening. Prior to 2006 I was known only for magazine feature pieces, college textbooks, and a few mass-market nonfiction books. Then I wrote my first novel, GHOST ROAD BLUES, which was published in April 2006. Since then I’ve sold nineteen novels, fourteen of which are written and twelve of which have been released. EXTINCTION MACHINE and FIRE & ASH are written and scheduled for release in 2013; and I have five novels sold that I haven’t yet written. I’ve won over three dozen awards for my various books, including three Bram Stoker Awards, the Cybils Award (for ROT & RUIN), the Scribe Award (for THE WOLFMAN); etc. Because of my novels I was scouted by the editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics and now I freelance for them, writing stories about characters I’ve been reading since 1966. I have a movie in development, I appear on TV and the radio. And I’m making more money than I ever thought I would.

So…how’s it all feel?

Deeply weird. Surreal. Mind you, I totally dig it…but it feels like the sort of thing I’d read about in the biography of someone else. And I’m loving every minute of it. I get to play inside my imagination all day long and get paid for it. If this is a dream…then for god’s sake don’t wake me up!

I can be found online at….

http://www.jonathanmaberry.com

http://www.facebook.com/jonathanmaberry

http://www.twitter.com/jonathanmaberry

Indian Hill 3 New Audio release giveaway!

2012-12-26T07:54:00.001-08:00

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Indian Hill 3

by Mark Tufo

Giveaway ends January 01, 2013.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

In the mind of Award Winning Author Joe McKinney

2012-12-23T21:27:00.000-08:00

Joe McKinney Interview with Mark Tufo

Thank you very much for taking the time to join us Joe.

1. Are you still working as a sergeant with the San Antonio Police Department?

Thanks so much for having me. It’s a pleasure to be here. Yes, I’m still a sergeant in the SAPD, and have been for about two years now. The writing career has been going well enough for the last few years that I could support my family on just that, but I love being a cop too much to quit. In the fifteen years I’ve been on the job I’ve done just about everything. I’ve been regular old patrolman, a disaster mitigation expert, a homicide detective, I’ve run the 911 Call Center, and I’ve been a Patrol Commander, which is what I do now. I love it!

2. Out of everything you have written who is your favorite character and why?

I’d have to say Lily Harris, from Quarantined. Stephen King has a quote (and I’m paraphrasing here) that goes something like: “For every novelist – and hopefully it comes early in their career – there is a book that forces the writer to work above and beyond what they thought they were capable of. Those are the books that make you grow as a writer.” I believe that’s true, every word of it, because that was what happened to me while writing Quarantined. I had used women characters before, obviously, but I’d never attempted to carry a novel length first person narrative in a woman’s voice. Being true to her character forced me to focus on every word. I learned a lot about my craft from writing Lily, and for that reason she’ll always be my favorite.

3. How in the world do you find time to write with a full time schedule, wife, kids, writing workshops, well you get the idea?

It’s not easy, that’s for sure. It seems like every day there’s something going on, be it Girl Scouts or basketball practice or one of my speaking engagements or something for my wife’s work (she’s a college English professor). The calendar on my iPhone looks like a pinball machine going full tilt. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. And really, I owe my writing method to that busy schedule. I learned early on that I would only have a few stolen moments out of every day to write, and that if I was going to do it I’d need to be organized about it. That’s why I started outlining everything I do before I start writing. My outlines for novels can run as long as 90 pages, and are usually detailed enough that I could write chapter 3 today and chapter 16 tomorrow and chapter 9 the next. It works for me.

4. What is your favorite form of social media to keep your fans up to date?

Facebook, definitely. Twitter is cool too, but Facebook is my favorite. I’m on Facebook as Joe McKinney (I’m the writer, not the Irish actor famous for his Guinness commercials) and on Twitter as @JoeMcKinney.

5. Out of all your book covers, which is your favorite?

Up until a few weeks ago I would have told you Flesh Eaters. I love that Megan Fox looking girl zombie on the cover. She’s sexy and scary at the same time. But now I really like the cover to my haunted house novel from Dark Regions Press called CROOKED HOUSE. This is what it looks like:

Wayne Miller and I talked about what I wanted for the cover and this is what he came up with. I am over the moon about it. The fangs really stand out and make it seem so incredibly menacing.

6. You have two new books coming out. Crooked House and Inheritance both look excellent are either based on your old trick or treating grounds?

Actually, yeah! Funny you should ask. Both are ghost stories, but very different from each other. Inheritance is a police procedural. It’s about a young police officer named Paul Henninger who celebrated his eighteenth birthday by killing his father in self-defense. Six years later, he’s a policeman learning the ropes on San Antonio’s East Side. But then the ghost of his father returns, hell bent on passing on the black magic he perfected in life to Paul. That is Paul’s inheritance, a gift he most certainly doesn’t want, but can’t avoid either. But Paul has other problems, for his father is murdering everyone stuck in his path, and the murders keep pointing back to Paul.

Writing INHERITANCE I got to cover a lot of familiar ground. Paul’s experiences on the job mirror my own education as a young police officer. I remember how wild it was back then, when I was first starting out. Every night I was getting into fights and foot chases and car chases. I was handling crazy calls from the public, and at the same time building some of the best friendships of my life. I put all that into Paul’s narrative. But there’s a parallel narrative running through the book. There’s a Homicide detective named Keith Anderson hot on Paul’s heels. Anderson is older, a little worn down and overworked. He’s tired, but he’s also relentless, and damn good at what he does. His world comes from the world I lived in during my Homicide days. But there’s another “old stomping grounds” in the novel as well: the many scenes of Paul’s old family house in the Texas Hill Country north of San Antonio. I spent a good many years out there, living amongst the horses and peach orchards, and so that part of the novel was a real joy to visit again.

CROOKED HOUSE is a haunted house story, but of a different world than INHERITANCE. I did my undergraduate work at Trinity University in San Antonio. Trinity is set in the middle of the Monte Vista neighborhood, which, during the late 1800s and up through Prohibition, was where San Antonio’s wealthiest people lived. There are sprawling mansions just a few blocks from where I went to school that take the breath away. Trinity in fact owns quite a few of those mansions, and from time to time, as an incentive to lure some distinguished professor from another university, they offer one of these mansions as part of their hiring package. That was the premise I started with. Well, that, and a baseball bat.

First, let me tell you about the bat. A lot of serial killers keep mementos of their kills, some little trinket that enables them to relive the thrill of the kill. For me, every book is memorialized on the shelves of my office by some little trinket that was significant to me at the time I was writing it. While I was writing Dead City, for instance, the wallet the police department issued me at my graduation from the Academy (the one that holds my ID and all my other stuff I need to present while off-duty to prove I’m really a cop) fell apart. Literally, it fell apart. But I kept it for some reason, and it sits to this day on a shelf about three feet from my desk. Anybody who’s read Dead City will probably remember the scene where Eddie Hudson takes out his police wallet and looks at the picture of his newborn son he’s put over his official police ID. My oldest child’s baby picture rests in the same place in my wallet.

While I was writing Crooked House, the object that stayed by my side night after night was a Louisville Slugger baseball bat I used while playing baseball for Trinity University. I’ve loved baseball my entire life, and I’ve played it in one form or another, from Little League all the way through college. Recently my unit in the police department formed a softball team, and of course I joined. I took my favorite bat out of storage and kept it next to my desk in my office. Using it again, I got the inspiration for one of the characters in Crooked House and the bat figures in a big way in the book’s ending.

So I had a main character, but no house to haunt. That’s where the second source of inspiration came in. The living characters in Crooked House all work for Lightner University in San Antonio, which is loosely based on Trinity University, where I went to school. Trinity is surrounded by one of San Antonio’s oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods, Monte Vista. And Trinity owns quite a few of the homes close to campus. They tend to give these to distinguished professors as part of their hiring package. I was visiting campus just after you approached me about doing a book for Dark Regions Press, and I happened to see one of the homes owned by Trinity. It was an enormous fourteen-room mansion built in the style of a Tuscan farm, you know, the kind you’d expect to see surrounded by vineyards. Well, the house next door was an equally fancy Mediterranean style villa. I looked from house to house, wondering what they’d look like sandwiched together, and that’s when the idea for Crooked House popped into my head. It was a weird experience, because the entire novel really did pop into my head at that moment. The setup, the big finish at the end, all of it. Just like that. And it all came from my old stomping grounds back in my undergraduate days.

7. With your background have you ever considered doing a who done it series?

Already done, in fact! I’ve already done the murder mystery several times (Quarantined, Dodging Bullets, and most recently Inheritance) but I’ve also got the first novel written in an ongoing police procedural series written. It’ll follow a female Homicide detective who gets regular help from a mysterious man who may or may not have been a spy in his former life. I’m hoping the series will come across as successful blending of the sexual tension on Castle and the gritty, hard-edged realism of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch books.

8. How is your home office decorated?

This is where the magic happens!

You can’t see it in this picture but the wall to the left (the one directly across from my desk) is one solid bookshelf sagging under piles of horror books. Plus, there’s usually a cat sleeping on the arm of the chair to the left and a dog sleeping under the desk.

There’s a passage in Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene where the Red Cross Knight has to fight a monster called Error. The scene sticks in my memory because Error distinguishes herself by spewing books and pamphlets containing heresy. Imagine that, a monster that pukes books! Kind of looks like what happened to my office.

9. With the poor economy throughout the world right now do you feel that an apocalyptic event could take place?

Unfortunately, yes. Look at the riots in Greece and France, and in the Middle East, and in West Africa, and in Pakistan and India. I don’t know if our world is any closer to complete anarchy than we’ve ever been in the past, or whether TV just allows us to notice it, but things are pretty scary. Thinking of what the world will look like 30 years from now terrifies me. I have two young daughters who will be living in that world. I can only hope that things settle down a little by then, but something tells me that they probably won’t.

Realistically, I think that’s the most likely form an apocalyptic event would take, mass rioting. With economic collapse, rioting would be inevitable, and we certainly seem to be heading toward a major economic event. I’ve got my fingers crossed, but my shotgun loaded just the same.

10. Are there any new authors that have caught your attention and why?

Quite a few, actually. In the last two years or so I’ve started watching John Palisano (his novel NERVES is amazing), Brad C. Hodson (his novel DARLING scared the crap out of me), Pete Giglio (who writes the short novel so well he stands up to the likes of masters like T.E.D. Klein and Dan Simmons) and Nate Southard (whose writing reminds me an awful lot of Richard Matheson). There are more, but those come immediately to mind. Also, there’s this guy named Mark Tufo who writes a damn good zombie story, but you don’t want to hear about that…

11. What is the one question you wish someone would ask you and the answer.

Q: How would you like your steak?

A: Medium rare, please!

…or maybe…

Q: Honey, can I bring you a beer?

A: Yes please!

…or…

Q: (From my publisher) Will there be any more books in the Dead World Series?

A: Yes! Two more, in fact.

Mike Talbots Haunted Adventure

2012-12-21T11:08:00.000-08:00

Hi all my name is Michael Talbot until fairly recently I was just a normal guy trying (unsuccessfully I might add) to make ends meet, you know, mortgage, car payment, satellite cable bill (arsenal for the apocalypse). Normal stuff. Something happened where I angered one of the lesser gods and she has put me through one living hell after another.

“Well surprise, surprise, Poena I’m still breathing!!” (Why do I feel the need to egg her on, I’ve never been great with the fairer sex my brashness tends to get me in trouble, how my saint of a wife Tracy deals with me is beyond my reasoning capabilities. So back to the present, because of my past this group, Paranormal Examining Society has decided that I would make a great tour guide for certain haunted venues around the globe. They’re paying me a hundred bucks and a case of peanut butter kit-kats for every tour. They could have kept the money I would have done it just for the pb kit-kats.

I probably should have thought this out better, I’ve already dropped a hundred and twenty bucks into the gas tank of my fire engine red Jeep Wrangler to get here.

“Is this the place?” I asked as I stepped out of my Jeep.

A little kid nodded, his mother had a death grip on his shoulders, as she stared at the imposing structure.

“Michael, Michael so glad you could make it.” A small bald headed guy exclaimed as he ran up to me.

His name was Dwayne I think he was the one who had started the group, I’m pretty sure he shaved his head to look like Jay from a far more popular Ghost Hunting team, but hey to each his own. I used to want to be Luke Skywalker when I was a kid (wait let’s go with Hans Solo, he was much more rugged and he wasn’t trying to make-out with his sister).

“So do I just talk about the building from here?” I asked hoping.

“No to really understand Eastern State Penitentiary you have to go in.” Dwayne informed me, like I was crazy to ask.

“You got the kit-kats?” I gulped as I looked at the dilapidated, decaying, decomposing structure.

“There was a problem with customs.” He started.

“I’m outta here.” I told him, didn’t need much more excuse than that.

“Two hundred dollars.” He shouted.

“Warmer.” I told him.

“Two hundred and fifty and then I’m lucky if I break even.”

“Fine when do we start?” I asked.

“We? I can’t go in, I’ll contaminate the experience for the group.”

“You’re kidding right?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Hey kid, yeah you.” I was shouting to the one whose mother had his shoulders locked in a death pinch.

“I’m Peter!”

“You’re going to be my point man, the rest of you (there were 13 lost souls including myself) are going to form a defensive perimeter (around me - I added softly).”

That was how our adventure began, a big huddled mass of spooked out humanity.

‘Hold it together Talbot, think of all the ammo you can buy with two hundred and fifty bucks.’ I thought. Then I realized it was going to take me another 120 bones (wrong phraseology for the occasion) in gas to get home. I’d be lucky if I could get a box of Pop-Tarts when this was all over. Wonderful let the adventure begin.

“Are you an expert on the paranormal?” A woman possibly in her mid-thirties asked me, it was difficult to tell as she was dressed all in black like the specters we were looking for.

“Umm well I’ve had a bunch of paranormal experiences, so kinda.” I answered.

“Jack I told you this was a waste of money, ‘our guide’.” She said contemptuously to her traveling companion and by his whipped dog expression I figured Goth girl was his wife. “doesn’t know anything.”

“Yes, dear.” He said to his wife as he nodded in commiseration with me.

“Well, this is the lobby.” I said as we strode through the oversized double doors.

“Sheer genius.” She said sarcastically.

“Something’s wrong mister.” My little point man said to me.

I knew that was the case just watching the words come out of his mouth, mainly because I could see them. Yeah it was October in Pennsylvania, but it was a relatively balmy 50 degrees. Even in the dimming light I watched as goose bumps traveled down the length of his arm, as if the dead were caressing him.

“Whoa.” He said in a soft exclamation, the air had got so cold his words crystallized into ice and tinkled to the floor. Or that might have been me tinkling tough to say, I was plenty scared. “Neat trick mister!” Peppy Pete said.

“Yeah, yeah, good stuff.” I said as I rubbed my hands together.

“You guys have a good time.” Dwayne said as he pushed me in over the threshold. Nearly clipping my heels as he rapidly closed the door.

“Who’s got the flashlights?” I might have asked with a little too much lilt in my voice. I coughed to try to cover it up.

“Look at this place.” An older gentleman said as his light splayed across the far wall.

The receiving room was huge probably fifty by fifty feet. To call the paint peeling would be the same as saying zombies had mild psoriasis. ‘Chips’ the size of standard pieces of paper hung in suspension against the walls. Rusted rails looked down at us where the guards could hold the high ground and show the newly interned prisoners exactly where they stood.

“What was that?” The older gentleman with the flashlight asked.

I turned and checked the door it was locked like I figured it would be. I pulled out my cell phone, the glow of the screen somehow comforting in the pressing gloom of this place.

‘BT where you at?’ I sent a text to my best friend. He’d been getting me out of jams for longer than I cared to remember, plus he was like 6’5” 315 pounds of pure meanness.

Glared at me. “On my own, I guess. What’s your name?” I asked the older man.

“Jed.” He told me.

“What’d you see?” I asked him. I had my fingers crossed hoping it hadn’t been werewolves, vampires or zombies. A cat if it was alone might be an acceptable answer.

“It happened so fast.” He continued. “It’s tough to say, it was like this black mass darted past my light.”

“Why’s it always a black mass? No chance it could be like a heavenly white light?” I asked the heavens.

“Is this all part of the tour?” A heavyset man with a shirt three sizes too small asked. Had we still been outside I would have told you looking at his hairy gut was the single most scary thing, but that changed once we got inside.

“I was assured this would not be a tampered with investigation” Goth girl said nearly stamping her feet. “What should we expect next? A man in a sheet perhaps.” She said staring right at me.

I put my hands up. “Hey I have no knowledge of anything going on in here.”

“That’s my point exactly, You have no knowledge!” She added.

“You do realize the loudest person in the movies is always the first to go don’t you?” I asked.

She shut up, I could only wonder how much time I had bought.

“I really think my son is getting scared and wants to leave.” Pinching mom said. “I’m fine mom.”

“No, you’re not!” She said hysterically. “You really want to get out of here!” “I’m having a blast.” He told her.

She wrenched him by the arm and pushed past me. “Open it!” She shrieked at me, when she realized it was locked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “They didn’t give me the keys.”

She banged on the door a couple of times. “My son is nearly in fits, you need to let me...him out of here!” She screamed.

Jed came to the rescue. “Listen I have the itinerary for the tour here and how we are to get out, it says here that our next stop is Cell Block ‘C’.”

“Cool!” Peppy Peter said ripping his arm free from his mother’s claws.

She rested her head against the door. We both said “Wonderful.”

“Well let’s get this show on the road.” I said. “Jed lead the way.” Mostly because he had the flashlight, partly because he had the map and knew the way and thirdly he was the lead man and would announce danger before it got back to the main part of the group. I could only hope it wouldn’t involve, multiple screams and cries for help.

Small Shirt Sam was next. Peppy Pete kept trying for the front but his mother was holding him back and in front of her. It looked to me like she was using him as a shield. My gut told me we were in for a whirlwind of a night so I took a quick stock of my traveling companions, who would be chafe, and who would be helpful.

There was Jed, his wife and me, definitely on the plus side. Small Shirt and his wife. He was a plus if we ran into werewolves or zombies as it would take them a long time to eat him. There was Pete and his mom. That was a split down the middle. Goth and her servant (I mean husband) double negative. Three college aged guys, probably from a frat, they looked like they’d been drinking since the start of the school year. And a female who I hadn’t got a clear look at since I’d walked into the place. I didn’t remember her from the front of the building but then I hadn’t been really looking at the group.

For some reason her back was always towards the group, even when she was off to the side, she gave me an uneasy feeling but I attributed that to the building itself.

“Well we’re here!” Jed said excitedly, “I heard there’s a lot of activity in this area.”

The last time I’d been that excited about getting somewhere it had involved getting on Spinning Teacups and I was seven.

“Where’s Alan?” Goth women asked in a demanding tone. She was looking at me like I helped him escape from her clutches. “This isn’t funny! Alan you get out here or I’ll never allow you to paint my toenails again!”

The three frat boys did something I wished I could and busted out laughing. “Something’s coming!” Jed shrieked, uncharacteristically. At least I think it was uncharacteristic, he didn’t look like the type that was prone to fits.

We all could hear heavy footfalls running towards us.

“Alan?” Goth asked questioningly.

But it wasn’t Alan unless he had got past Jed by fifty yards, gained 100 pounds and was now wearing heavy boots as he tore through the shadows unaided by light.

Jed was backing up, as were we all. His light was pointed towards the noise wavering slightly. I was glad I wasn’t holding the light, it would have been moving as if a crack head standing on Jell-O was holding it.

My back hit a wall, there was nowhere else to go, the rest of the group huddled around. We were about as close as we could get without calling it a Roman Orgy. The footfalls were getting louder and closer.

“Alan?” Goth whispered quietly.

The screams started. I don’t think it was me, but it could have been. A mass roughly human shaped but shaped as if from a malformed hand came towards us. It was easily double the size of a normal man and in what could be construed as it’s arms it cradled Alan or at least the body that housed Alan. His head looked like it was at a strange angle to the rest of his body. The mass stopped about ten feet from us and hurled Alan’s body. It slid to a stop at Jed’s feet.

Jed kept his flashlight pointed at the being, the light from it not illuminating the creature at all, in fact it seemed to pull the surrounding light out of the air making the place somehow dimmer. It’s mouth opened, how I even knew that was beyond comprehension the blackness of its open mouth darker even than it’s body.

The small female who I had not seen earlier stepped forward, the being before us grumbled out words that felt like an icy cold wind blowing over gravestones. “You do not belong here.” And then it turned, its heavy steps fading into the distance.

I did not know if that message was meant purely for the girl or for all of us.

I started to ask her, but Goth was shrieking so loudly I couldn’t. Just this one time I could empathize with her.

“Alan, Alan are you alright?” She asked as she pressed her foot up against his head. Rocking it back and forth on the hard stone surface.

“What are you doing?” Jed’s wife Grace asked as she bent down to check on Alan. “He’s alive help me get him up against the wall.” Grace said to the rapidly sobering frat boys.

“Mike what was that?” Jed asked, inadvertently shining the flashlight in my eyes. “Please tell me that was part of the tour, some sort of prop.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You saw what I saw, do you think it was a prop?”

Small Shirt Sam spoke. “We gonna chase that thing down?”

I looked over at him. “You first.”

“We need to get out of here.” Pinching mom stated the obvious. “We should go back.”

“The door is locked mom.” Her son added. He seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her from losing it all together.

“I think we need to keep going forward, that’s the only way out.” Jed said as he was reading his tour map.

“Where to next?” I asked.

“The morgue.” He said shallowly.

“Of course.” I said.

I got intimate with quite a few people on the way down to the morgue. Unfortunately none of it was intentional. Some tried to act brave like what we had just witnessed was some sort of elaborate hoax. The rest of us, the ones that wanted to survive we knew better. There was strength in numbers, if even the only true strength was that the odds of any particular one of us being ripped from the group was decreased. Other than that I didn’t think any one of us could do anything against the entity that was in there with us.

Goth’s husband was sandwiched between two of the three young men who were keeping him propped up. His head was lolling about like a broken bobble-head might. He was conscious but definitely not aware.

“What’s the matter with him?” Goth screamed at me.

“Besides being married to you, I don’t have a clue.” I told her.

She took in a sharp intake of air at my comment.

“Shit did I say that out loud?” I asked.

I could see Jed’s head nodding.

The man on Alan’s left side, snorted at my reply.

“This funny for you?!” Goth ripped into the youth.

“It was.” He told her as he hefted a sagging Alan back up.

“According to this map, the morgue should be right there.” Jed said as he pointed his flashlight about 15 feet down the corridor.

I will swear that it felt like the hallway was narrowing as we walked, constricting might be a better word. I got the same impression of a light sucking void as I did when we had met our harbinger. (Now why did I use that word?) That brought a chill up my spine.

“Jed you need to find us another way out man.” I told him.

“The path goes through the morgue, there’s an exit to the next part of the tour through there.” He replied.

“Time to put on my big boy pants. I suppose.” I said aloud.

“Really? Is all the dramatic flair called for?” Goth asked. “Let’s just get this over with so my husband can get some air.”

“Any volunteers to open the door?” I asked as we cautiously approached. “I’ll do it!” Peter said excitedly.

“You’ll do no such thing!” His mother said as she gripped his shirt tighter. “I got it.” The frat brother that wasn’t carrying Alan volunteered.

He moved a few feet ahead of us. I noted that when his went to touch the handle a blue arc of electricity jumped from the handle to his hand.

“Fug!” He yelled (I would imagine he was shooting for a curse word), just as his body went completely rigid. We could have laid him on his stomach and used him as a surfboard he was that rigid.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pete asked his mother.

His right hand was on the handle and with some unseen force the handle depressed and the door slid open, the freaky part was that frat boy still hadn’t moved, his feet were dragging in the heavy dust as the door swung open.

“Oh shit, are you seeing this?” The kid on the left side of Alan asked.

It would have been impossible not to considering Jed’s light was directly on him.

“Derek man what are you doing?” The kid on Alan’s right asked.

Derek’s head, with difficulty, turned to us, his mouth opened but no words came out, it was the eyes though, those will haunt me forever.

“My God!” Grace yelled. “His eyes...they’re black!”

Well, I was now officially freaked out. I’d seen scary movies with this particular effect and it always scared the hell out of me. Seeing it in real life, well that will put the fear of the devil in you. I noted that as a group we had moved to the far side of the corridor, not so that we were closer to Derek but rather so that we could see into the room he had now entered.

I had been under the impression that I had the fear producing juices at full operating power, that was of course until Derek’s feet began to lift off the ground and then I found a whole new threshold of nightmare nectar. His feet lifted completely up and got to the point where they were parallel to the ground, if he were to stick his hands over his head he would have been in the classic Superman pose.

“This can’t be good.” I said. I ran the ten feet to get to him. I grabbed each of his legs by the calf and wrapped them under my arms. I could feel a pulsating power reverberating throughout his body. It was a nauseating sensation, as if he had thousands of maggots crawling under the top most layers of his skin.

Then he started to pull away from me, his hands dropped from the handle and he started to get sucked into the morgue.

“Help me!” I yelled as I arched my back trying to get leverage.

It was more moments than it should have been before I heard the approach of feet, by the time Jed got next to me I only had the very ends of Derek’s boots tucked up under me. Jed grabbed his right leg, I had his left and then as if someone had turned the vacuum cleaner on high Derek was ripped from our clutches, I ended up with one untied Timberland in my hand, Jed had nothing to show for his efforts except a ripped fingernail.

“What the…!?” One of the men holding Alan asked as he had rushed forward. “He’s...he’s gone. Jeets man what just happened?”

“I don’t know.” Jeets replied never coming closer.

I felt someone press by me but didn’t take my gaze from the room in front of me. The girl who I had not seen walked silently into the morgue. I don’t know why I followed that hooded girl in there but I did.

“Derek?” One of the frat brothers called out. I got the sense the morgue was huge and the question asked should have echoed through the large chamber. Instead it sounded as if he had yelled it into a pillow. The sound was swallowed up, much like his friend.

“Jed let me see your flashlight.” I asked sticking my hand backwards. I was trying to keep an eye on the hooded girl as she walked deeper into the room. I felt the cylinder as he slapped it into my hand. I immediately turned it to where the girl should have been. She had vanished as completely as Derek had.

“Anyone know the girl’s name?” I asked as I pushed in deeper into the room using the flashlight to probe even further.

“What girl?” Grace asked.

A chill like an icicle held in the hand of a dead man dragged up my back. (Which seemed appropriate considering our surroundings.)

“The girl with the hoodie, haven’t seen her face yet.” I answered Grace, hoping that just maybe she was a very unobservant person.

“This is ridiculous are you purposefully trying to scare us?” Pete’s mom asked.

“Me? Are you on the same damn tour as I am? I didn’t create that black mass or make a frat boy levitate.” I almost yelled, okay if I’m being honest almost shrieked, luckily I clutched a little harder to my man-card.

“Fraternity.” One of the frat boys said off to my side.

“What?” I asked.

“We prefer fraternity not frat, would you call your country a,...”

“I get it.” I said holding my hand up, “there are kids here.”

“You’re not pulling our leg about this girl?” Jed asked.

I shook my head solemnly. “She’s as real as anyone here.” I added, I purposefully reached out and touched Jed’s arm just to make sure, he didn’t look too pleased about it.

“We’re leaving!” Pete’s mother said.

We all jumped when we heard banging from the far side of the room.

“Let me out of here.” Drifted over in muted volume.

“Derek?” Frat boy 2 asked (I don’t care what he said about shortening the name.)

“Jeets help man!” Came a little louder.

I swung the flashlight over to a row of gleaming chrome. “He’s in one of those.” I said as we looked at the body lockers.

“No way man, I ain’t going over there.” Jeets moaned.

Peter ran over before his mother could stop him, he pulled the handle to open the door and then pulled out the tray. Derek looked like the first prop of the day as he sat up, he was far too pale and shook too much to be human.

“Hellll....helll....helllllp me.” He was chattering.

We were all almost as frozen, as he was, us figuratively, him literally. (Did that need explaining?)

“Cool! He has ice on his hair!” Peter said as he touched the man’s head.

“Peter don’t touch him!” His mother shrieked, I think she ripped my eardrum in the process. “You don’t know where he’s been.”

“Never have truer words been spoken.” I said to her, not believing I was agreeing with her.

Jeets and Frat Boy one who was also known as Reginald finally rushed over to help their friend. Alan who finally seemed to be getting his legs back under him was leaning up against Goth although she seemed none too pleased with the burden.

I had my light on Derek as his ‘brother’s got him down, I was watching their movements when something else grabbed my attention, something had moved inside the locker Derek was in.

“There’s someone still in there.” I said as I held the light higher.

“Or something.” Jed said as he grabbed my arm and kept me from advancing although I hadn’t moved and was unsure if I was going to.

Peter swiveled from watching the frat boys to looking inside the tray. “Gee mister there’s nothing in there, I think you’re letting this place get to you.” He said a smile beaming across his face. I wanted to pinch his cheek...hard. (The darling boy.)

“Shut the door.” I told him as Jeets and Reginald got their buddy down and were as masculine as possible rubbing him down to get some heat into him.

“For God’s sake, help him.” Grace said as she wrapped her girth around the boy sharing her heat.

Normally Derek I think would have been embarrassed right now he was extremely thankful.

“There’s the exit.” Jed said pointing across the room, he had dipped my light down so he could orientate the map.

“That leads out?” I thought I had asked it, but maybe I had just been thinking it. Peter’s mother seemed to be the one that had voiced the question.

“What’s that noise?” Triple S asked.

“Please be the ice cream man.” I said.

Jed was looking at me strangely.

“I said that out loud again didn’t I?” I asked him.

He nodded.

I swung my light to the tapping, okay scratching but tapping sounds WAY less terrifying.

“It’s coming from the lockers.” Peter said. This time he headed back to his mother without her incessant barking.

‘Smart boy.’ I thought.

We were once again a huddled mass as the scratching increased, it sounded like metal shavings were being ripped off the inside of that door. Then the door handle popped free, the clang as it fell to the ground was all the impetus I needed.

“Time to go.” I told the group.

“I second that.” Jed echoed.

“What if they need help?” Alan asked.

“Altruism is greatly over-rated.” I told him.

The door silently swung open, which was strange in itself because it had moderately squealed when we got Derek out. A bone white arm shot out.

“Oh shit!” I said startled.

“What?” Jed asked.

“Really?” I asked Jed. “You don’t see that?”

“I see the door opening.” He said staring hard at the door.

The arm moved further out. The top of the hooded girls head poked out.

“Nobody sees this?” I entreated to the crowd.

“Same as Jed.” Trip S said, just an open door, probably wasn’t shut all the way or it was busted.

Hoodie girl had pulled herself half way out when she finally looked up. That was at the point I guess I had gone insane, she had no face, no eyes, no ears, no mouth and no damn nose. It was as flat and smooth as if someone had taken a belt sander to her features and erased them from her countenance.

“Jed point the friggen way man, we gotta go!” I yanked him and put him in front.

He couldn’t see what I did, but he could pick up on my terror easy enough considering it was coming off me in sheets.

We were out of the morgue proper when I heard something wet plop down against those cold ceramic tiles behind us.

It was a good hundred feet as we raced (okay shuffled fast) to the exit. It was difficult traversing the hazards strewn throughout the hallways.

“Something’s coming.” Peter said.

“Can you see it?” I asked not daring to turn around and impale myself on some exposed rebar.

“No but I can hear it.” Fear was finally creeping into his voice.

Then came a blood-curdling scream (and it wasn’t from me). I turned so had Jed, somehow he had got the light back and was quick enough to catch Trip S being hurled against the wall. His head slammed off the concrete and shattered much like a melon would under Gallagher’s mallet (hope that reference isn’t too old - look it up on youtube). Blood cascaded down all around us.

“RUN!” I yelled stooping to grab something, anything, ended up with an old walker, not a very formidable weapon when dealing with specters. It was too late for Trip S, parts of him were dripping down the wall. He would never shop the boy’s department for clothing again. We were within 20 feet of the exit and the thing behind us still hadn’t shown itself but it was gaining. Unfortunately I couldn’t see it.

Jed’s light was bobbing up ahead as he made great time, something snapped in half not a stride from me, I turned wanting to face my demise instead of being shredded from behind. I figured I could delay it just long enough for the rest of the group to get free. I was slightly dismayed that Goth couldn’t share this moment with me but can’t have everything I suppose. I swung my aluminum walker not hitting anything. It did however make a cool whooshing sound as its sliced through the air.

In my peripheral vision I realized that the flashlight was not moving anymore, I turned as much as I dared to see what was keeping us from our forward momentum, I nearly dropped my weapon of mass destruction. The flashlight was on the ground spinning and the group was gone.

“What?” I asked trying to figure out what had happened.

The light came to rest pointing back the way we had come. Faceless was staring back at me, no more than a foot away. I’m sorry, I’m a big bad ass former Marine but I was screaming like a little girl those last ten feet as I pushed through the exit door.

I ran ten more feet before the biggest blackest bestest friend in the whole world grabbed me.

“Whoa Talbot man you alright?”

“BT, BT is that really you?” I asked reaching up and touching his face.

“You gonna be taking me to dinner now?”

“It is you.” I said hugging the giant.

“What the hell is going on here? I got your text, so I called your wife. Tracy said you left some cryptic message about leading some group down here on a tour.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll explain maybe let’s just get a little further away from this place first.” I told him. It looked like the door might be opening up ever so slightly.

“Yeah but Talbot, your missus she checked the name of the paranormal group you said you were leading there’s no such group. And certainly not walking through Eastern State Penitentiary, it’s condemned, no one is allowed in there anymore.”

“Wait....what? So I’m not getting my two hundred and fifty bucks?” I asked him.

“I don’t think you’re getting it man, there’s no paranormal group and certainly no tour.”

“BT I just spent the last hour or so in that effen place, I can assure you there was both.”

“Talbot I’ve been trying to find you for 24 hours, Tracy most likely has the National Guard on the way.

“I’d rather have Marines.”

“Are you alright, my friend?” BT asked stooping down to look carefully into my eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be alright BT.” I told him as we walked away from my latest waking nightmare.

“So how’d you know I was really in there?” I asked BT, he was driving my Jeep home and me. Most of the ride I had my head pressed against the passenger side window looking out not really focusing on anything.

“This Jeep man, anything short of an apocalypse and I knew you wouldn’t leave it behind. You know man your love affair with this car borders on the creepy.”

I ignored his comment; he didn’t like to drive so he couldn’t know the affection a man can have for his ‘ride’. “How’d you get here?” I asked.

“Cab.”

“You took a cab from New York?”

“You owe me a shitload for cab fare.”

“Thanks BT.” I said solemnly.

He glanced over quickly. “You know Mike I’d do anything for you. You’re the one real white friend I have I can’t afford to lose you.”

“Kiss my ass BT.”

“I mean without you around as a bad example the women can’t see just HOW good I can dance.”

“We gonna do basketball jokes now too?”

“Naw man too easy, I must have 3 or 4 feet on you.”

I saw what he was trying to do, I was wrung out from my encounter and he was just trying to get me to move on. “Just know that I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have.” He replied in a more serious tone.

And he was right there was nothing I wouldn’t do for family and BT was most certainly a part of my family. “Is Tracy pissed?” I asked.

“Let’s just say that I have a ride waiting at your house so that when I drop you off, I can get in and go.”

“That’s not very protective of you.”

“Hey man you’re on your own there, last time I pissed Tracy off, well let’s just say the bruise hasn’t gone away.” He said as he absently rubbed his sternum, Tracy’s favorite finger prodding spot.

It was a few more hours of comfortable silence before we got home, BT wasn’t kidding his wife was in the driveway talking with Tracy, they both turned as we approached.

I stepped out, gave a hug and kiss to BT’s wife and headed towards Tracy, she wrapped me up in her arms.

“You alright Talbot?”

I nodded.

“Any idea when this is going to end?”

I shook my head.

“You two want to come in for coffee?” Tracy asked as she turned me around.

Henry my English Bulldog was waiting for me by the gate, his stub of a tail flipping back and forth.

“It’s good to see you too.” I told him as I got down on my haunches and squished his face.

BT had declined the coffee. “Good to see you again Tracy.” He told her. “We still on for next weekend?” He called out.

“Sounds good my friend.” I told him as I turned and waved. I watched their car go down the driveway. I hoped I could fulfill my promise and see them next week, I never quite knew what my wayward pissed off demi-god had in store, only time will tell.

Tufo and That Damn Mayan Prophecy

2012-12-21T07:58:00.000-08:00

I laughed.

“You laughing at me?” Tracy asked as she almost fell over from her last shot.

“Hell no, my enemy is to the front I see no reason to have one from the side.”

“Then what?” She asked.

“I’ve written, what? Ten books on zombies.”

“Probably.”

“I guess I thought I’d be better at this.”

“We’re still alive.” She said tenderly.

“Yeah that’s a positive. I’m going to be pissed if we die though.”

“What?”

“Do you know how many readers I’ve told that if I’m the first zombie or the first victim in a zombie apocalypse I’m going to be ripped!”

“I think they’ll understand.”

“Did you hear that?” I asked Tracy as I stood up.

“Gunshots. Our neighbors?”

“Mark you in there?”

‘It’s Ron!” Tracy and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Hon.”

“On it.” Tracy answered.

“We’ve got problems.” Travis said coming out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.

“You don’t say?” I asked him popping off the head of what looked like a 12 year old girl.

I retched a little inside my mouth, that was about the sixth or seventh time I tasted that fucking cherry pop-tart and it got worse each and every time. Serves me right for eating Devil’s fare.

“Uncle Ron’s leaving.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” What I thought was the cavalry was merely a message delivery.

Tracy’s head was hanging low when she came back out of the bedroom.

“He had to leave. They started to surround his car.”

Ron’s car was a 1992 Subaru, that was one pot hole away from its final resting place.

“Did he tell you anything?” I asked.

“Yeah he came here hoping to get more guns. There’s zombies everywhere.”

“Wonderful.”

“What was that?” Tracy cried. “Is someone in the basement?”

“I think our house is getting ready to fold in on itself.” I said in despair.

“Get some clothes on.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Tracy asked.

Travis knew better and had already headed into my closet to grab some hoodies.

“The roof.” I told her.

“What? Why?”

“Hon this house is going to collapse, we can’t be in here when it does.”

“What about the dogs?” Travis asked.

“Gonna have to shove them in the laundry basket”

“The both of them?” He asked.

“It’s gonna be tight but we have no choice.” I told him.

It’s Christmas Eve, I wish all of you that are still hanging on a very Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays.

“Run to the car when you get down.” I told her.

“Okay give me the keys.” She replied.

Pretty sure the expression on my face gave it away. “You don’t have them?” She phrased it as a question but it really was never in doubt.

“First things first.” I told her when another series of wood splintering sounds resounded from inside the house. “Go towards the street. Travis and I will be right behind you.”

Henry and Riley were outside the basket just looking back up at the house. I wanted to yell at them to ‘scram’ but I didn’t want to be a zombie early warning detector.

“Take the dogs with you.” I told her.

“Henry won’t leave until your there and Riley won’t go without him.”

“Fine go to the street.”

She was down and heading out the driveway before I could even begin to churn up some stomach juice.

“You’re next.” I told Travis.

“You sure about this?” He asked looking over the roof line.

I had a smart ass answer all lined up for him, the caving in of the center roof line was all the impetus he needed. He was down faster than his mother if that was possible. Then I got my answer.

“Fuck my hands!” He yelled.

“No swearing.” Tracy yelled from the woods by the side of the roadway.

I stood up and wobbled mightily. Zombies were literally falling by my feet.

“Dad move your ass!” Travis was screaming.

“Son of a bitch.” I breathed out.

Only in Maine. If we had the misfortune of living in New York they probably would have given us the finger as they sped past.

“Get in!” A grizzled old man said sticking his head out the passenger side window.

Tracy was hopping into the back bed, Travis had long since passed me and was getting in.

“Might want to pick it up dad!” He yelled.

“Yeah and you might want to kiss my ass.” I grumbled.

“Holy fuck.” I said as I leaned back, zombies were almost abreast of us and we were still building speed.

When I caught my breath, I thanked our savior.

“Name’s Jed.” He said sticking one hand through the middle glass that separated the cab from the bed.

Tracy looked at me. ‘No fucking way.’ She mouthed.

I could only agree. Life imitates art and all that shit, I get it, but Jed is a fictional character in a book that saved Michael Talbot’s ass a couple of times. Looks like I’ve found my own.

“Where you headed!” he shouted as he swung the truck to the left in a valiant but failed effort to avoid a zombie.

He paused. Not sure what he wanted from us. I was still trying to wrap my head around my grief.

“You folks look like a deer in the crosshairs, do you want to come with me?”

I apparently took too long, Tracy was all about making sure her son was safe. “We’ll gladly take your offer.”

To paraphrase John Lennon - ‘So this is Christmas’ - Would there be a happy New Year?

More to come around the New Year

Thank you everyone!

Character Michael Talbot Sits down with Readers

2012-12-18T14:13:00.001-08:00

Michael Talbot Interview With Readers

Stephen How have you been able to keep Tracy from killing you?

Well I go with the traditional bob and weave. You can’t kill what you can’t hit. Plus I have developed this uncanny ability to sleep with one eye propped open. In reality I do a lot of good which helps balance out all of the ‘stupid’ things I will invariably end up doing. It’s kind of like putting brownie points in the bank against a rainy day.

Audra Did you find all of the "hidden" areas in your big brother's house? Did you tell him?

I had no idea of the depth of my brother’s psychoses, I had figured I was the only one in the family that suffered from some many maladies. Apparently I was wrong. At every opportunity I look for hidden areas and secret button within his house that may open on to another hidden area but he never leaves me alone for too long. I find myself tailed by a nephew or niece almost constantly when I am inside the house. And who knows how many closed circuit televisions he’s got on.

Shasta What are your true feelings for Tommy, now that you know the truth? Is it hard to not still think of him as that special young boy? Do you think that goodness and innocence is still there somewhere deep inside? Do you feel like you've truly lost another loved one, even though he's not technically "gone"?

Tommy has been difficult. I cannot believe that I was so thoroughly duped by him in the beginning. Tommy is as much a part of the boy as is his alter ego Tomas. I love the one and loathe the other. I don’t feel that I’ve ‘lost’ the boy as much as I do the trust. I don’t know if he’ll ever try to exact revenge or if he’s happy that part of his life is over. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him, probably for a very long time.

Keith I'd ask talbot what he thinks would be worse, either more despairing, fatal or disgusting: a zombie apocalypse world or a world being over run by a vampire horde?

Zombies, zombies, zombies, have I made myself abundantly clear It’s hard to imagine that once upon a time I dreamt and begged for a zombie apocalypse. The hardship, the death, the vigilance necessary to survive, it’s taken a toll on all of us. Now if I had to choose which thankfully I don’t I stick with zombies (slow ones preferably). Having had the pleasure of knowing Eliza I cannot in my wildest dreams think that mankind would have stood any sort of chance in a world overrun with her kind.

Amber Germ-X or Purell?

Purell only because I could buy it in bulk at Sam’s Club.

Randy Can I call you Dad?

Can you shoot? Fine but I’m not shelling out anymore for allowance.

Anthony If you could bring back all the family members and friends who have died but that also meant that Eliza would also return - Would you do it?

Without a doubt I would bring every single one of them back even if it meant two Eliza’s. To hold those that have fallen just for five more minutes would be worth it.

Michelle What is your favorite weapon?

I love that Gatling gun of my brother’s I know it only shoots .22’s but there’s something so menacing looking about it. Although that .50 cal machine gun was a sight to behold, the weight is a little much though plus the ammo.

Dave What do you think of this Tufo chap?

Tufo’s alright, I heard he’s a fellow Marine so he can’t be all bad, he stays on his side of the world and we’ll be fine.

Pauline Is there ever a stressful situation you get into and you are NOT a smartass?

Smart-assedness is how I deal with stress, so I would have to say if I stopped with the comments that there wasn’t anything really bad going on OR we were above screwed.

Scherrie what could you have done better from day one, having to forego your shower and go into survival mode?

I wished we had left Little Turtle right from the start. Would Eliza have been able to track us down? Probably. But the odds that Justin would not have got hurt or I would have felt the need to make a final stand and lose my best friend, those events may have never transpired.

Franklin How do you think your crew would act if they meet up with the zombies from resident evil series?

Smart, fast zombies is not cool, mostly likely we would have taken heavier casualties than we already had. It’s bad enough out there without that kind of problem.

Matt Why does mark tufo hate you so much?

It was a girl. Why does any man hate another?

James If you had to chose between saving BT or Henry, who would it be and why?

Oh James why would you go there? I love Henry as I love any of my kids, he is not just a dog to me. But BT is my best friend I would have to save him because he’d probably kick my ass in the afterworld if I didn’t. I love Henry though.

Fans sit down and ask Character BT some tough questions

2012-12-18T09:33:00.000-08:00

Melissa was there ever a time you seriously thought about separating from Michael and the group and why?

Hi Melissa, I still think about separating from the group. Well at least from Mike. And do I seriously need to answer the ‘why’ part? The guy is a danger magnet, if there’s a shitstorm to be found you can rest assured Mike will stumble into it and then he’ll have some half-assed ‘plan’ on how to escape it.

Catherine What was the oddest thing you learned about Mike T?

There’s isn’t enough paper to write down the oddest things I’ve learned about the man. If I have to narrow it down I’ll go with the spoons thing. I thought there wouldn’t be too many more things the man could surprise me with until I watched him eat a bowl of cereal. He had to have a stack of plastic spoons with him, he would eat one bite, put the spoon in the sink and grab the next off the stack. “Okay man I’m curious, what are you doing?” I asked him. “Come on BT, just let me have this.” Mike answered me. I threatened to take his food away. “Fine man, I think putting a saliva coated spoon into my milk is beyond gross. I need to have a clean spoon to do it.” He kept explaining but I had already left the room, my gut hurt from laughing so much.

Stacey Do you ever feel regretful about joining the Talbots despite your friendship you've developed with them?

I’m pretty sure life would have been way easier had we parted ways and I stayed with Alex or even gone off on my own. But even through it all, I love him, I love his family, hell they’re my family now as well. I’d be saner if I had left, but not happier.

Jessa Using just ONE word, describe each person in the group.

Mike - FUCKINGNUTS

Tracy - Saint

Nicole - Chatty

Justin - Strong

Travis - Caring

Tony - Missed

Ron - Protective

Gary - Funny

Mrs. D - Biotch!

Tommy - ???

Henry - Stinky

Kesha If u could find anyone in the midst of this mess who would it be, family member, friend, personal hero?

Most folks don’t know this but I’m an only child, so I love being around the hustle and bustle of a large family like The Talbot’s. My parents died when I was younger, I would love to find my fiancée but since I had to put a bullet in her head that’s not going to happen.

Molly Where were you during the alien invasion? Seriously

Hey man Mike might have you believing all of his alternate realities bullshit but that doesn’t mean he needs to drag me down the rabbit hole. During that time frame I was in college enjoying myself, not defending the earth against intergalactic invaders, and trust e that’s just the way we all would have wanted it. How do you think his story would have ended up if I were at the concert as well?

Lori What is your ultimate zombie apocalypse weapon if choice?

I’m with Mike on this one, screw the close combat, give me a rifle any time. I’m not the gun nut like he is but I’d take a nice semi-automatic any day to a sword.

Gregory Upon realizing that the Talbot's were more than they appeared, did you question why God kept the vow of non-interference, even though the damage to the human species was so devastating?

I’m Southern Baptist because my parents were. And if I learned anything in those hot churches, God helps those who help themselves. And if I were to truly dwell on it, I would have to say HIS influences were present all throughout our journey.

Jordan I would ask BT why he thinks I never win these unfair contests.

Tell them you want to win or you’ll take all the plastic spoons in a ten mile area around his house, I can almost guarantee you’ll have something in the mail.

Phillip what went through your mind the moment you got bitten?

That I was finally going to see my fiancée. And then disappointment that I didn’t get to see this through to the end. And then regret because I knew there was no way Mike was going to be able to pull this off without me and I felt like I owed at least that much to his family.

Marcus So big guy in all honesty if it were a match between you and Durgan who do you seriously think would win, id be rooting for you either way.

This wouldn’t even be close. Durgan was insane and he fought that way. This would have been over before it started. BT - 1, Insane bastard - 0

Phillip Who scares you more... Mike or his wife?

Hands down Tracy, I know Mike isn’t going to touch me. It’s almost like Tracy has a mental block against opponent size. She’ll attack regardless of the odds against her. I learned much like Mike - Don’t piss Tracy off.

Christina Do you miss your scooter? if so did you give it a name when you had it?

That scooter rocked! It saved my life. Do I miss it? Not so much, I much more comfortable having someone drive me around, never been a fan of driving.

Erin Who has he lost in zombie mess? There hasn't been a lot of history with him

There’s not much history because I’ve chosen not to share it. I’ve lost some good friends and I’ve lost the one person in my life that mattered above all else. Someday I’ll be with Kendra, for now I fight the good fight.

Editor/Author TW Brown shares his thoughts in an interview with Mark Tufo

2012-12-14T07:21:00.001-08:00

Thank you very much for taking the time to join us Todd.

Thank you, Mark. I feel like Barbie being invited into her "Dream House". So this is what the Mark Tufo Blog looks like. Sweet.

1. Why a writer? Why Zombies?

I have loved writing all my life. I was the kid in English class who would whisper "Yes!" when the teacher would assign a lengthy creative writing project.

As far as zombies, I actually did not intend to enter that genre. I had a project titled Dakota that was more the direction I thought that I was going to take as a writer. However, a college teacher read a zombie short that I did for fun in her class. She pulled me up and told me that it was amazing and why wasn't I doing more of it. I kind of had that mindset that Romero had done all that needed doing. This was just prior to the "Indie explosion". Then I readMonster Island by David Wellington. I figured that I would give it a go. I have always loved the zombie since seeing the original Dawn of the Dead at the theaters when I was fourteen. Writing something in this genre is a fantasy-turned-real for me.

2. What similarities are there between you and your main character?

I have a lot in common with "Steve" from the DEAD series. As far as Zomblog, I might have a little more of me in Meredith than Sam. However, I think that I tap into a lot of different facets of myself when I write. At some point, I end up tearing away and going way outside of myself and project either attributes that I hate, or ones I admire and wish I possessed more of to make a character his own individual self.

3. You do editing and writing and publishing. Which is your favorite and why? Do you edit your own work?

Writing is by far the most fun. It allows me to get away from everything for that period in time. Whether the words are flying fast and furious, or if I am puzzling through a certain scene...it is where I love to be.

Editing is the "job" aspect. I only enjoy it because it is exacting. I have OCD and so it gets fed well when I edit. I always feel like I have to learn more. It is like baseball in that perfection is so hard to achieve, so you strive for it if you want to be considered one of the best. I hate being second, so that makes me work all that much harder.

I do edit my work as well as all of the anthologies and titles that May December Publications releases each year. However, I am blessed with some exceptional beta readers that act as an even finer grate on the sieve. I like to return to past titles about every year or so with fresh eyes. Plus, I usually have learned a new mechanics rule or two. Like I said...always chasing perfection.

As far as publishing...I let Denise handle the nuts and bolts of that. She fields all the queries and forwards them to me. Plus, when we put out an anthology, she strips all of the author info from them before forwarding them to me. That keeps the process fair. I am as human as the next guy and would probably tend to give a nod to a friend's story during the acceptance phase. I have a real problem with that aspect of this business and want to give every writer that takes the time to send me a story a fair shot. This way, some newbie trying to break in to the scene has as much shot as a talented name like a Mark Tufo. (Obligatory butt kiss...the next one costs ya $5.)

4. You have been doing an awful lot of book signings. How do you find the time and what’s the best part and what’s the worst part?

The time is hard to find, actually. But it is nice to get out and see a live body pick up your book and act all excited. The best part is meeting a total stranger who thinks your work is special. So far, the biggest thrill was a mother who brought in her sons. Apparently neither were much into reading until they picked up a copy of one of my books (Zomblog). They begged their mom to get them the next book. When they came to my signing forZomblog: Snoe, they acted towards me like I would if I managed to meet Stephen King.

The worst part is when you sit at the table...alone...for what seems like an eternity. People just walk by and glance at you, smile politely and hurry away. It can be a real ego buster.

5. What are you working on right now? What do readers have to look forward to in 2013?

Well, the 5th book in the DEAD series--Dead: Siege & Survial--comes out on December 15th. I am returning to the Dakota story and will have the second book ready by this summer. Plus my "That Ghoul Ava" series will have its first novel-length release this March. I have two books left before officially and finally retiring the Zomblog series. The 6th DEAD book has to be ready by May 30th, and then I start on the Special Edition material for the second group of three books in the DEAD series that seperates them into the three story lines: Steve, The Geeks, and Vignettes. In between, I will chip away at the next group of Grimm's fairy tales for my Gruesomely Grimm mash-up series.

Of course that is all a moot point if the Mayans were right.

6. The more interviews I do I am noticing a trend from some sort of teaching background to author, do you think it is a natural progression?

I think it is fairly common. I was a GED tutor for five years. taught guitar for three. Not quite the same as a serious teacher, but there is some common ground. Perhaps it is chemical...there has to be a spark and the desire to pursue a goal that might have lousy pay, little to know benefits, and if you are lucky, you strike a chord with one person.

7. What type of music do you play and have you thought about publishing any of it via createspace?

I played mostly covers of 80s rock. No surprise, a lot of KISS made its way into the rotation. Of course there were some originals along the way, but playing was always just about being on stage for me. There is a rush about having a couple of hundred people go crazy when you hit that last chord in a song. Even more fun is when somebody comes up to you away from the gig and says "I saw you the other day and you f--ing rock, dude!" I have some stuff on CD, a few concerts, some studio work...but I always saw that as a release more than a serious calling. Now I just play Rocksmith (Guitar Hero with a REAL guitar for the uninformed). It isn't the same when a computer generated crowd cheers...and nobody lifts their top...but it serves its purpose.

8. You have a huge background from submarine sonar man to music teacher, which is your favorite and why?

Being a submarine sonar man during the Reagan era was a rush. Playing hide-and-seek with the Soviets...football at the North Pole...those were great times. Teaching filled an entirely different need. Seeing somebody finally pull off playing their first song was pretty cool. But dragging tape on a Soviet without him knowing you were there had a special thriil.

9. Was it hard to write Zomblog: The Final Entry? Did you feel like you were leaving a friend?

Actually, it was pretty exciting. I had no idea at the time that emails from fans of the series were going to send me back. I thought I was ready to move on and focus solely on the DEAD series. When I finally decided to return, I decided to pick up the story twenty years after the first zombie had popped in to send the world in a tailspin. I am actually more apprehensive about how I will cope when that 12th and final DEAD book lands.

10. What do you have in the works that the readers can look forward to?

Well, I am dipping my toes in the Audio Book realm. Two titles, Dakota and That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures are currently in production. I am hoping that we will be finalizing our deal and buying a house by summer where I will build my own recording studio. As far as writing...after Dead: Siege & Survival comes out on December 15th, I will be diving in to book six...exploring Ava and Dakota, and hopefully, this will be the year that I put the finishing touches on Uncivil War, a story about a full-scale, modern day race war that destroys this country.

11. What is the one thing you wish someone would ask you and the answer?

What would it take for you to sign a contract that will start the process of converting your books to film?

To that my answer is simple. A pen.

Thanks so much, Mark. It is an honor to be invited.

Todd (TW) Brown is the author of the DEAD series and the Zomblog series. He is also the editor for May December Publications with numerous anthologies to his credit as well as the full length works of authors such as Mark Tufo, John O' Brien, Chantal Boudreau, Robert Dean, and Bennie Newsome.

You can begin your search of his available titles here:

Todd is graciously offering a free copy of The Dead Compendium via smashwords to anyone that comments on this post today!