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


November 13, 2017 6 comments

There is something magical about getting to share good news. The chance to stand tall and shout to all your friends and family so that they can celebrate with you. Today is fantastic because I get to do that.

My first book has been published.



After years of work with the wonderful members of Sirens Call Publications, Forever is available. Here is the press release.

Amazon: US | UK | Canada | Australia | Germany | France | Spain | Italy | Japan | MexicoBrazil | India | The Netherlands

I will be updating the links once the print copies are available.

That’s right. Print copies. One of my stories, on paper and all by itself.

Thank you all. I hope you enjoy the story.

Categories: Uncategorized

October 27, 2017 Leave a comment

I am sitting on the porch, a beer in my hand, as I watch the dark cloud that is making its way towards me. The sky is overcast. It has been for over a week but now a line is rolling towards me that is black against the gray.

I take a long pull, wishing it was cold but happy to have it regardless.

The wind shifts and because of that I can smell smoke. The storm line is still at least an hour away but I can already smell the smoke.

I finish the bottle and crack open another.

I know some people are hiding. I know some are acting stupid. Each is dealing with the coming storm in their own way.

Me? I plan to be drunk.

There ain’t no way to hide from them. There ain’t no way to stop them. In a situation like this, all you can do is numb yourself. The pain and horror is coming and there won’t be anything you can do.

Storm flies were coming and that would be the last of it.

Categories: Flash Fiction, Horror


October 18, 2017 Leave a comment

Each slip of paper, no matter how small, has the potential to change the world. It doesn’t matter what you write, it is an act of creation. Every act of creation is a force in the greater scheme of things.

I knew this from an early age. I wrote my first note in grade school. I gave it to a my friend to pass to the boy beside her. It was simple, asking if he liked me and giving him the chance to check yes or no.

He checked no, though that didn’t matter. The real lesson came later, when I wrote a story about him having a terrible accident. Tears mixed with ink as I talked about how he was riding on the bus with Margaret, the girl I seen him holding hands with after checking no on my not, and the bus went off the road.

The next day, when learned about that accident, I realized the truth. The power of creation belonged to everyone, they just didn’t realize it.

Now then, I am going to ask you again, which box do you want to check?

Categories: Uncategorized

The Red Book of Appin

October 11, 2017 Leave a comment

The thrift store was as tiny and cramped as I had hoped when I saw it. The older and more cluttered a shop like this was, the more likely that I would find a great deal. It’s hard to feed your passions when you are broke. Book collecting could be very expensive.

The store had been open for no more than twenty minutes. I had every intention of finishing before noon, but there was a sandwich and water bottle in my backpack just in case. It wasn’t like I had never lost an entire day before.

“All bags need to be checked in here,” the cashier said as I walked past.

I nodded and handed mine to her. We heard the crinkle of foil and shared a smile. She understood.

Time sped up as I made my way through the shelves. I skipped the handmade, so called, art and the various knickknacks who had found their way here from any number of yard sales. I blew dust off of some stacks of magazines and did my best to keep from knocking down old fast food toys that should have been thrown into the garbage. I only stopped to look at the books.

When I found it, I was more than a little confused. The red cover and the binding of the spine looked to be professional, but the variety of papers used in the pages meant it was handmade. I opened it, and found a collection of different languages. Each entry was written by hand. Different inks, different levels of skill. Yet each one was the same.

“I,” and a name or word, “do hereby take employment on,” some very old dates, “from the gentleman in possession of this book.”

It couldn’t be. I knew the story but it was just a folk tale. It couldn’t be real. I couldn’t read most of the entries, but that didn’t matter. This had to be some form of prop.

When I checked the back, I saw the two dollar price tag. I was done. I had no idea what time it was, but I was done. Even if it was a prop to a play or a movie, it was still supposed to be The Red Book of Appin. I had to have it.

I mean, come on, who could blame me?


*** Inspired by the Scottish folk tale The Red Book of Appin. Read that story Here ***

Categories: Flash Fiction


September 20, 2017 Leave a comment

My grandmother had told me stories about the Leshy. She told me that it had taken my father away because he did not respect the land.

My mother told me that she was a crazy old lady. She told me that he had been killed when a tree fell on him in the woods. My mother told me that he had died because he was not careful.

Today, I am sitting in the woods. Firewood stacked in the wagon, but I never cut live trees. I only take dead ones. I even do my best not to take limbs off of other trees when I drop one.

I am resting, my elbows on my knees and my butt on a stump, when I see it. To be honest, it scares the crap out of me. I have spent my life in the woods. I can sneak up on most animals and I have never been seen if I didn’t want to be. I have caught trespassers and poachers. I have stopped dumpers and even saved a lost cat. I am not usually caught by surprise. This thing, the size of a tractor, was a few feet away and I had no idea. I jumped, I admit it.

I looked at it, thinking I was done for. Remembering my grandmother’s stories and wishing I had my gun. It might not have done any good, but it would have made me feel better than the empty chain saw on the ground.

It stared for a bit, but neither of us made a sound. After a couple of minutes it turned and walked behind a tree that it didn’t come out from behind of. I didn’t move. I would guess I sat there, stuck in place like a bug in sap, for almost an hour. I just couldn’t do it.

I still cut wood every winter. I still make sure that the tree is dead and I still avoid hunting unless I need the meat. I am careful and I should be safe, but I keep looking over my shoulder.

So would you.

Categories: Uncategorized


September 13, 2017 Leave a comment

The sound of skin smacking against leather was methodical, almost mechanical.

~ Whack ~

It had been that way for longer than anyone expected.

~ Whack ~

The single motion of the swing.

~ Whack ~

The focus on the task.

~ Whack ~

It was a form of meditation, of single mindedness to exclude other thought.

~ Whack ~

He was doing it to keep away the memories.

~ Whack ~

So that he wouldn’t be thinking about the things he had lost.

~ Whack ~

So that he wouldn’t cry until his eyes were so swollen that they couldn’t open.

~ Whack ~

They way they did when he in his empty house.

~ Whack ~

The one that used to be a home.

~ Whack ~

Nobody had understood why he had purchased the heavy bag.

~ Whack ~

And after six months of using it, his body had changed.

~ Whack ~

He was toned in ways he had never been before.

~ Whack ~

Not that it mattered.

~ Whack ~

He never went anywhere except for work.

~ Whack ~

Eight hours of staring at a screen and typing what he was told to.

~ Whack ~

A few more than eight hours throwing punches at something that couldn’t have its lawyer protect it.

~ Whack ~

One day, he would see the other driver again.

~ Whack ~

He would be ready.

~ Whack ~



September 6, 2017 1 comment

The man looked around the room and sighed. His stomach rumbled and he snarled at it. “Patience,” he muttered.

“You want a bite to eat Sugar?” Margaret asked. She placed his beer on the bar in front of him and sat a menu beside it. “Kitchen has really good wings.”

He gave her a tight lipped grin and shook his head. “I am here to pick up a date for dinner, but thank you.”

Margaret nodded and eyed him for a moment, “If your date hasn’t shown up by closing time you can take me out Sugar.”

He winked at her over the top of the glass before turning his back on her to look at the bar again.

Margaret sighed and walked away. She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the county, but with a total population of less than three thousand, she also knew she was near the top. Most of the time, if she started flirting with a guy, he flirted back.

The man sat there for hours, nursing a couple of glasses but his date never arrived. At last call, he didn’t bother with another glass.

“I’m sorry your date didn’t show up,” Margaret said as she wiped the bar beside him. She thought about Marty and Shane. She wasn’t hard up and she could have called either of them up for a booty call. She didn’t need to be pathetic and ask him again.

She didn’t need to, but she was going to. Margaret knew she had issues with acceptance and rejection, but at least this guy was cute. “You going to take me up on dinner after all?”

He turned, and smiled. It was a big, toothy smile and lifted hit cheekbones so high that the guy looked like the joker. “Alright,” he said, his voice hissing out and giving Margaret goosebumps. “I would be honored if you would join me for dinner.”

Margaret gulped. She took a small, involuntary step backward, and then shook her head. “I would be delighted.” She pushed aside the sudden queasy feeling. She stomped down the cold that creeped into her as she looked into his dark, hooded eyes. She painted a smile on her face and fought to keep in place. It didn’t matter what made her worry, he was still better than any man she would normally be taking home.

She had intended to tell him that only the pizza place was open. She intended to offer him something from her house and then offer him more once she had him through the door. Margaret had not expected him to pull her against him and then pin her to the telephone pole beside her car. She hadn’t dreamed that he would be licking her neck. She hadn’t thought he would be able to kiss her and leave her skin tingling.

“Wait,” she said while pushing back to try to disengage his mouth. “Wait.”

He stepped in closer and jammed his leg between her thighs. She might have worried, but since she was wearing pants it wasn’t like he was going to force things right here.

“Wait, I …”

The word died on her tongue when he pulled back and she saw his face. The glowing eyes, mismatched green and yellow glared at her. The dessicated flesh around his mouth that made him look like he was wearing a tire forced her breath to catch in her throat. He snarled and opened his mouth wide. A single fang pushed its way down out of his mouth and the creature that her date had become hissed.

A single fang, on the left side, jutted down over his lip. The lone gnarly tooth twisted out a little and forced him to keep his mouth open.

Margaret snorted. She couldn’t help it. He hissed, but he looked so pathetic. Like an ugly puppy in the pound.

She saw her reaction hit him. How is shoulders fell and how the corners of his eyes drooped into a pout.

Then his eyebrows spiked in rage. His skin blotched red as anger filled him. He tore into her, ripping and gnashing in anger and humiliation. The kill was messy. Margaret suffered, and whimpered, and cried.

Afterward, kneeling over the top of her corpse, so did he.

Categories: Uncategorized


September 1, 2017 2 comments

Normally, I am pretty happy to write without a plan. In fact, a lot of the point behind this blog was a practice to keep me writing. Plan not needed.

Until I tried to write this serial and got lost in a story that I just hate. And by hate, I honestly mean despise. There is no direction for this serial that I am happy with. So, being a slacker at heart, I just stopped writing. I thought finding a way to finish this was the point. It isn’t. That defeats the point.

This overly short serial is dead. I never really had any more ideas for it and when I said, “Sure, let’s keep it going.” I was wrong.

Next week things get re-started. Sorry about the delay. It was unprofessional of me.


Categories: Uncategorized

Say What? Part #5

June 28, 2017 Leave a comment

Tom looked from the seat to the dog a few times before turning around. It creeped him out when animals did that. Like the cat he used to have that would hiss at empty rooms before running out. He had hated that cat, but when it died, he moved out of the house because he didn’t feel safe in it when he was alone. Tom always figured that the cat knew something that he didn’t. Better safe than sorry.

Harry didn’t let up. Tom wanted to reach over and sooth him, but considering his current project. Considering that the old legends discussed a supernatural monster that he might be chasing, Tom just couldn’t put his arm up.

The dog might be onto something.

“Alright,” he said. “Calm down. We are out of here.”

He was so rattled that when he started to pull out, Tom forgot to check his blind spot. The honking of the horn made him jump as he slammed the brake. The sudden jerking of the vehicle nearly spilled the big dog into the floorboard, but all of the disasters were avoided. Other than getting cussed and flipped off, both Tom and Harry were fine as they pulled onto the street.

When he looked back into his rear view mirror, Tom thought he saw someone standing in the empty parking spot. He snapped around to look, but he couldn’t see anything.

“What the hell?” He asked Harry.

A chuffing bark seemed like about as logical an answer as he had come up with.

Categories: serial Tags: ,