Richard Thomas Exclusive!


There is no past. My heart was ripped from me in a rush of flashing lights and sticky yellow tape. There is no future. Vision would require hope, and that stealthy whore eludes me at every turn. So I float in the ether, pasty skin crawling with regret, eyes gouged out by my own shaking hands.

Richard Thomas, author, editor, and friend who is legally obligated not to sue me if I run his foot over with my wheelchair, chose the lines above from his book for you, my readers.

This book is going to be good. Buy it here:

download

If you have the audacity to not take my word for it, read reviews here:

The Horror Bookshelf, Entropy, Crime Fiction Lover, Matt Pucci, Splatterhouse 5. I have more links if you still aren’t convinced.

If I were you, right after I bought the book, I’d go to the following link and follow Richard’s blog: 

http://whatdoesnotkillme.com/2015/05/26/disintegration/

My kind of autograph


Ok, so some of the agents and publishers had a q&a time and I asked something like at what point in the writing of my manuscript should I start pitching it? The overwhelming answer was wait until it is completed. 

So, my problem was that I didn’t have a finished manuscript, but the conference was now, and I have an idea for a book I think would be a perfect fit for Dark House Press.

My solution? I asked for and received Richard Thomas’ autograph on this:

  
I told him I wanted him to remember the crazy crippled girl who made him sign a waiver. I’ll send a copy of it with my book when I finally finish it. 

So, I’m writing this book…


Okay, I’m going to stop blog writing this book, unless I change my mind…anyway, I’m putting what I have together here. Don’t feel obligated to read it, I’ve already posted basically the same thing in separate posts, but I’m trying to get a feel for the actual movement of the story, so I need it together.

If you do choose to read this post, please let me know if this sounds like a book. If I should pursue it, or send it to my mind’s mine field to quietly wait for the violent rediscovery of an unrealized dream.

“Run, David! Dont let them see you!” He would never forget the look in his mother’s eyes. Desperation and fear were etched on her face.

David gave her one last hug, and with tears in his eyes he did as he was told. “Run David” echoed in his mind as he raced out the back door, willing himself not to look back.

The woods did not seem as frightening as the image in his mind of what was coming to his house. To his mother. He couldn’t have saved her. She was dead either way.

As he entered the saplings near the edge of the forest, he heard sounds of glass breaking, followed by a blood curdling scream. Keep running, David told himself. After what seemed like hours, he came to a small river.

Though only 10 years old, David knew that the Outcasts wouldn’t venture into water. Even for him.

As he stepped into the cold water, he hoped that his mom wasn’t hurting, and that she was completely dead. If she had survived, it wouldn’t really be her who came after him. A shiver ran down his spine and he ran faster.

Deep in the woods three women were gathered around a dwindling fire.

It’s too late. The fire is dying.

Shhh, I think I hear something.

The women spoke with haggard voices that suited their aged faces. They listened carefully for any movement, the smallest sign that tonight would bring what they had long waited for.

Leaves rustled in the distance, followed by the sharp snap of a twig.

Hurry, he’s coming! Bring the oil!
They placed the pan with the oil on the fire and soon a strange earthy aroma melded with the warmth from the fire. The rustling in the woods was coming closer. Even the fire seemed to quiver with anticipation.

As David splashed through the creek bed after leaving his mother, he couldn’t help but cry.

Maybe he should have stayed and tried to help her fight them off, but she told him to run. He had to obey.

She had taught him to be strong, but she had also shown him there was great strength in knowing your weaknesses.

The creek was cold and he felt far enough along to step out and try to find shelter from the deepening darkness. As he clambered over the slippery rocks, his shin was gouged by a protruding twig.

Nothin like leaving a trail of blood when being chased by killers he thought to himself. Maybe they didn’t know about him. Maybe they wouldn’t try to find him. He has to get it cleaned up though, and he could see some smoke rising a little way away. The “Outcasts” don’t like fire, so that’s where he would go.

David drew closer and could smell that some sort of oil was being burned with the fire. It looked like three old women were the only ones by the fire. David was out of options as he stepped from the cover of the woods.

The women’s knowing eyes looked at last on the face they had seen only in their visions…the frightened, dirty face of the boy who stumbled out of the woods.

As David moved closer to the women and their small fire, he was suddenly, almost sickeningly reminded of his mother. Weird, he thought, but he didn’t allow himself to reminisce. His attention to the moment was the only thing that mattered.

The women were talking, seemingly to the fire, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

In unison they looked up at him.

You’re tired, and hungry. Say a few words, and we will give you some food before you head on. Even young travelers must rest, one of the women said.

“Umm, okay? I’m sorry, but I don’t know how…or what to say. They’re after me. They killed my mom. I’m hurt and… I need help, David stammered.

Shhh child. There is no set way. Some pray to God. Or to many gods. Some talk to the woods, or the moon, or even their own spirit. Our world is too full of evil to remain silent. One must speak. To anything, anyone with power to make a change.

David moved closer to the fire. “I don’t know what to say. My mom, she’s dead. She wanted me to run. I don’t know where to go. I’m, I’m scared. She just said “I’ll always love you Honey, I’ll be with you, in your heart. Run David, run and don’t stop”.

Although David didn’t notice, the women had been watching the oil in their pot since he had begun speaking. As they watched, beads of oil had risen in a line and moved toward the center of the pot. Strangely shaped crystals were forming along the sides of the pan.

David’s words were coming more freely now, but he still wasn’t exactly sure who or what he was talking to. “Please, help me. Help us. I don’t know what to do.”

David stopped talking. Something had touched his hand and sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand. On it was a spider, unlike any he’d seen before.

It was small and black, with a green line down its back. He was about to brush it away, when it bit the tender spot between his thumb and pointer finger.

The pain was immediate and aggressively started spreading through his body. David saw that the spider was still on his hand, still biting him, but he couldn’t move. His body was paralyzed as the spiders venom coursed through his veins.

The women at the fire intently watched the spider, but none of them moved to brush it off.

It didn’t matter long. David’s body, suddenly freed of paralysis, began convulsing and the spider fell off and disappeared into the woods.