PROLOGUE

1946

"We should've brought more ammo," Thomas said, wiping the blood out of his mustache. He brushed his wet fingers along the oak tree he leaned against, then picked up his empty rifle by the barrel, holding it like a baseball bat. Phil was surprised the metal didn't burn his hands. "Why the hell didn't we bring more ammo?"

Phil didn't answer. They all knew why: because they weren't fighting Nazis this weekend, they were camping by the lake. The only reason they'd brought the rifle in the first place was because Christine was paranoid about bears. Phil had humored her--there was no reason not to--but he'd never expected to need any weapon more powerful than a fishing hook. The war ... (more…)

My novel Personal Demons: The Jake Helman Files is now available as a mass market paperback in bookstores or from the publisher, Medallion Press. The Jake Helman Files will be a continuing series; I've already completed the second book, Desperate Souls, which will be published next October, and I've started the third volume. But let's start at the beginning...

ONE

Perched on a barstool with her legs crossed, Shannon Reynolds sipped her Tom Collins and played with the fluffy, spotted tail of her costume. Around her, young Americans in colorful getups hoisted pints of beer to their lips and threw back Jell-O shots, their loud voices giving way to drunken laughter. Jack-o'-lanterns leered ... (more…)

EDITOR'S NOTE: After a year of waiting, here it is: our excerpt from Ouroboros, available at Horror-Mall.

He stretched his chin up as he shaved, the razor creating a scratch over three days worth of whiskers. He dunked the razor in the sink full of water, tapped the razor against porcelain to loosen dislodged hair, then began a new sweep.

A board creaked on the other side of the bathroom door.

Tom froze in mid-shave, his jaw extended to the left, his eyes riveted on his reflection in the mirror. He didn't move, didn't flex a muscle. He strained to listen.

The house went silent. A minute passed. Two minutes. Tick tock.

He let his breath out. His mind reasoned. It was an old house. Cold ... (more…)

CHAPTER ONE


It hides within the shadows of the woodpile, whispering in a voice not unlike the wind rustling dried husks. I kneel in the grass, occasionally catching glimpses in the setting sun of something glistening and pink and wet sliding between the intertwined twigs and branches. I kneel and I listen to the words, allowing the images they conjure to blossom in my mind like the remnants of nightmares called forth by long-forgotten incantations and chants.

My bicycle lies behind me, the streamers on the handlebars flapping in the breeze like banners heralding the arrival of royalty. My sack of cookies, spilled across the ground, drawing ants that seem torn between the promise of food ... (more…)

Among the Living by Timothy W. Long

Prelude

Lost and for a time so is he. Breath rasps in and out as her lungs begin to fail.

Cold and so is she. Her hand is ice in his, a rigid claw that grips with the force of a newborn. Skin translucent, wisps of grey hair that struggle to rise as he strokes her arm. Bone thin, old, past her prime and yet barely in her fifth decade.

Hours spent by her side and for it her eyes opened but once. She stared past him at the ceiling as if it held less recrimination than his gaze. Milky and gone to smoke, at least the one on the left while the other is clear and the bluest blue he had ever seen. They pulled him in from the first, dug into his soul and now twenty ... (more…)

This is the first chapter from "Conjure", coming soon from Rainfall Books

Chapter 1

Beth Hammond pushed open the door of Branigan House and stepped into the stale heat of Kingsway. It was early September, but the sun was warm and glared off the windows across the street, facts that had been masked to her all day by blinds and air-conditioning.

It was a quarter past five and she'd had a boring day training the temp to cover reception at Ann Lesley Training ("Good morning, Ann Lesley Training, how may I help you?" got monotonous when you said it all day and listening to someone else say it, as you mouthed the words, was painful). She couldn't wait to get home, because that meant packing and ... (more…)

THE LIFELESS by Lorne Dixon

Prologue

Monday, October 2nd. 6:42 A.M.


HE COULD BARELY feel a pulse. The time was near.

Wahbi Fadhli slid a finger down his arm, tracing a bulging purple vein, following it down to the bundle of small, puckering track marks. His fingertip massaged his wounds, moving over the hungry little mouths, and came away moist, his skin coated in a layer of clear pus.

A line of prayer escaped in the moment before he pressed the finger against his lips and tasted the infection--sweet and rich, like raw sugar.

A sneeze caught him off guard, snapping his head back, sending his wild hair whipping. Turning his attention to the long shard of mirror leaning against the wall, Fadhli ... (more…)

THE CASTLE OF LOS ANGELES

A New Novel by Lisa Morton
Introduction by Gary A. Braunbeck
Available from Gray Friar Press in a signed/limited hardback or trade paperback


(This chapter takes place about halfway through the novel. At this point Beth Ortiz, a young director, has taken over a small theater in the Castle, a huge old building in downtown L.A. that's been converted into artists' lofts. Beth has been living in the Castle for about two months, and has already encountered several strange occurrences, but nothing completely inexplicable. She's also met Philip, a filmmaker and now a suicide victim; Jessamine Constanza, a celebrity artist who has developed an unhealthy rivalry with Beth; and ... (more…)

IMOLA, Richard Satterlie's sequel to AGNES HAHN, is now in bookstores.

Chapter 1

My name is Agnes Hahn. I'm a serial killer, emasculator of men. And I'm not. I've seen the pictures, heard the descriptions. If the voice isn't real, like they've told me, then how can the actions be real?

We have cable television here at Imola, but they don't let us watch what we want. Figure that. At home, I liked to watch those real doctor shows' actual surgery. The only thing that bothered me was the initial incision. The first slice of the sharp scalpel through fresh skin gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. It made my fingers curl into fists and my toes grip the soles of my shoes. I always had to ... (more…)

WORLD WAR OF THE DEAD by Eric S. Brown

CHAPTER ONE


BULLETS PINGED, BOUNCING off the heap of rubble before him. Roy had ducked behind there for safety; the Germans' cover fire was unrelenting. The muzzles of their machine guns flickered, flashing in the growing darkness. Twilight was fleeting. Cries for a medic came from several spots closer to where the Germans were fortified inside the remains of the bombed-out restaurant up the street. There were at least three different locations shouting for Roy's help, but he didn't dare so much as peek around the pile of brick and mortar he crouched behind to do a check of the situation. He was pinned down and he knew it. There was nothing he could do ... (more…)