Archive for the ‘Book’ Category

Hard Copy

November 15, 2017 Leave a comment

He sat at the little desk, focused on his hand as though he could look through it. The bandage wrapping around his palm was red to the knot and he wondered if the bleeding would stop this time. The last time he had drawn his blood, the little cut had bled for over three days.

The paper was almost clean. Two words dried in the middle of it. Wasted space did not matter.

He had used his magic to make the world in his image. The cost be damned, he had forced the world to bend to his will. For him, the expression ‘written in blood’ was real.

The child remade him.

He lowered his head, tears leaking down his cheeks. Broken of both body and soul, he was out of currency.

Some prices were too expensive to be paid.

One last breath whispered across the page. The passing of the air drying the words, “She lived,” to the page.


I wanted to point out that I have updated my links to include the PRINT copy of my book. Forever is now available in paperback from Amazon.


Categories: Book, Horror, Writing

Writing news

January 21, 2015 8 comments

There are so many things I want to do and so many things I want to learn. There isn’t enough time in the day to do it all. I have cut back on television and I have almost stopped playing video games.

Still, there aren’t enough hours in the day.

If any of you have any suggestions, I am all ears.

I have a few positive news notes. I will be having a story appear as a guest blog post soon. I will put up a link when it goes live.

I am talking to a podcast about joining them for an episode. I have never done that so I am looking forward to it. Links to that in the future as well. Once I am sure it is recorded, I will start adding links to their site.

Finally, and for me, the most exciting item, I am proofing the final copy of my first book from a publisher. This isn’t an anthology that I am a part of. This is just mine. <happy dance here>

Almost two years ago, I misread a closed submission call for erotic horror and wrote a ghost story. I shopped it around a little, and found a publisher. It sat on the schedule for a year before we started editing, but now, editing is almost done.

I can’t wait to share the details with everyone. The book will be coming from Sirens Call Publications, but since we haven’t settled on the title yet, I can’t say too much more. Very soon though, you won’t be able to get me to shut up about it.

Talk to you later.

L. E. White


It really was a dark and stormy night. Jeff sat in front of the window, watching the water appear out of the darkness. He had turned on the porch light so that he could see the fat drops as they hurtled towards his father’s old red truck.

The rain was coming from the West, so it wasn’t hitting Jeff’s bedroom window with its East facing dormer. He could have opened it and sat on the sill. He loved the smell of the air when a storm was really pounding down, but he didn’t want to chill from the drop in temperature. It was early spring, sitting with the window open was a summer treat.

When a drop hit the window, he jumped. Just to the left of his face, he traced the streak to where the little drop was still making its way down the pane.

He looked back up when others started smacking into the glass. There weren’t very many, but they were picking up pace.

It didn’t make any sense. He could still see the rain falling through the light. It was still coming from the west.

Until a swirling gust threw them from the south.

Then, another swirl took the rain just above the truck and threw it towards the house. Jeff could see the water falling, only to jump sideways just before it bounced off the hood.

He shivered, like the time he walked under that melting icicle and it dripped down his collar. Rain wasn’t supposed to change direction.

He heard something growl. It was a big, rumbling sound that came from the distance. His eyes widened and his face went pale. He sat still, like a rabbit that was hoping the dog hadn’t seen it, until another handful of drops slapped the glass in front of his face.

Jeff ran out of his room, screaming one word over and over again.


Congratulations Winners and NaNoWriMo

November 5, 2014 2 comments

Hello to everyone. I am glad you stopped in today, and I have to say I hope to keep seeing you. The 2014 Coffin Hop is over, and I had a blast. Not only was there a lot of fantastic writing to read and art to look at, but I actually one something. That put a new item on my reading list.

Speaking of winning, it is time to announce the winner for my contest. Originally, I had offered a single e-copy ARC of my novel Double Occupancy.

Well, there were a total of 38 entries, and I like giving this out, so I am upping the qty. I decided to give away four copies. One of you that entered multiple times must have worked some magic on the old drawing hat, because your name came out for every time you entered.

Anyway, congratulations to Katie M John, Michelle Willms, The Manicheans & afstewart. I will be hunting for your e-mail addresses today. I have your books waiting for you.

On to other things.

As almost all writers with an internet presence are aware, November is National Novel Writing Month. It is the time of year when the truly insane amongst us let their crazy wave around like a flag by telling everyone that they are going to write a 50,000 word novel in a month. That works out to 1667 words per day.

This year, I am joining the insanity. If you look on the right hand side, below my advertising, you will find a daily word count. I will condense the count at the end of the week so that I don’t have thirty entries on that sidebar. My end of the week will be when I total a week’s entries up. It has nothing to do with a calendar.

So, this month’s stories and posts are going to be short from here on out.

Wish me luck. I am going to need it.

L. E. White


He sat with his back straight, because slouching is bad for you.

His mother told him that.

He never said anything mean about other people behind there back. If he didn’t like someone, he just didn’t talk about them.

His grandmother told him that.

He never said anything that wasn’t true. A man was only as good as his word.

His grandfather told him that.

He did what he believed he should, because actions speak louder than words.

His father told him that.

When he walked into the bank and started shooting, it was because they had downsized him before raising his payments and taking his home away. An eye for an eye.

He didn’t remember where he had read that, and until today, he had never understood what it really meant.


Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, Horror, Writing

Learning Curve

September 10, 2014 Leave a comment

Learning from your mistakes is one of the things that we all really need to focus on doing more of. I came very close to FUBAR-ing my first agent queries. You would think I would learn, and in this case, I might have.

I said last week that if things went well, I would be sending out queries when the post went live. Things were going well until I did a quick web search about how to write a good synopsis.

The one that I wrote was horrible. It needs a lot of work. I almost started sending this out without having done that research. I would have ruined my chances with my top choice agents and I wouldn’t have known why.

I have made this sort of mistake before, many times in fact. At least this time, I did learn something. The queries are being worked on, the synopsis is being whipped into shape and I haven’t sent anyone anything yet.


L. E. White

Making a Connection

Nadine knelt on the floor, dragging a piece of chalk back and forth as she drew a thick, white line on the ground. She hummed an old lull-a-bye, repeating the tune over and over as he worked.

There was a metal rod in the center of the floor with a string leading from it to the chalk. Whenever she felt the line was full enough, Nadine would slip to the side, and resume her work an arm’s length further around the room.

The sounds coming from the cages beside the door were soft. The animals would click as they drank water from the bottles hung on their doors, but otherwise, they were quiet. They rested on their blankets, chins resting on front paws, watching the woman work.

Nadine used a compass to find the proper starting point for the symbols. She drew strange, squiggling lines in little groups around the circle. Each one marked one of the twelve places from North to North again. Then, she drew another circle around the whole.

She sat small towers with extension cords coming out of the bottom in eight positions around the outer most circle. Once they were plugged in, Nadine walked around the room. She checked and re-checked that everything was in its proper place.

She pressed a few of the buttons on her phone before flipping it over in her hand and lifting it up. “Trial run number 23, Brotherhood scenario,” she said.

“To increase the power available for the reaction, I have added in a modified Jacob’s ladder. This allows for eight points of activation around the circle. By placing the central focus in the circle with extended strike surfaces facing the powered poles, I believe I can add energy to the reaction without breaking the boundary of the circle.”

She stepped to the cages and brought out two animals. The tiny monkey went inside the circle to the north while a parrot went in the south. Each of the animals were asleep, drugs making sure that they would not disturb the process by moving.

Nadine took her place inside another small circle outside the ring of lightning rods and knelt back down. She placed her hands on two crystals, pieces of each lay scattered around the animals. She took a deep breath and focused her mind on the idea of bonding the animals into a single creature. After a minute of deep breathing, she pressed a button on the remote in her pocket.

The lights in the room dimmed as the power diverted to the circle. Electricity cracked through the air and a miniature lightning storm began to fire from rod to rod.

With her eyes closed so that the sight would not distract her, Nadine envisioned both animals. She imagined them shifting into a collection of slow moving globes of light. The motes of energy began to swirl around inside the circle. The center of the swirl moved to a point at the top of a triangle connecting the two bodies. It hovered there and the little balls of light began to funnel down. As the lights bumped into each other, they joined; leaving a single, larger globe to continue towards the axis. When there was only a single light left, it hovered a few inches above the floor, spinning like a top.

Nadine envisioned her hands shaping that last ball of energy, molding it into the shape of a mouse with wings.

She smiled and relaxed when she thought the image in her head was perfect. She started to put her hand in her pocket to turn off the array, but a loud popping noise startled her. Nadine’s eyes snapped open, and she stared at the black spots on the floor.

Scorch marks covered the spots where each animal had lain. Black smears on the concrete floor were all that remained of her test subjects, but she did not look at those marks long.

What held her attention was the third mark. That one was distinct, with crisp edges like someone had spray painted the shape onto the floor with a stencil. Nadine leaned over, her nose inches away from it, and began to cry.

It looked like a monkey with wings.

Categories: Book, Writing

That was more difficult that I expected.

September 3, 2014 Leave a comment

August is over and I am going to allow myself to go back to including monsters and the supernatural in my stories. I enjoy these elements. Having that kind of thing in my work makes it more fun to write.

It is time to have fun again. 🙂

Also, the latest issue of The Siren’s Call is available. Pick it up here and get a collection of apocalyptic fiction as well as another one of my stories.

On a related note, I have finished my novel. I have written a one page synopsis and a query letter. I have also decided to re-write the ending based on a conversation with a far more successful author and teacher. I plan to do that on Tuesday night, so if things work out, I am already looking for an agent when this post is published.

The working title is “Double Occupancy”. It is the story of a wizard who makes a mistake and binds the spirit of another wizard to himself. Two souls in one body. After four years together, the pair is trying to find another body to host the spirit so that they can finally have some alone time.

With any luck, I will be publishing Double Occupancy soon. As of now, it is time to start on my third novel. I wrote the second last year, but I trunked it because I don’t believe it is good enough for publication. I may look into it again in the future, but not right now. The story of a demonically possessed, life sized, sex doll doesn’t seem like one that will go well. I could be wrong, but, I just don’t have faith in it.

So, on to the next novel. I have a lot of ideas but I don’t know which one to start on.

I have an idea that crosses science with spiritualism where people can see and interact with their spirit guides. A different take on vampirism, making them more of the monsters that they used to be. A shape-shifting nature spirit that is looking for love and revenge, or, a historical piece where a father and soldier tries to secure a place for his dying little girl in a mythology that he isn’t a part of.

And that is just the top of the list.

Do any of you have an opinion? Just curious what you think. Leave me a comment and let me know.

L.E. White

(Quick Note – I am going to go ahead and publish the flash piece that I was talking about last week. I enjoyed it, and I still want to share it, even if it was rejected. I liked it, I hope you will too. The difference is that I am not doing it to get out of writing a new piece due to writer’s block. I think that difference is important.)



By L. E. White


Jenny pushed one errant strand of bottle blonde hair behind her ear as she glanced up at the boy beside her. “Are you sure about this?”

Roger nodded and aimed a wide smile at her. “Yeah, it’s gonna be great.”

“It just seems wrong.”

“If they didn’t want anyone to see them then they wouldn’t do it here.”

She licked her lips and opened her mouth, but snapped it shut with a tiny smack when she heard the door at the bottom of the stairway open.

“Shhhhh.” Roger held his finger to his lips before peeking over the railing toward the bottom.

Jenny did the same, leaning out over the rail as little as possible. Hoping that the couple would not see her.

At the bottom of the stairs a skinny, dark haired young man was shrugging off his backpack. Beside him, a tiny girl with purple and red hair pressed against the wall to see if anyone had noticed them ducking through the door.

“Coast clear?”

The boys whispered his words to the girl, but they carried up the stairwell to Roger and Jenny.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think we’re good. You ready?”

The voyeurs watched as the boy answered the question by kissing her.

Jenny’s eyes widened as she watched them. They broke apart after a second, and she felt her heart racing in anticipation. “Wow.” Excitement filled the whispered word.

“Yeah,” Roger answered. He leaned over and spoke into Jenny’s ear, his voice no louder than a breath. “But just wait, there’s more.”

A chill chased goose bumps down her spine, and Jenny shivered.

The couple at the bottom of the stairs separated, and the boy went to his pack. He took something and walked over to the wall.

Jenny’s smile faded, replaced by a look of mild confusion. With the girl keeping a lookout through the doors little window, the boy was rubbing something on the wall. “What is he doing?”

“Just wait. You’ll see.”

After a minute, the boy went back to his bag. A quick clicking noise that reminded Jenny of a child shaking a toy , drifted up the to them. After a second, the clicking stopped, replaced by a hiss.

“What are they doing?”

Jenny’s question was too loud. The sound carried up and down the stairwell, causing Roger to lean back from the edge. The couple at the bottom of the stairs both looked up at the same time that Roger grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from the railing. He held her and waited until the hissing started again.

“That was close,” Roger said. “Just be patient.”

Jenny frowned, but nodded anyway.

The pair on the third floor leaned back over and watched as the couple on the ground floor did their thing. The smell of paint wafted up to Jenny and she wrinkled her nose before covering the lower half of her face with her hand.

She leaned back, moving away from the stench, until she heard the bottom door open again.

“Come on,” Roger said, using his normal voice. “Let’s go see it.”

He took her hand, and Jenny felt the heat flow from his body into hers. She ignored the odor and the insanity of what he had wanted to do so that she would remain welcome explore with him. She almost stumbled as they descended. Roger’s excitement over the creation of the graffiti causing him to rush.

They stopped at the bottom to look at the wall. Jenny had planned to say something polite, but sarcastic. She intended to try not to offend Roger, figuring that he was enamored by the thrill of petty crime.


“I know,” he said.

The image on the wall wasn’t what she expected. There were no swear words outlined in different colors. It wasn’t an insult to someone by suggesting that you call their number for a good time.

“Oh,” Jenny said again.

Broken black lines formed the outlines of flowers, and splashes of color sat inside those black lines. The artist had left wide, bare places so that the original white of the wall added to the picture without looking forgotten. They were lilies, three different kinds, each at least four feet across.

Jenny looked over at the trash can and saw the stencils shoved into it. The people had not trashed the building. That pair had risked getting in trouble to share their art with everyone else that passed through this door.

Roger had brought her here so that she could be the first to see it.

“What do you think?”

Jenny reached out and took Roger’s hand. She squeezed it and leaned against him. “It’s beautiful.”


Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, Writing


March 12, 2014 Leave a comment

I have signed the contract and even received confirmation and permission to talk about it. So, it is official that my first standalone story, a novella with the working title of ‘Forever and Always’, will be published by Sirens Call Publications. My cheeks are actually sore from smiling when I think about it.

In other news, I am very ready for spring. I have had enough of this snow and cold to last me forever and I already know I only get a year. Its bad but I am already dreading next winter.

That being said, there is a lot to do between now and then. My newest short story is almost done and I will be submitting it to Cairn Press in the next week or so. Deadline is the end of the month so it is now or never. I have other short stories that need to be written/submitted and I am still working on the third draft for my first novel. So many words, so little time.

Have a good day and I hope you enjoy the next story.

L. E. White


The clock was ticking.

A loud, echoing clack as the gears smacked together with each shift of the mechanism.

For each slap of the gears teeth grinding together, there was a small, sharp noise as the arm shifted up and down, moving the gear that forced the thin, red second hand to jump over to the next mark.

Frank was surrounded by clocks. Most of them did not turn, many would never be able to turn again, yet he still had them lined up for inspection. His workbench was covered in springs and gears and discarded hands, except for the spot directly in front of him. Here sat a small rack of tools, the only thing that he kept neat and orderly, beside the arm which held the magnifying glasses.

At this moment, Frank looked through two of the lenses. He had flipped them down so that a spring, smaller than some yarn, looked like a fat, Cuban cigar. Trembling, palsied hands moved the slender loop at the end over a rivet inside of the old pocket watch Mr. Anderson had brought to him.  When the spring was in place, Frank released his grip on the pliers. The spring snapped into place with a tiny click. Frank smiled, twisted the knob on the top of the watch, and was rewarded with the gentle bouncing of the gears as they began to move. “Ahh. Fixed.”

“Is it?” A barrel chested and potbellied man struggled to his feet from the sunken cushion of a chair that sat in the corner of Frank’s workshop. He waddled up behind Frank and peered around the lenses to watch Frank close the face back down over the gears.

“It is as good as new,” Frank said. He wiped the piece down with a rag before handing it back to its owner. “Just be careful not to over-wind it again.”

The standing man dropped one meaty hand down onto Frank’s shoulder, but he hesitated just before making contact. The pat had started out with enough force to have bowled the spindle thin tinker over, but ended so gentle that he might have been playing with a new puppy. “Thank you ever so much Frank.” The big man laid three crisp twenty dollar bills on the bench beside the tools before leaving with a spring in his step that made his belly jiggle and push his pants down until he had to use one hand to hitch them back up.

With the fat man gone, the ticking increased in volume. Many of the clocks seemed to be working in perfect unison, making the glass faces of some vibrate. Other clocks sounded like they were just a bit off, which made their own mechanisms sound discordant. Together, the cacophony was mind boggling.

“I understand,” Frank said. He turned to a closed cabinet and opened the door. “I know you don’t like to be closed off but someone would try to destroy you if they saw and heard you. Nobody would believe that a clock could talk.”

The clock inside the cabinet continued to tick and tock, but mixed between those sounds, the match of the synchronized and out of sync clocks, came mechanical, soulless, words. “You must listen to me Frank.”

“I understand,” Frank said, turning his back on the only thing in his work shop that was older than he was. “I am sorry but protecting you from others is more important than your disdain for my closing you off from the world.”

The clock stood in still, impassive indifference. Yet, if the hands of the individual faces were considered, for this clock told more than just the time, it resembled a scowling countenance.

“I understand,” Frank said, his face growing pale as he turned back to the clock. “I won’t do it again.”

The hour and minute hands shifted, moving closer to the top of the hour as the clock continued to tick and tock.

“No, please don’t.” Frank brought his hand up in front of him, palms facing the clock. His arms shook and his lip began to quiver. “I promise I won’t close you away from the next customer.” His was growing louder and the stooped old man began to rise from his work stool.

Ticks and tocks.

“Please. Please.”

On one very loud tick, the minute hand lined up with the twelve on the clocks face. The next tock came so soft that Frank almost missed hearing it. He sighed, his hunched shoulders relaxing a bit.

And then the clock struck a tiny bell to mark the hour.

Frank jerked, bending forward like he had just been punched. He slapped his hands over his ears and dug his fingertips into the sides of his head. At the second chiming, the crisp, high note of the bell was drowned out by Frank’s agonized scream.

The third chime drove Frank to the floor.

The fourth marked the moment when blood shot out of his nose and mouth.

The fifth caused Frank’s body to start jerking in violent convulsions until the sixth chime brought them to an end.

The bell continued until the clock was finished announcing the hour to the world.

Then, it stopped. No more ticks, no more tocks. The little dials which sat together below the central shaft were each facing out; pointing up like the corners of a smile.



Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, Horror, Writing

Pot Holders

March 5, 2014 3 comments

It is amazing the effect that the receipt of good news has on you. My wife has mentioned it, something about being bright eyed and in a good mood, and other people are smiling at me as they walk by. If you know me very well then you realize that this is kind of creepy for me so we will see how long the glow of good news lasts. However, for now it must be obvious.

I read a submission call for stories and misread it. It was one year too old and I didn’t read the year carefully enough. So, the anthology wasn’t open anymore. Feeling very stupid, since I had actually written a much longer story anyway, I began to sub it as a stand alone to publishers who might be interested in a novella.

I have received a request to publish and a contract to sign.

Yes, I am dancing on the inside. After a very long dry streak in terms of stories published this is a big boost to the old ego. This isn’t a regular serial or a specific anthology. Someone liked my work enough to want to publish it as a stand alone. I will be getting the opportunity to work with an editor to make something wonderful and I am excited.

I won’t say which story or what publisher until the contract is finished, but I am way to excited not to share a little bit now. In all truth, if it hasn’t been signed and mailed back by the time this is posted you should be surprised. It is difficult to curb your enthusiasm enough to be professional but I am trying.

I am just failing.

L. E. White

Pot Holders

As I lifted the wrench up beside his head, a pair of dark green eyes shifted, watching its movement. “Are you sure about this,” he asked.

“Yes I am.” I put the socket over the hexagonal head of the bolt and began to tighten it into place. “If we don’t get this heap moving in a few minutes the life support system is going to fail. With the size of this ship, we will freeze to death from loss of heat before we suffocate from stale air, but I don’t want to wait around and feel that happen if I can help it.”

I was lying. I had no idea if this would work or not, but considering our options, the explosion that would indicate failure seemed better than a slow death. I had already escaped a slow death once and that meant that I was sure I didn’t want to press that luck again.

“So,” he said while doing his best to hold the heavy reflector in place. “Explain to me how this works.”

“I already explained this once.”

“Yeah, but hearing you do it makes me feel better.”

I glanced down at his smooth scalp, noticing that a little stubble was beginning to show, and frowned as I continued to tighten the bolt. I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed. He was far too simple minded to have been included on a hauling mission into deep space. Jack lacked the intelligence to be a multipurpose officer on a ship, but that didn’t mean that it would hurt me to make him feel better anyway.

“With the engine down, we have to build another generator. Since we don’t have any way to collect fissionable material for the normal reactors, we have to come up with something else. Therefore, we are going to build a dark matter gravity reactor inside of the broken anti-matter reactor.” I moved to the other side and started tightening those bolts.

“So we are going to catch some of the dark matter that is around us?”

“Yes, then we can force it to spin inside of this reactor core by positioning these pot holders around it.”

He frowned. “Pot holders? You didn’t mention pot holders the last time we went over this.”

“Pot holders are a nickname for these white light matter reflectors that we are putting up.”

Jack nodded and closed his mouth so that I could hear his lips clap together. I grinned, wondering again why the union had accepted this guy. “Anyway, all we have to do is turn them on and keep floating. Dark matter moves through all of the normal forms of matter that we know of. It will move through the ship but it will get caught inside the generator when we kick the reflectors on.”

He nodded again and lowered his arms with an exaggerated sigh.  “Good thing we turned the grav down huh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Good thing.”

We worked for another fifteen minutes before the reactor was ready. I did what tests I could but eventually all we could do was cross our fingers and hope that it worked.

“Are you ready,” I asked. “I am about to fire up the aft side.”

Jack nodded.

“Alright then, cross your fingers.”

I put my hand on to the console and placed my finger over the button. Before I touched it, I glanced over at Jack and saw that he really had crossed his fingers.

The fear washed over me like the waves of the ocean I had seen as a child. It slammed into me the way the water had smacked into the bottom of the cliff I had been standing on.

I wasn’t afraid of dying. I wasn’t afraid of pain or slow death, although I would prefer to die both quickly and painlessly. It took a moment for me to realize it, but I was afraid I would let Jack down. That simple man with his trusting smile and slow mind was the source of the fear that was making my finger tremble. Seeing his look of disappointment was the thing that I was afraid of.

“You don’t have your fingers crossed,” he said.

I looked over at him. Jack was smiling at me and holding up his closest hand, displaying his fingers, one over the other.

I held up my other hand and moved the middle finger over the index. Jack nodded and turned back so that his head rested against his seat.

I closed my eyes, took one deep breath, and pressed the button.

Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, Writing

Little Book 10

November 27, 2013 1 comment


Sirens Call Publications has just released “Slaughter House: The Serial Killer Edition – Volume 3” which includes a story of mine. Here is the synopsis.

The majority of us know the common connotation of a serial killer. But how many of us know that by definition, a serial killer is an individual who has only killed a minimum of three people on separate occasions? Interesting fact, wouldn’t you say.

What you’ll find here are not only the stories of the atrocities committed by such individuals, but their thoughts, choices, and the twisted paths their lives have taken to bring them to this point.

These are the stories behind the serial killers.

Slaughter House: The Serial Killer Edition – Volume 3 contains the following eleven fictional


Appetites – Ken MacGregor

The Spirit of Sportsmanship – Justin M. Ryan

The Questioning – K. Trap Jones

The Wild Feast – L. E. White

Night Of The Wampus – Melissa Crory

Eddy and The Girls – Trevor Firetog

Food for Thought – Katie Jones

The Eyes Have It – James WF Roberts

Joey and the Hippie – Jenean McBrearty

Representations – W.B. Stickel

At Any Cost – Alex Chase


Purchase Links:

Amazon: US, UK, Canada, Australia, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Brazil, Japan, MexicoIndia



So, just in time for you holiday, give the gift of fear with a book that includes something of mine. Have a good one.

L. E. White

Little Book 10

The sun had been up for no more than a few minutes and Joey wasn’t wasting any of his day. Amy was stretched out on the bed, naked, beautiful and inviting, but she was still asleep and he knew she would stay that way for a few more hours.

Joey sat on the end of the bed with his tablet in hand. He searched the net, sent message and made contacts while wearing a quiet smile. A couple of hours later, he hooked the little computer up to the charger and stepped to the window.

“Today is going to be beautiful.”

Amy groaned and stretched before squinting over at him. “Come back to bed, it’s really early.”

He walked back with a grin, “Good idea.”


“I do not like this,” Claire said as she followed Joey and Amy down the street. “There are too many people around to be sure you are safe.”

“I always watch this parade,” Joey said. “This is a holiday tradition and I want enjoy it. Try to relax.”

Amy rolled her eyes and pulled Joey’s arm closer as she clicked along beside of him.

Joey watched the floats and bands as they passed. Amy stood beside him, smiling and pointing out things that she liked while Claire stood to the other side about a step behind him, looking bored. He checked on her once or twice, noticing that the demonic bodyguard’s eyes darted around despite being half closed.

The three of them wandered around, sampling the food and looking at the various crafts people were selling. As the sun slunk towards the horizon, they headed towards the parking garage. Amy held a teddy bear in one arm and Clair continued to snap her eyes from side to side, looking for threats.

A group of children were standing on their porch, throwing paper snappers at their feet and dancing around, laughing and squealing almost hiding the crack of a rifle shot that sounded down the street. Claire was thrown backward when the bullet struck her temple, and gore splattered the people walking behind them.

Amy screamed as four big men jumped out of a van parked along the street. They charged towards Joey as other festival goers scattered, and he reached into his coat, drawing out a sleek, silver pistol.

“Move!” The word sounded like it came from breaking guitar strings and Joey’s mouth dropped open as Claire charged past him. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open in disgust as the bloody mess of a woman lunged at the closest of the men from the van. A small hole with an angry red puckering around it was visible where the snipers bullet had hit her.

Claire grabbed the man by the shoulders and while he wore the same expression of shock as the others, he recovered and grabbed the bloody woman, thinking he could overpower her.

He was wrong.

The tiny corpse elongated, Claire’s mid-section extending, so that they were equal in height. The demon spun like a child’s toy, dragging the man off his feet and launching him towards his companions.

Two of the thugs dropped to the ground and their companion flew towards the van like a football that had just been thrown by a first time quarter back. He spun, arms and legs spread wide before slamming into the side of the vehicle with a crunching sound like dry cereal.

“Move!” The creature bellowed the word again as the third of the attackers shot her with a taser. The tiny darts connected and the demon jerked as a sizzling noise was accompanied by another crack of a distant gun shot. What remained of Claire’s head rocked backward as Joey turned and dashed up the steps of the building beside of him.

Joey grabbed the door’s handle and jerked it open before falling into the building and pulling his feet inside the threshold. Amy tried to scramble towards him, still down on her hands and knees, when she came off the ground with a shriek.

Claire whipped Amy over her head and threw the petite blonde at the man with the taser. He stood there, eyes wide and lips parted, until the woman turned dodge-ball collided with him, knocking him off his feet and landing them both in piles a couple of yards away.

One of the last two had stood up and he turned to run away. The other was still climbing to his feet when Claire launched herself towards him. As she moved, her body flowed, changing from the headless corpse of Joey’s busty personal assistant into a beast that might have been a cross between a praying mantis and a gorilla.

Clair’s arms stretched out, each one splitting and filling out as coarse hair spread in spiraling branches out to the ends. Each arm ended in a pair of hands, facing each other with the fingers interlocking into gigantic fists. The glob of pulp that had been her head transformed into an insect like replica of two praying mantis’s with the backs of their heads glued together.

The slower of the men managed no more than a tiny squeak before one of the monster’s fists knocked his head off of his shoulders. She was past him and reaching for the other before the corpse fell back to the ground. The runner tried to dodge to the side as his companion’s head flew past him but Claire was too fast. Both arms on one side reached out, the double fists opening like the mouth of a venus fly trap, and in another step, she had him and was lifting him into the air.

There was another crack as the rifle put another round into the air. Claire’s head moved like she was sneezing and a bullet cracked into the trunk of a small tree. Joey heard the thunk of the impact and looked at the bits of splinter and bark as they fell to the ground.

His eyes were drawn back to Clair as the man she had ahold of shrieked. Claire shoved her fingers of one large hand through his lower back before spreading them out. The man tore apart, his guts spilling out of the hole once Claire pulled her hand away. He let out a soft whimper and then all Joey could hear was the sound of his guts falling to the pavement with a wet slurping.

Claire dropped the body and then blurred out of sight. Joey listened, waiting until he heard two shots, before scooting further back from the door and standing up.

Claire re-appeared, clean and human again, after no more than another second. She started to step forward, but stopped and looked around. Her eyes began to glow a soft blue as her lips parted in a snarl. “Come here, we need to leave.”

Joey shook his head and turned his back on her. “I’ll be right back. Just wait there.”

Claire’s body trembled so that it looked like she was having a seizure. Waves of heat rolled off of her as she tried to find a way to get to Joey inside the church. “Come back here.”

He ignored her as he walked towards the old priest who was making his way toward the door. “I need to talk to you Father. This is really important.”

Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, Horror, serial

Little Book 4

October 16, 2013 3 comments


I have some great news to share before you get to the next installment. I have received an acceptance for one of my stories, Stick Figures, from Under the Bed Magazine.

I will be posting more about it when the issue is printed but I want to share now for a couple of reasons. First, this is my second sale of the year. It has been a very lean writing year where acceptances are concerned compared to the last one and this story is one of the reasons. I have submitted it everywhere in an attempt to find a home.

Second, I have just finished the first draft of my second novel length work. By just finished I mean the morning that this post will go up. I read a call for submissions to the Devils and Deviants anthology, a collection of erotic horror stories and decided to write for it. The collection was supposed to have a word count from two to seven thousand words. I started writing, and before I knew it I was at ten and I wasn’t near the end. Today, I broke 47,000 words. I had no idea this story was going to be this large, but hey, it is what it is. I will go back and add a couple of scenes that I need and I will do my best to crank up the creepy and scary. When that is done, I think “Mandy” will finished up at close to 60,000.

I am happy with my writing and I am so glad that I can share an acceptance. Now that this story is finished, it will be back to the drawing board on my first novel to do the third draft and try to improve it after having received a bunch of critiques and feed back.

I may actually qualify as ‘giddy’ about this but I’m not sure.

Oh well, make sure and check out the most recent issue of Under the Bed and I will be sure to post links to the issue with Stick Figures in it. In the mean time you should follow them on Twitter or Facebook.

L. E. White

Little Book 4

Joey sat in the warehouse at a folding table with a notepad and a pen, Claire stood behind him, her nails clicking against the surface of the tablet as her fingers flew across it.

“Boss?” Carl stopped dead in his tracks as he stood just outside of the circle of light that surrounded Joey’s table. “What are you doing out here?”

“I am here for the collection,” Joey said with an easy smile. “You see, I feel like I need to keep in touch with all of you. Really be sure you guys are doing your best and that you feel like we care.”



Joey had done this act a dozen times in the last three days. He would walk around and talk to the guys who worked for him. Make sure that they knew how much he valued them and how important it was to him that they were treated like family. After that, he would walk back, drag the notepad over and handwrite what they were owed.

Claire would record their private tally from the spirit that accompanied Joey’s human employee. One nod and Joey would know if things balanced or not. So far, he had caught three guys who were skimming off the top. In each case, it had been small, like cash or change that they found in the house. He would smile; ask them if they had taken anything else, anything at all, if the nodded, he would explain that for the sake of keeping records, he wanted to know about all of it. If they told him, he would give them two bills for being honest. “We take from others, but if you want me to have your back, you have to be honest with me. We are family from this point on.”

Mark had emptied about ten bucks from a change jar and Sam took a doll for his little girl. Both got two bills and left feeling great. Joey wasn’t worried at all.

Jim had tried to hide the cash box that he had found. Two grand in his pocket got him a broken foot. Joey stomped down, grinding his heel after he did it and then he punched him in the nose. Jim was on his knees on the floor, spitting blood and snot out as he looked at Joey with wide, panicked eyes. “Boss please.”

Joey knelt in front of him and smiled. “If you lie to me again I will eat you alive.”

One of the demons took Jim to the hospital where he used the money from the cash box to get a cast and Joey had laughed when he looked at Claire. “I bet he doesn’t do that again.”

“Sir, that isn’t enough of a shortage to account for the difference.”

Joey nodded. “These have all been small time. Someone else still needs to realize he isn’t going to get employee of the month.”


As Joey moved around the table, he saw that Carl was shaking. The old thief tucked his hands in his pockets to hide them but almost ripped his coat trying to pull his hand back out to shake Joey’s.

Joey’s smile was predatory than before.

“So, how did you do this week Carl?”

Carl took a slow breath to steady himself and then he nodded. “Really well boss.”

“Call me Joey. We worked together before Carl, no reason to be anything but family am I right?”

“Sure, sure.” Carl reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper.

Joey felt it tremble between his fingers as he took it. This time, he glances at Claire before he went to write it down.

She was smiling a menacing, vile smile that made the hair on Joey’s neck stand on end. At that moment, despite looking like a beautiful woman with magnificent cleavage, Claire revealed one of the truths of herself and of the others.

She was a predator.

Joey sat the paper on the table and turned to Carl. “This feels a little light Carl. Why don’t you tell me how well you really did?”

Carl’s eyes widened and Joey made a mental not to remember to invite Carl to play poker if her survived this. The man had no poker face at all.

“That’s all of it boss. I swear.”


“Joey,” Carl almost yelled. “Sorry Joey, I won’t forget again.”

“Carl, you are lying to me and you are a terrible liar. Now, you can tell me or I can make you tell me. You pick.”

Carl looked around and jumped. Three of the demons had been standing around, invisible to everyone one that came and went, but now they were there, looking like ex-military and boxing the nervous man in.

“Joey, I didn’t take nothing from your jobs that I wasn’t supposed to.”

Joey looked at Carl and pursed his lips. “That is an interesting way to say that,” he said as he crossed his arms. “Carl, have you been pulling jobs on your own?”

Carl began to twitch.

“So that is what’s been happening,” Joey said. “You haven’t been skimming, you’ve been moonlighting.”

Carl began to shake so much that Joey could hear his jaw chattering like a little kid who has been out playing in the snow.

“Why are you moonlighting Carl? Don’t I pay you enough?”

Carl lifted one hand up and covered his face. Joey listened to hear the sound of his palm slapping his forehead from how much the thief was shaking but he couldn’t hear it. What he did hear was Claire, growling. He put one hand down and waved it to try and keep her back.

“Carl, tell me what’s going on so we can fix this.”

All the demons looked up from Carl to Joey. They were tense, ready to rush the man. Most likely, they were hoping Joey would give the word for them to take care of this. He remembered Claire’s threat to eat Carl and shook his head a little.

“I got bills.”

“What kind of bills?”

Carl looked at Joey and settled down. His hand stopped trembling as he tucked them into his pockets and Joey could see him deflate like one of those kids bounce houses when you turned off the fan. “My kid is sick.”

Joey nodded but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just stood and waited for Carl to look back up at him. “You got sick family, then we got sick family. You come see me tomorrow and we will find you more money.”

Carl’s jaw dropped. When Joey looked over at Claire with a smug smile, he was stunned to see her jaw hanging open as well. She was struck for a moment before snapping her mouth shut and turning a smoldering glare at her tablet.

Joey turned back around, “You come see me at lunch tomorrow.”

Carl was bobbing up and down, promising to be there and thanking Joey while he stumbled away. When Joey looked at the floor where he had been, he saw a wet spot.

“I can’t believe you let him leave?”

Joey turned back to Claire. “I told you before, if he is smart enough to do the job and skim some extra, then we need to use that, not kill him.”

Claire shook her head and began to tap the tablet again. The other demons faded out of sight and the whole group prepared for the next scheduled delivery. Joey couldn’t see it, but all of the monsters were glaring at him with open hatred on their natural faces.

None of them understood why dinner had not been served.

Categories: Book, Flash Fiction, serial, Writing

Back in the Saddle

April 3, 2013 4 comments

I am swamped at work with the installation of my new project. I warned you that I might miss a post or two and last week that is exactly what happened.

But I’m back.

The following story was accepted and published by Hazardous Press in “A Quick Bite of Flesh” an anthology of zombie flash fiction. I really like this story and am proud to be able to offer it to all of you.  If you enjoy it, be sure to check out the anthology.

L. E. White

Like Father Like Son

“Pa, what are they?”

“Don’t ask questions boy. Run!”

Joe turned on his heel and ran for the trail that he and his father had followed to get on top of this hill. It was lucky that the moon was full; the light let him see where they had staked the horses for the night. The problem was that it also let him see the staggering bodies that were attacking his favorite horse.

Joe pulled his pistol while watching Blackie kick one of the attackers in the chest. Savages that looked like men but smelled like a dead dog that had been lying out in the sun. The only thing that got them up and moving was Billy’s screams. Poor old man had walked away from the fire to take a leak when those Injuns had jumped him.

“Don’t shoot and don’t stop,” Joe’s pa said. He grabbed Joe by the collar to drag him towards the path. “We can’t save the horses. Now move!”

The two men, one past his prime and the other almost there, darted through the brambles. Joe felt things grabbing at him but he couldn’t tell if it was the Indians or the brambles. The fear that he was going to get scalped pushed him on. The old men in town told stories about how those red devils would cut the top off your head as a trophy and Joe had often pulled on his own hair while thinking about it. He couldn’t think of anything worse than a scalping and it made him run that much harder.

He heard his pa fall down, and would have sworn he felt the big man’s breath against his back. Joe turned and saw that a crazy Indian had a hold of his Pa’s legs.

The crazy some-bitch shook his head on Pa’s ass before pulling away and tearing a big chunk of meat off. Joe drew and fired, putting hot lead into the man’s chest but it didn’t stop him. The Indian turned to look at Joe, who screamed like his little sister had when he put a dead snake in her doll house. Now that he was close, he could see that the Indian didn’t have eyes, he just had two dark holes in his head where they should have been. Whatever this had been, it wasn’t alive now.

Joe put the next bullet into the damned thing’s head and it fell over on top of his pa. He holstered the Colt and reached down to help his pa up as another one of hell’s heathen rejects came out of the brush towards them.

The big man was afraid. Joe had never seen his father look scared of anything, but tonight his eyes were wide and the moon light reflected off trails of tears that had ran down into his beard. Pa shook his arm free of Joe’s hand and shoved him away.

A couple more monsters, one wearing a Union soldiers uniform and the other a bowler hat, were stumbling down the trail towards them as the closest one dropped down on top of Pa and bit his shoulder. He screamed and tried to fight for a second before Joe shot this one in the head like he had the other. His Pa looked up at him and screamed, “I said run, boy!”

Joe jumped back, surprised by the anger in his Pa’s voice. He had just saved the older man’s life and now Pa was yelling at him to go away, Joe just stood there, looking at his father in shock.

The walking corpses were only a couple of steps away. After darting a look over his shoulder the injured man looked back to his son and said, “Please, Joe. Just run.”

Pa had never said please. He had spent years telling Joe what to do and whipping him if he didn’t do it. He had taught him that you had to be strong and stand up for yourself, but he had also beaten him down any time he talked back. Now, he begged Joe to leave him to die.

Joe squared his shoulders and raised his pistol. The first bullet flipped what had once been a fighting man ass-over-heels to drop the body in a pile on the ground. Joe figured the other would stop or dodge, but it just dove on top of his pa to try and take another bite. Joe kicked it hard enough to roll it off his father before putting his last ready round into the thing’s head.

“You wouldn’t leave me and I ain’t leavin’ you.” Joe stepped closer to the man who had taught him how to shoot as he reloaded his gun. “Now you lie still.”

With his gun in the air and his feet set wide, Joe wiped his face and watched more of the stinking corpses make their way towards them. He pretended not to notice that the biggest, meanest and best man he had ever known was lying on the ground.