Friday, November 30, 2018

GUEST POST -- Mike Duke – Pulling No Punches to Go Big or Go Home

Today I am excited to welcome Author MIKE DUKE to One-Legged Reviews. Mike has written one hell of a article and included a first time Sneak Peek at his upcoming novel WHERE THE GODS SLEEP, coming early 2019 from Stitched Smile Publications.

(I have added hotlinks on all book titles in the article so you click and purchase from Amazon)

Without further ado, let's have Mike Duke take over. Enjoy!





Mike Duke – Pulling No Punches to Go Big or Go Home

I have one main goal today. I want to take you all hostage. 

Once captured, I hope to inflict an irresistible desire upon you to read every single thing I’ve written or will ever write.  In short, I want you to feel like a crack addict jonesin’ for his next hit each time you hear I have something new coming out and not be able to feel content with life unless you have filled this void in your soul that only my work can satisfy.  

Not too lofty of an enterprise, eh? 

Well, somebody once told me several years ago: “I like your style Duke! Go big or go home!” 

I hadn’t really thought of it before then, but it was a true statement. I often go all in and strive to attain greatness of some sort in whatever I invest significant effort and time in. So, when I decided to finally try to fulfill a high school dream and become a published writer, I didn’t want to do it halfway.

 I wanted to write something that was brutally honest about human nature, unflinching in its depiction of man at his weakest and most base moments. Something that would make a person question the grounds on which they cast judgment upon their fellow man and cause them to doubt their feelings of self-righteousness.  I also wanted it to take the supernatural serious, and make people think deep thoughts about morality, temptation, sin and how low people will go to get what they desire most. That book was LOW, published by Stitched Smiles Publications.






With LOW I was shooting for the stars and hoping to land there. I wanted to create something glorious and raw. Visceral and uncomfortable. Horrific with glints of hope. Supernatural entities side by side with the dregs of humanity. A brave, intelligent story infused with as much truth about redemption as a piece of fiction could communicate. A living, breathing work of art that would speak as long as the words remain in print. 

Extremely lofty goals in general. Crazy unrealistic for a first novel. But I genuinely feel I accomplished what I set out to do. (And SCREAM magazine gave it a glowing 5 Star Review!). Is it for everyone? No. But it doesn’t have to be. I have other stories. 


Ashley’s Tale was the first thing I actually put out there, even though I wrote it after LOW. I was shopping LOW around, submitting to different publishers and doing rewrites when I decided to write a novella and self-publish it just to get my name out there and start to find some fans. 

Boy, did it work! 

I hit a home run. People loved the main character as well as the bad guy, Jake. So much so, they asked me to write a back story on Jake. Which I did, in Making Jake. Then I developed an idea for a follow up to  Ashley’s Tale which turned into a novel, The Initiation. Stitched Smile Publications then picked all three of them up. The Ashley’s Tale stories really deal with our moral beliefs (both theoretical and practical) about violence, self-defense, overcoming victimhood, eradicating weakness, becoming strong, and revenge. Each installment challenges our notions of civility by showing how violence is often the final answer, even today, but then begs the question, ‘But is it the right answer?’ Is it possible to be a righteous predator? 

These stories take you on a rollercoaster thrill ride in directions you won’t predict and may leave you feeling beat up emotionally. 

Which is another goal I often try to achieve in my writing. Emotional impact.  


My latest novella, Hate Inexorable, is a hard-hitting non-stop piece of action / horror that will shock you, fill you with dread and likely rip out your heart by the end. The emotional impact is like a boulder and the level of violence is not for the faint of heart. Not to mention, the circumstances are totally plausible which makes it even more disturbing.


And as far as disturbing goes, I’ll challenge your horror sea legs with my novella Warm, Dark Places are Best. It’s managed to seriously creep out many a hardcore horror fan. Bugs. Specifically, giant centipedes (the real kind). Nasty, heebie jeebie material. I wrote it to creep out the people who say nothing bothers them anymore. And man, has it succeeded in spades with the vast majority of people who have read it. 

I’ve also got stories in several anthologies now, with a couple more due out next year. 

UNLEASHED: Monsters vs Zombies – The Fall of St. Louis (An archdevil and his legion of demons vs the zombie horde) 

Collected Christmas Horror Shorts Vol. 2 – The Yuletide Butcher (Story about the horror of family and inlaws at Christmas as well as a serial killer who only strikes one day a year, for more than 20 years now) 

The Horror Collection Gold Edition – Ghost Train (supernatural coming of age tale about comradery and dealing with bullies) 

Dark Places, Evil Faces Vol. 2 – Confessions of a Righteous Killer (Philosophical, disturbing tale of a man strapped to a table and his would-be killer who is trying to make the man understand the true nature of the universe before he dies) 

Killer’s Inside – (I have two stories in this one) The Awakening and Murder on Clown Alley 

Modern Day Madness 2: The Screaming Virgins – contains the original version of Warm, Dark Places are Best before I did a rewrite and republished it.

 100 Word Horrors: An Anthology of Horror Drabbles – I have three drabbles in this one (a drabble is exactly 100 words long) 

Also, next year one of my favorite short stories that I’ve written, Fear the Gods (a cosmic horror story), will be coming out in Shadows and Teeth Vol. 4. 

And speaking of cosmic horror. That brings me to my next novel. Where the Gods Sleep. 

* Cover art by Francois Vallaincourt
I am extremely proud of this one and excited for it to get into the hands of readers, especially my fans! H. P. Lovecraft is my favorite author and anything by him or other authors that picked up the mantle of cosmic horror will almost always make it onto my TBR pile (which is massive, just the cosmic horror books I want to read, new and old). 

With Where the Gods Sleep, I wanted to write something that was solidly within the cosmic horror subgenre but not derivative of Lovecraft’s mythos. I worked to create something that blends the cosmic and divine, the light and the dark, in a story where failure would mean the entrance of blasphemous, dark gods into our world on a truly apocalyptic scale. 

 This novel was a big step for me in a few ways. First, by diving head first into the cosmic horror subgenre with a story that was quite challenging to pull together. Two, it’s the first story I’ve written in First Person. Three, its not a single narrator. 

This book is basically the equivalent of a found footage film. By that I mean, it is constructed from multiple first-hand account sources into a chronological order that tells how things transpired, after the fact. Revealing the hidden information to the masses, so to say. There are journal entries from multiple persons, emails, letters, news broadcasts, police reports, and police analysis of CCTV footage. All of it comes together to tell an amazingly bold story with one helluva ending (so I’ve been told). 

You’ll find different characters to love and hate while you follow the protagonist, Kenneth Marz. The god Korrobbathith has chosen Kenneth as the vessel of destruction he will indwell with both his power and mind in an effort to open the gate to the place Where the Gods Sleep, allowing Korrobbathith to enter our world, as well as all the other gods, initiating a terrifying reign of darkness where death is the best escape one can hope for. 

With this book, I’m definitely going big or going home, in many ways. 

I’ve also commissioned my good friend and incredible artist John K. Peevahouse to create some interior artwork. So far, he has completed two paintings and is working on a third. My hope is to have at least five pieces of original art gracing the inside of this novel. More if time permits. 

Below is the back cover synopsis, two pieces of interior art completed so far as well as an excerpt which is the FIRST SNEAK PEAK at Where the Gods Sleep seen anywhere! I hope you like what you see and follow me. I’m on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Patreon. (Mike Duke – Author is my social media identity.) 

Please share this post and many thanks to Jim Coniglio for graciously inviting me to talk about my work and dreams with you. 

 



 


 *  The god, Korrobbathith!!! 

SNEAK PEAK!!!


Part Two 

Night of the Comet

November 14, 2020 
(Letter submitted in official Grievance of Suspension received by Deputy Sarah Graham, Mason County Sheriff’s Department, West Virginia)

On November 1, 2020 at approximately 12:30 a.m., I received a call about a large gathering of individuals on Letart Island. The complainant also advised there was unlawful burning and loud noise involved. I tried to contact State Police and the Game Warden for possible assistance since it is part of the Ohio River Islands National Wildlife Refuge. No one from Game and Fish was available, but one State Trooper was dispatched, ETA thirty minutes. 

I hooked a boat and trailer up to my department issued Chevy Tahoe and proceeded to the boat ramp along the Ohio River nearest to Letart Island. By the time the trooper arrived, I had the boat in the water, engine running and ready to go, in order to expedite our response. 

There was a blazing fire visible within the wooded bar island, an orange glow squeezing between the trees. Smoke rolled up above the tree tops where it was framed against a night sky well lit by a near full moon. This provided a good degree of visibility. I could also hear what sounded like a form of tribal music, but not Native American. There were conga drums, flutes, some type of horned instrument, bells, and other noises I couldn’t place. 

Trooper Mark Stephens arrived at 1:00 a.m. He carried a Bushmaster M-4 patrol rifle with him in addition to his duty sidearm. I had a pump shotgun along with my Glock 17. We proceeded across the river. Landing on the shore of Letart Island around 1:10 a.m., I killed the engine and we pulled the boat up on shore as best we could then put down an anchor. 

We followed the light, along with the cacophony of noises, toward the center of the island. Once we entered the woods, we could make out voices. They were chanting something along with the music. It wasn’t English or any language I’ve ever heard. Trooper Stephens didn’t have a clue either. 

The closer we got, the more intense the music became, almost as if they anticipated our arrival. There was a careening quality to the rhythm now, an escalating frenzy moving toward some insane crescendo. Voices squalled and screamed and shrieked. Then, above the din of chaos, these voices were answered by a roar of some kind, loud and possessing incredible bass. It didn’t even sound human to me. Trooper Stephens and I both looked at each other then shouldered our weapons in a low ready position. I clicked the safety on my shotgun off and observed Trooper Stephens place his thumb on his rifle’s safety, ready to flip it off and go hot at a moment’s notice. 

Another roar pierced the night, but this time there seemed to be a tone of pain and possibly fear. We proceeded toward the activity, treading with caution. Seconds later, a gap in the trees appeared and we could see a clearing up ahead, maybe a hundred feet off. A sizable bon fire burned, illuminating the area. A large number of people gathered there, making a din of disparate sounds. As the music climaxed, a series of roars, grunts, and growls ensued.

We could make out what appeared to be numerous men and women engaged in some strange ritual. They were acting like animals. Some of them danced around the fire, galloping on all fours, scampering behind one another. All of them were covered in some dark mud from head to toe, as if they grabbed handfuls and smeared it on each other’s bodies. They wore some type of masks of an unknown animal nature with numerous yellow eyes and small red horns. Some of the men had women pinned down to the ground by their heads, buttocks high in the air as they took them from behind, the sex violent and brutal in its intensity.

It was then that another cry of pain was emitted. I maneuvered into a better position to spy between the trees. There was a large black bear trapped in a cage too small for it. It’s back and sides pressed against the fencing. The naked revelers stabbed the wild beast, a frenzy of thrusts jabbing in and out of the cage as they cavorted about its circumference. 
Howls, hoots, and ululations filled the night air along with the shrill roars of the bear as it twisted and turned, flailing its head as far as the cramped quarters would allow, trying to stand up and mount an attack or flee but unable. It took a couple of minutes for the poor animal to expire. By the end it merely leaned against the cage, groaning – both in objection to its treatment and in sorrowful lamentation at the suffering and humiliation it was forced to endure.  
Trooper Stephens and I both felt an uneasy angst at not coming to the defense of the bear against the abuse of that batshit-crazy rabble. I think both our brains were operating on pure survival instinct. There was only two of us in comparison to well over twenty members of this cult. 
But what we saw next … forced our hand. 

Two of the worshippers removed the bear’s head and handed it to another man who wore only a bear pelt for a cloak in addition to his mask. This man was quite bigger than anyone else present and his mask was slightly different than the others. Attached to the back of his head were numerous long pieces of black leather with beads tied at the end. They were bound together at the base but hung down his back and shoulders. In addition to the many eyes and horns, his also possessed one large eye in the center of the forehead. I was aware that this often can mean someone is gifted with sight or wisdom beyond what normal people can perceive or obtain. Because of this, I reckoned him as their leader or a shaman-type figure. 

The shaman carried it around overhead, pumping his arms up and down as he made high-pitched sounds like some alpha male ape displaying his might. It seemed to me that he was declaring he had stolen the strength of the bear or that they were stronger than the bear. I’m not totally sure. They moved out of sight and Stephens and I had to maneuver around to their left flank to get eyes on them again. 
Another cage came into view. This one held a young woman captive inside. 

Next to this cage was an altar of sorts. It was a wide stone platform, about four feet in height, ten feet long and five feet wide. Large eyes and horns covered all sides of it, as if they had been chiseled into the rock by a sculptor. 

The man who, may have been the cult leader, paraded the bear head before the woman, who sat with her back against the far side of the cage, screaming into the night. The worshippers ignored her pleas. Two men opened the cage door and dragged her out by her feet. 

The man with the all-seeing eye on his mask set the bear head on one end of the altar then stepped behind the woman, grabbing her head with both hands while covering her mouth. Four other worshippers assisted him in moving her to the altar. Two females seized the woman’s arms while the men continued to hold onto her feet. Together, they lifted her up, fully horizontal, in the air. She twisted, bucked, and tried to kick, much like an animal which, once grabbed, knows it’s about to be slaughtered. But her resistance was useless. They laid her on the altar without incident and pinned her there. 
The top was a large stone slab with four iron rings embedded into the rock. Metal shackles were attached to the rings. Once the men secured the woman’s ankles, the women fastened the cuffs around her wrists, one at a time. The poor woman thrashed and pleaded for her life but the cult members didn’t care.

Trooper Stephens and I looked at each other, recognizing a mutual agreement in each other’s eyes concerning what we needed to do. I saw him flip the safety off on his M-4. I nodded at him and took off. The worshippers’ loud noises and music kept them from hearing us crash through the woods like charging bulls. Stephens and I burst into the clearing at the same time. The possible leader held a huge curved blade in his right hand over the woman’s heart, while the rest clutched smaller knives and danced about the altar, ready to join in. 
I screamed “Sheriff’s Office, drop the knife!” and, somehow, they all heard me. The music stopped. The dancing stopped. The ritual chanting stopped. The leader glared at me as did every other person present. And then he pointed at me, and shaking his finger with extreme prejudice, shouted something in a foreign language I’ve never heard before, but it’s meaning was clear. 

He wanted the others to kill us. 
I shot him first, dead in the chest. A fraction of a second later Stephen’s M-4 started barking in my ear but it didn’t sound loud. All the other worshippers were moving our way. But no one was going down. I swear to God above, they weren’t going down, barely broke stride. The leader just stood there, looking calmly down at his wound then back at me. Rage erupted across his countenance, as if my attacking him were an affront to his dignity or position. I’m not sure. But he took off, sprinting towards me, knife overhead as he passed and pushed his fellow cult members out of the way. I put four more loads of double 00 buckshot in his chest and he never slowed. When I pumped the shotgun again and pulled the trigger, I felt a click instead of a kick against my shoulder. I’m not sure I heard anything else in that moment. That audible “click” was deafening, confusing and frightening all at the same time. 

I heard Stephens call out “Reloading!” but no one had gone down yet. They were almost on top of us. It was Fight or Flight, and my brain knew what good sense would do. I dropped the shotgun and turned around, drawing my Glock.  I screamed as loud as I could at Trooper Stephens to “RUN!!!!!” 
I don’t think my feet have ever moved so fast or my arms pumped so vigorously in my entire life. Every step I heard that wasn’t mine multiplied my terror of being caught by those cultists. I didn’t dare look back. If Stephens was with me he’d be running for his life too, and if he wasn’t… there was nothing I could do to help him. Bullets weren’t stopping these people. 

I can’t say why. I don’t know. It reminded me, however, of what happened to the British when they fought the Zulu at Isandlwana in 1879. The British were wiped out, almost to the last man, by Zulu warriors with only spears and clubs. But there were accounts of Zulu warriors being incredibly ferocious and not succumbing to gun shot wounds that should have killed them. Instead, they continued fighting and killing more British soldiers. Later those who had suffered mortal injuries did die, but only after fighting on long enough to kill more soldiers. Research into this several years ago revealed the source of their amazing fortitude and fierceness in battle was something their medicine men called the red mushroom. Warriors took it when they didn’t expect to return from battle but wanted to kill as many of their enemy as possible. 

I can think of no better analogy to describe what I experienced. 
I remember reaching a point where I only heard one other set of footsteps besides mine. They were closing on me, fast. Too fast to be Stephens. If he was that fast, he would have passed me well before then. As I exited the wood line and saw the boat a mere twenty meters away, I felt a hand grab my left shoulder and pull roughly. I never broke stride, twisting my upper body with the force, I pointed my Glock over my left shoulder and fired three times. A second later I heard a thump as something hit the ground.

I switched the gun into my left hand as I continued running and pulled my knife out from the sheath at my waistline. With one slash I severed the rope attached to the anchor, tossed the knife in the boat, pushed it out into the river, and jumped in, my boots never touching water. I glanced at the shoreline. There was a native body lying there, twitching, a bloody eye socket staring at me under the moonlight. I guess headshots still worked. 
I started the motor and twisted the handle to full throttle, taking off as fast as I could. I didn’t slow down until I reached the boat ramp where my truck waited. I didn’t call for help before then because my radio fell off while I was running.

When the cavalry arrived, en masse, and we returned to the island after sunrise with more than twenty troopers, plus multiple German Shepherd K-9 units, we searched everywhere. 
There were no human bodies anywhere to be found. Not Trooper Stephens and not any cultists. Not even the one I saw dead on the sand as I left. We located the stone altar, covered in blood, along with the bear head sitting on one end. Samples of blood taken tested positive later for a human female.

On one side of the altar that I had not seen before, near the far-left edge, there was a bas relief showing a comet passing near a planet that appeared to represent the Earth. The figure of a man stood below the comet, arms outstretched as something like a current of wind or wispy smoke made its way down from the comet into the man’s wide-open mouth. Across the middle were various stars. As you approached the far-right edge it seemed to change into a semi-mountainous wasteland. At the top was something that appeared to depict a black hole. Below it, carved out of the stone, was a rectangular niche, about ten inches tall, five inches wide and five inches deep. Within the niche was a statuette. Of what I cannot say for sure. It almost looked like a man sitting down, knees pulled to his chest, head resting on his knees but canted slightly to the right. The skull was dotted with several eyes, while upon its face you could make out one on its right cheek in addition to a large eye in the center of its forehead. The one on its right cheek was open; the rest closed. A crown of horns framed the frontal portion of its head, and behind that, numerous small horns grew in the spaces between the extra eyes around a tubular shape emerging from the back of its head that transitioned into several tentacle-like appendages draping over its back, almost like dreadlocks. 

I didn’t want to look at it, much less pick it up. None of us did, but the state investigator had to. After removing it from the altar and securing it inside a case, he said it was so cold to the touch it burned. Gave him the chills and a good dose of the heebie-jeebies as well, he admitted. 
The dogs picked up on multiple tracks and we split up, following each one to the shoreline along the other side of the island, losing all of them at the water’s edge. 

When we returned to the clearing to look for any further evidence and assess how we might remove and transport the altar, the investigator started with a shout. Someone asked him what was wrong. He pointed at the altar and asked, “Who took the bear’s head?” All of us stood there shaking our heads while our stomachs grew heavy and sick with fear. Some of the dogs began barking and pulling toward the altar while the others whined and tried to back away. (Later I would find out it was the dogs cross trained as both Patrol and Tracking units that barked, and the Tracking only dogs that whined.) There were no footprints, but the dogs obviously smelled something they didn’t like one bit. One of them pulled its handler all the way to the altar where the statuette was found and began pawing at the rock there. 

The investigator drew close and observed the area the dog was so interested in. He noted a long crack running from the top of the niche out in each direction. One way it went about three feet and then turned down at a perfect right angle. The other way it reached the outer edge about six inches to the right of the niche. He followed the left side down to where it met the stone slab. It wasn’t a crack at all. It was cut out this way. A rectangular portion of the altar some four feet wide and two feet tall was a separate piece, carved to fit in perfectly. After he spent some time inspecting it while the rest of us faced out, scanning the forest for any attackers, he reached inside the empty niche and felt around. There was a small circular stone inset there. 

When he pushed the stone down we heard some kind of mechanism engage within. We all turned in surprise to watch as that whole section of the altar slid inside three feet or more, revealing a set of stone stairs leading down into the darkness. 
He looked up and shouted. “Put the dogs in! Now!” 

I stood back and watched as four handlers and their dogs descended out of sight. Once underground, their radios were almost pure static. But we didn’t need a radio to hear their screams, their gun shots, or the dogs’ yips of pain followed by a final squall at death. 
Nobody resurfaced. None of us went down. Not until later. Much later. (And I wasn’t one of them.) By then the cultists had completely vacated, taking the bodies of our people with them. The dog carcasses were all that they left behind. 
Minus the heads of course.


Hope you enjoyed the excerpt and are now drooling in anticipation of the novel’s release in March, 2019. Follow me for updates. My Patreon page will be going live in the next couple of days and there will be perks for my supporters. I’ve got four short stories and a novella already lined up to release – For Patron Eyes Only! 
In addition, find links to all my published works on my Amazon Author Page.  And if you read any, I’d love to hear what you think. Thank you!
Mike Duke 11/30/2018
You can visit Mike Dukes Amazon Author Page HERE.













Wednesday, November 28, 2018

WARM, DARK PLACES ARE BEST by Mike Duke





WARM, DARK PLACES ARE THE BEST by Mike Duke

Published July 15th 2017

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(from the book description)

Carl and Jessica are emotionally stretched thin, down on their financial luck and stuck moving into a really nasty apartment complex after Jessica gets laid off and Carl is already on a fixed disability payment. 

From day one they see lots of roaches in the hallways but nothing in their own apartment. Hoping their luck will hold, they have no idea just what kind of hell is coming their way or what hideous secrets their apartment, in particular, holds. 

Buckle up. Carl and Jessica are in for a nasty ride and so are you.
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Bugs, no matter if they are big or small, most people will have an aversion to the creepy crawly things. In WARM, DARK PLACES ARE BEST, Mike Duke has taken one of the worst of the insect kingdom and unleashed a story that will have the reader sleeping with the lights on for weeks after reading it.

I have to remain vague in some areas of the story because I want the reader to be surprised as the events unfurl. Jessica and Carl are a young couple that have just moved into a low rent apartment. Carl is on disability and Jessica is in search of a job to help make ends meet. They are not happy about their new home, but they know that together they can hopefully make the best of it. That is, until the other residents of their small apartment make themselves know.

There are some parts of the story that will make the strongest reader squirm. And one part in general that had even me tensing up as I read it. If you have read any other works by Mike Duke, you will know that he is a very descriptive writer, and he does not hold back in this story. If you are a fan of the original Creepshow movie from 1982, you will remember a segment entitled "They're Creeping Up On You". For years that was the standard by which the bug gross-out was measured. In just a mere 67 pages, I believe that Mike Duke has set a new standard.

There is one drawback for me in this novella, and that is the characters of Carl and Jessica themselves. The author has shown that he can create fully fleshed out and believable characters, especially in his last novel LOW, but for some reason these two characters just didn't come off as truly believable to me, and for me as a reader that is important. Yes people react differently to stressful situations, that's what makes us all unique. But it was the characters apparent indifference to major (horribly major) events that take place that just pulled me out of the story for a bit.(Luckily this didn't occur until about 1/2 way through the story) Now remember this is my opinion on my read of the story. When you read it it could come across completely different to you.

That being said, the overall story is very good. It is fast paced, tense and truly disturbing.  I would strongly advise not to read this book at night while you are lying in bed.

Mike Duke has several novellas and short stories out and I would highly recommend picking up his latest novel LOW.
I look forward to his new novel coming in early 2019.

You can purchase WARM, DARK PLACES ARE BEST on AMAZON.



Saturday, November 24, 2018

TWIN LAKES: AUTUMN FIRES by Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason


TWIN LAKES: AUTUMN FIRES
by Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason

Published September 30th 2018

Published by Sinister Grin Press

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(from book description)

A Campfire in the distance should be a relief to a victim on the run, but instead, it signals darkness and the doorway to evil....

When Liz accepts a ride from a stranger, she ultimately becomes the victim of a heinous crime. After fighting off her attacker, she stumbles towards a campfire in the distance and onto the scene of a violent murder. The terror of discovering a decapitated young woman is only the beginning, as when the shadows begin to move, she finds that this new killer has set his sights on her. He wants her to share an autumn fire.

Meanwhile local law enforcement, along with a secret group of town founders, are working to solve the murders and an end to the autumn fires. Can they stop the perpetrator in time before he gets to Liz? The ancestors have centuries of wisdom on their side, and yet, will it be enough to stop a murderer calling upon the power of demons to guide him? After generations of hiding, will their identity be revealed to the unsuspecting citizens of Twin Lakes?
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Michelle and Melissa, aka The Sisters of Slaughter, are back with a new novel full of blood, horror and lots of secrets.

Having read several short stories by the Sisters of Slaughter (from here on referred to as SOS), this is the first full length novel of theirs I have read. I was not disappointed. They have created a world filled with wonderful and frightening characters. It takes a good writer to make a world that the reader can almost visualize while reading, and here we have 2 authors working seamlessly to give us a great reading experience.

The story plays out like a really demented episode of Twin Peaks. Small town, eccentric and mysterious characters, mystery and secrets. In fact, this story would make a perfect TV show. The way the characters interact and the ever present mystery behind the group called "The Ancestors" that lurk behind the scene; I would tune in every week to watch this. Some TV channel needs to swoop in and pick this story up.

The story grips you from the first sentence and does not slow until the last page. The SOS have created some awesome characters. Some you will love and other you will just love to hate.  I think my favorite character had to be the Sheriff. I just loved the personality he was given and his actions throughout the story. The rest of the cast is also well fleshed out. Liz is a strong female lead and holds her own as the only "normal" person in a town full of witches, psychics, monsters and demons.

There is no shortage of blood in this story, and some scenes are down right gruesome. But it is not overdone, each scene connects to the story and is not used for just shock value. It was nice to see that the SOS used restraint in the overuse of blood and gore, and instead concentrated on giving us a great character-driven story.

I sure hope we get to visit the town of Twin Lakes again in the future.

You can purchase TWIN LAKES: AUTUMN FIRES on AMAZON.

To learn more about Michelle and Melissa THE SISTERS OF SLAUGHTER you can visit their page on FACEBOOK and their authors page on AMAZON.

And to learn more about SINISTER GRIN PRESS and all their other books visit them HERE.




Wednesday, November 21, 2018

AD NAUSEAM: NEWSPRINT NIGHTMARES FROM THE 1980s by Michael Gringold


AD NAUSEAM : NEWSPRINT NIGHTMARES FROM THE 1980s
by Michael Gingold

Published October 9th 2018

Published by 1984 Publishing and Rue Morgue

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Growing up in the 1980s, Michael Gingold became obsessed with horror movies, and his love of the genre led him to become a Fangoria writer and editor for nearly 30 years, as well as a Rue Morgue contributor. But before all that, he took his scissors to local newspapers, collecting countless ads for horror movies, big and small.

Ad Nauseam: Newsprint Nightmares from the 1980s is a year-by-year deep dive into the Gingold archive, with more than 450 ads! Within these pages you'll see rare alternate art for Gremlins, Child's Play, The Blob remake, and the Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street franchises. You'll also revel in oddities including Psycho from Texas, Dracula Blows His Cool, Blood Hook, Zombie Island Massacre, and many more.

Gingold provides personal recollections and commentary, and unearths vintage reviews to reveal what critics of the time were saying about these films. He also interviews the men behind legendary exploitation distributor Aquarius Releasing to learn how they built buzz for shockers like Make Them Die Slowly and Doctor Butcher M.D.

Steel yourselves, genre junkies Ad Nauseam is an unmatched journey into the wild world of 1980s horror movies!
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Just opening the first page of AD NAUSEAM: NEWSPRINT NIGHTMARES FROM THE 1980s brought back so many memories. I can remember grabbing the Friday newspaper, jumping on my bed and heading right to the last 3 pages that held the movie ads. A few snips later and those choice horror movie adverts would be scotch taped to my wall in all their black and white glory.

What a time the the 80s were for horror fans. So many movies hit the big screen and a break-neck pace. It seemed that every week a new scare was fighting for your hard earned money.

Michel Gingold has taken his love of horror movies and his past habit of collecting newspaper ads and turned it into a very entertaining and informative book that any child of the 80s should have sitting on their bookshelf.


Paging through the book, you will come across movies you know (Evil Dead, The Thing, Hellraiser
Halloween II and so many more) and those that you may never have heard of before (Silent Madness, Deathbed, The Doctor and the Devils). Not only has the author given us a look at the classic clippings, he has included his thoughts on some of the films and snippets of movie reviews from that time period.

These ads were the only way a lot of people knew what movies were coming out, and our first look at what horrors they might contain. In the early 80s we didn't have the internet to bombard us with information. We had the newspaper, Fangoria magazine and Fanzines. It was a wonderful world of print.

The book itself is a beautifully done hardcover with very clear reproductions of the ads on a nice glossy page. 1984 Publishing and Rue Morgue did a wonderful job in producing a quality book filled with information and nostalgia.


So many memories contained in these pages. If you are younger, this is a great way to peer into the past, the pre-internet days, when you had to get your hand dirty with newsprint to see what wonders were playing in the theater.

For an extra treat I would recommend searching out some of Michael Gingold's fanzine Scareaphanalia.

I believe he published somewhere around 100 issues. Good fanzines are now a thing of the past, but these issues hold up and are still great reads for any horror fan.

You can purchase a signed copy of the book (while they last) at the 1984 PUBLISHING website.

It can also be purchased on AMAZON.

And make sure to stop by the RUE MORGUE website for more horror goodness.

 

Monday, November 19, 2018

KOREAN ROAD by Brian Scutt



KOREAN ROAD by Brian Scutt

Published November 14th 2017

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(from book description)

While facing the ghosts and horrors of the past, Dick comes to the realization that the frozen hell he survived generations before is a battleground he can never leave. Tortured by the ghost of a fallen Marine, he is faced with the truth, that it may be too late for not only himself but those he loves. Hell is cold, and Death stands at the end of his road, the Korean Road.
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 There are so many different types of horror stories. Cosmic, giant monsters, ghosts, insects and many more that have popped up over the years. But sometimes, the worst horror of all is that which is right here in the real world.

Brian Scutt has written a compelling novella that will hit home with a lot of readers. This is a tale of a Veteran, a Korean War Veteran to be exact. He is battling ghosts from his time at war that have not diminished with his long time at home. Now as he nears the end of his life, he leaves the retirement home he was put into and prepares to face his ghosts head on and finally lay the war to rest.

This is a tale of war, of family, of tragedy and betrayal and in the end a sort of redemption. There is bloodshed along the way and the main character's decline through the story is heartbreaking to behold.

At its heart though, this is a tale of a man who never really came home from war, or could forget the horrors he saw there. Dick, like so many of our real world veterans, suffers from some form of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) that has wreaked havoc on himself and his family. At times Dick does not know what is real, is it ghosts from his past or just his own mind unable to cope with the memories of war. To me this can be scarier than any monster tale. This is something real that affects so many people and Brian Scutt has handled the topic perfectly. He does not go "over-the-top" making his character super crazy like in some movie portrayals. The main character is just a man, dealing with loss, heartache and the feeling of being lost in his own memories of a time that changed his life forever.

You do not want to miss this well-crafted story that will keep you on the edge of your seat and also make you think about what some of our Veterans must deal with in their lives.

I look forward to reading more of Brian Scutt's work and am excited for what he has to bring us in the future.

I have recommended this novella to a few of my friends who are Veterans and look forward to hearing their feedback on it.

PTSD is a very serious mental illness that affects thousands. Not only Veterans, but Police Officers, Fire Fighters, Nurses and others in highly stressful and dangerous jobs.  If you want to learn more about PTSD and its causes/symptoms please visit this helpful page HERE. If you are a Veteran or anyone else suffering please know there are lots of people out there that can help. A great site to visit for information is HERE.

You can order KOREAN ROAD in ebook and print on AMAZON.

To learn more about Brian Scutt and his works you can visit his PATREON page and is authors page on GOODREADS.






Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Review of the October 2018 Twitterstone Readers Box.



Twitterstone October 2018 Subscription Box

Released bi-Monthly at $38.95 a box

Twitterstone promised that its inaugural box would arrive on Halloween, and there it was, sitting on my porch the afternoon of Oct. 31st. This is no small task for a new service and definitely helps build trust with its subscribers.

 So lets take a look at each item included in the box.

The box contained 2 books. Book #1 is AT THE MERCY OF BEASTS by Ed Kurtz.
Published April 2018 by Journalstone


From the author of Bleed and The Rib From Which I Remake the World comes a triptych of historical horror novellas. A pair of Texas oil men strike something more valuable than crude that turns avarice to murder—and summons something that should never have been awakened—in “Black’s Red Gold. In “Kennon Road,” a disillusioned American corporal stationed in Baguio in the wake of the Philippine-American War discovers the gruesome truth behind the Filipino legend of the man-eating Manananggal. And on the lonesome desert highways of the American Southwest, a trucker befriends a haunted, hitchhiking Vietnam veteran with whom she confronts the horrors waiting in the hills and caves to feed in “Deadheader.” Monsters both human and otherworldly converge in Ed Kurtz’s At the Mercy of Beasts.

BEASTS is a fairly new book and is a collection of 3 novellas by Ed Kurtz. Stories included are BLACK'S RED GOLD, KENNON ROAD and DEADHEADER. And to my surprise the copy I received was signed by the author.


You can read more about the book and purchase it on the Journalstone site HERE or on AMAZON.

Book #2 is CROOKED by Richard Pett.
Published September 2013 by Broken Eye Books.


Weird steampunk horror—corpsepunk!—set in a pseudo-Victorian, otherworld city called Brine: a wretched labyrinth of impossibly tall, crooked spires and filthy waterways, maintained by its indentured undead citizens, and powered by the massive waterfall it precariously dangles over.

The story is a brutal, phantasmagorical murder mystery, meandering through the city's monster-infested nightmares, a stylistic cross between the Cthulhu Mythos and Sherlock Holmes, a disturbing visit from Frankenstein's monster to Alice's Wonderland, and... well, where should I begin?

This book I was not familiar with, but after reading the book tag and some other reviews, it is definitely going onto my TBR stack.

You can read more about the book and purchase it on the Broken Eye Books site HERE or on AMAZON.

To round off the box were a few filler items.

2 bookmarks from Dark Moon Books

And a coffee mug (well, for me it's for tea) with the cover art for AT THE MERCY OF BEASTS on it.


Overall I was very happy with the box. I know that the curators had stated they were rushed with getting the first box out and have more plans for box #2.

As for Box #2, which has a shipping date of December 22nd, Twitterstone has announced the theme as "WOMAN". A box containing books by female authors and items created by female artists. Again it will contain 1 Journalstone published book and 1 from another small press.

I look forward to the next book and to see what adventures Twitterstone  takes us on in their coming months.

There are still a few of the October boxes available for order and the new December box can be pre-ordered at the Twitterstone website HERE.







Monday, November 12, 2018

FAT CAMP by James Sabata


FAT CAMP by James Sabata

Published July 9th 2018

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(from the book description)

Since 1985, over 500 overweight teenagers have come to Camp Wasicu , looking to lose weight, gain self-confidence, and turn their lives around. Phillip McKracken arrives, weighing in at almost 400 pounds: but the baggage he carries from the past affects him much more deeply than the numbers of the scale. When a homicidal maniac hell-bent on revenge attacks, Phillip will be forced to either find the courage to save the people around him or fall victim to his own self doubt....and possibly a machete.

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I have to admit that when I received this book I was not sure what to expect. The title FAT CAMP just made me think of a comedy. I was really expecting more Meatballs hi-jinks (yes I'm dating myself with this 1979 movie reference) than Friday The 13th scares. Thank goodness that I was completely wrong.

James Sabata has created a suspenseful, fast-paced coming-of-age story covered in blood and Snickers wrappers. FAT CAMP is the perfect homage to both 80's slasher movies (Friday The 13th, Sleepaway Camp) and the summer camp flicks that flooded the box office around that same time. (Little Darlings, Earnest Goes to Camp and so many more).

Our main character, Phil McKracken (I'll wait a few seconds for your giggles to stop) is a 400lb teenager suffering his way through a summer camp for overweight kids. Phil is not a happy camper. He just can't keep up with the exercise and activities and the small, supposedly healthy meals. Even though his best friend has come to Camp Wasicu with him, Phil has had enough. He is ready to leave and has set up a visit with his sister so that he can go home with her. But when things start to go horribly wrong, Phil will have to dig down deep to fight for his life and the fate of his friends.

James has included everything in the story. We have teen angst, bullying, lust, love, revenge, murder, and buckets of blood. The character development is spot on. I especially liked seeing Phil's progression from the first page to the last. And the character of Sarge is every summer camper's fear of a counselor. The story is non-stop from page one and you will have a hard time putting it down. The balance of comedy and horror is just right. It can be a hard job to not go too far in either direction, but James handles if perfectly. There are enough twists to keep you guessing until the end.

One great point that James gets across is that you don't have to be the perfect muscle bound hero. It is what's on the inside that makes the man, and in the end, the hero.

So pack your suitcase, stuff your pockets full of candy, and lets head off to camp.

You can purchase FAT CAMP in print and ebook on AMAZON.

To learn more about JAMES SABATA and is other works please visit his WEBSITE.

(please consider using the Amazon link above if you would like to purchase the book. Thanks)