Showing posts with label Coffin Hop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Coffin Hop. Show all posts

Sunday, October 30, 2011

About Face #CoffinHop


  
Today's post for Coffin Hop is a poem I started writing in my sleep last night. I kept waking up with the idea and jotted it down come morning. I hope you enjoy my new poem "About Face" on your way through the Coffin Hop. As always, make sure to leave a COMMENT with your EMAIL ADDRESS to be entered into the "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" illustrated ebook giveaway!!


ABOUT FACE

Feeling mad at mirrors for reflecting a lesser you?
Does your presence make your essence seem totally untrue?
Do your sags or bags age your face beyond your years?
Is your complexion swimming in a pool of ugly tears?
Do people laugh and gossip behind your homely back?
Is your face too tough to face because of what you lack?
Beauty is a duty to fulfill for those with sight.
Masks aren't fashion-forward, plus they're rather tight.
Veils are somewhat looser, but imagine a stiff breeze.
Be wary: it could carry the veil up for all to see
The lousy hand you were dealt by Father, Mother, God.
No one wants to live their life horrid, poor, and flawed.
Need a lift in spirit like you need a lift in skin?
Fleishman's Face Emporium will help you fit right in.
With every type under the sun, we'll make it work and get 'er done.
We'll match your color to a T, devoid of abnormality.
Our source of skin is no mystery or hidden fact,
So it's better to forget all the questions you would ask.
Business is done by the letter and the books.
There are no dirty dealings and no more dirty looks.
Our policy is fair for donation, and quite strict.
There certainly aren't any subversive little tricks.
But if you're a model stranded hopeless in the red,
We can help you get your footing and then help you get ahead.
Come in, pageant queens and kings; you are welcome here.
Make sure to sign the contract very quick and clear.
Most people aren't as lucky or as beautiful as you. 
Think of all the good your elegance could do,
By representing the excellence of the Fleishman brand. 
An Emporium Model's life is lucrative and grand.
For faces that aren't an utter mess and wreck,
For those who only want to fix eyebrow, nose, or neck:
The Emporium can help even picky ones like you.
For a slight extra fee, our surgeons will remove
Any imperfection that you and yours can find.
Even if the flaw exists solely in your mind.
Some scarring is quite normal, but it in time will fade,
As long as your bill is promptly and fully paid. 
As for the old face that earned you scorn and jeers,
You needn't shed a single sentimental tear. 
Our guard dogs are hungry, they need food if they're to act.
(Draw no conclusion; it's an unrelated fact).
Disregard the tales and filthy lies you've heard. 
We operate on the level, you have our sincere word.
Which particular level though is a tricky bit of speech.
There's law and business jargon that we would have to teach
So you would understand every aspect of our talk.
Most ugly people's heads are filled with dirt and rocks.
Not you, of course; we know you have the smarts
To know outward beauty should match the beauty in our hearts.
A little snip, a tiny rip, and you're in store for quite a trip.
Pack those bags, tuck up those sags, and riches will replace your rags.
Unless your body starts to reject the skin,
In which case, see your waiver: section ten. 
We're not accountable for the shame or waste
When an ugly body rejects a pretty face. 
Fleishman's Face Emporium will answer all your prayers.
Prepare yourself for a new world, filled with different stares.
Imagine that reality: what a lovely place.
Life isn't about struggling. Life is about face.


HAPPY HOPPING THROUGH THE REST OF THE LIST! http://www.coffinhop.blogspot.com/

Friday, October 28, 2011

Bad Rabbits, Bad Garden


Today's Coffin Hop post is a selection from my novel, "Rabbits in the Garden", voted the #1 YA Mystery/Horror novel on Goodreads, although I categorize it more as a suspense or psychological horror. As always, make sure to leave a COMMENT with your EMAIL ADDRESS to be entered into the "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" illustrated ebook giveaway!!
One of my favorite reviews of "Rabbits in the Garden" is this one from Ron Godfrey on Amazon:
"Simply typing the name 'Faye Norton' makes me shudder. This is an ABSOLUTE must read."
After this selection, you will understand a bit more why Ron feels this way about dear Faye. 

Faye took Avery’s hand and led her out to the garden as if it was the first time her daughter had seen it. The bird-feeder swayed from side to side as the chickadees hopped up and down the perches. The eastern bluestars stood tallest, surrounded by a thick crop of yellow daylilies.The sun glinted across the dew-kissed skin of the tomatoes, and every blossom was opened wide to soak up each and every ray. The flowers appeared as a varied company of dancers too mesmerized by their own beauty to sense the seasonal curtain call, and the vegetables stood as a proud army in formation, awaiting the call to culinary arms. It was quite a sight to behold.
As mother and daughter sat on the stone bench at the garden's core, Faye breathed in the pleasing aroma of the vegetation and sighed as if life couldn’t get any better. But then she looked at Avery and realized that if the girl was open to her lessons, it could get better still.
“Avery, do you remember the story about Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden?”
“I think so.”
“And how it all got ruined because of evil finding its way into the Garden?”
“I guess.”
“Well, it’s not actually true. It’s a metaphor, you see. Do you know what a metaphor is?” she asked.
“Like a symbol?”
“Exactly. The Garden of Eden is a symbol for an ideal world. The Garden was poisoned by evil in the form of the serpent that persuaded Adam and Eve to disobey God, and likewise, there are several things that can poison our world. Water, for instance. The world is a garden and it must be given good, clean water if it’s to flourish and grow.”
“There’s bad water?”
“Indeed there is. The bad water makes the garden wilt and pale with disease, and sometimes it will cause the garden to sprout fat weeds that kill the healthy plants. Then the insects come and devour them, and the fruit will rot from the inside out. The beautiful garden you see before you will lose all of its beauty.”
“How do I know if the water is good or bad?”
“It’s tricky, for sure. Sometimes you can tell right away: the spigot might be rusted or the water might smell funny, but sometimes, everything might look clean and pure. But once the water starts to flow, it’s too late. That’s why you must assume that all water is bad. The garden and the world would rather die of thirst than poison, and that goes for all of the living things that are nourished by the garden: the birds, the bees, the rabbits…”
“The rabbits?”
“Oh yes, Avery. The rabbits are very, very important. They eat from this garden more than any other creature. They are like us. The world is a garden and we are the rabbits. They nourish themselves on this garden as we nourish ourselves on the world. Do you understand?”
“I think so, but if the garden gets bad water and the rabbits eat from the garden, what happens to them?”
“They become sick, and once that happens, there is no helping them. It’s best to put such pathetic creatures out of their misery,” she replied and Avery cocked her head in confusion. “You must understand that the bad water isn’t limited to this garden. There are many veins through which the bad water can flow. You never know exactly where or when you might find it, so you must always been on alert and avoid the places where it’s most likely to run.”
“But there isn’t any here, is there?”
“Not yet. Hopefully, not ever, but that depends on how well you take care of your garden,” she answered.
“Should I get the watering can?” Avery asked.
“Not yet. Let’s just sit a while longer. There’s something I want you to see.”
They sat for almost an hour in silence. Avery’s eyelids started to droop, and with each passing minute, she contemplated asking her mom if she could leave, but she was never able to muster the courage. Her mother remained sitting up straight, completely attentive, and Avery did her best to mimic her. Then all of a sudden, Faye flinched, and she grasped her daughter’s hand.
“There,” she whispered as she pointed at the cabbage patch. “There, do you see them?”
Avery stood slowly and tiptoed over to the patch where the leaves were rustling slightly. She gingerly parted the cabbage and saw two rabbits. They stared up at her with large, red eyes but then resumed their prior activities, which appeared to be some form of rabbit wrestling.
“Rabbits,” Avery said, puzzled.
“What are they doing? Eating the cabbage?”
            “They might have been. There are bite marks, but they aren’t eating it right now. They're playing, I guess.”
            “One on top of the other?”
“Yes. What are they doing?” she asked, but when she looked back, she found her mother standing directly behind her with one of her many paisley gardening bags in her hand. With a smile, she withdrew a pair of gardening shears, and before Avery could question her on it, the shears flew past her face and down into the cabbage patch.
The blades pierced through the top rabbit’s head and the bottom rabbit’s back. When she pulled the shears up, the bottom rabbit slid off, but the top remained skewered with its mouth hanging agape. She screamed in horror as her mother twisted the shears and the rabbit’s face turned to her, frozen in its death rattle. She tried to run away, but Faye’s bloody hands held onto her daughter, staining the dress Paul had given her.
“Be quiet, Avery,” Faye whispered harshly and plunked her down onto the bench.
“What did you do? Why did you do that?” Avery stammered through streaming tears.
“Because they were poisoning the garden. Because they deserved it.”
“No, no, it’s not fair. It’s not right.”
“It is right, Avery! Like I told you, they became sick from the bad water. They needed to be put out of their misery. It’s the humane thing to do. What they were doing was very, very bad.”
“What were they doing?”
“Let me show you,” her mother said, and with a grunt, she wrenched the skewered rabbit free and flipped it over. “Do you see the mark on its belly?”
“The yellow one?”
“Yes, and what color is the mark on the other rabbit?” she asked as she flipped it over.
“Blue.”
“Correct. You see, Avery, I’ve marked every rabbit I’ve found in this garden. When I found two rabbits playing in that certain way, I marked them with the same color: blue and blue together, yellow and yellow, and so on. If the colors don’t match, it means the rabbits are switching partners. They’re being brazen. They’re being bad, and we can’t have bad rabbits in the garden.”
“But the colors are on their stomachs. How did you know they didn’t match?”
“I’ve been doing this long enough that I can tell, and one day, so will you.”
“No, I can’t do it. I can’t kill bunnies!”
“No one is asking you to kill anything, Avery. All I’m asking you to do is protect the garden from the bad water. As long as it’s clean and pure, this sort of thing won’t ever happen. I did this on purpose to teach you that,” she said and wiped away her daughter’s tears. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, but it’s important for you to know what happens when rabbits, and people, get careless with their bodies. Some don’t care or realize that they’re getting poisoned, and that’s when good people like us have to step in and help them understand the evil they’re doing to themselves.”
“I don’t think I can do it, Mom. Why can’t you just tend the garden like you’ve been doing all along?”
“Because you’re old enough to do it yourself now. Besides, I have bigger gardens to tend,” Faye replied and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You’ll do just fine, sweetie. Come on; let’s get you cleaned up and throw away that dirty dress.”
After taking a long bath, Avery lay down on her bed to absorb the truths of the day, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the rabbits. Their red eyes burned, and as they floated lifelessly toward her, their jaws got increasingly slacker until their mouths were wide enough to swallow her whole. For several weeks, she was haunted by the mismatched rabbits, but with each day she spent tending to the garden, the nightmares faded a little more. Every morning, she would rise with the sole intention of gardening, but before she watered anything, she thoroughly checked what was being transferred from the spigot to the watering can. She’d check the color, smell, and feel, and if it was even the slightest bit cloudy, she’d pour it out and start all over again. The weeks passed and the obsession grew, but it was an obsession based more on fear than desire. She didn’t want any more rabbits to die, and to ensure that the rabbits remained alive, she had to keep the garden clean and pure. But as happy as it made her mother to see her working so diligently, Avery couldn’t deny her boredom and overall exhaustion. Her mind and body were strained beyond belief, and she couldn’t help but think of how much of her time the garden had devoured, time she could’ve been climbing roofs or running up and down the streets of Oak Bluffs. Time she could’ve been spending with Paul. For two months, she made her mother smile without wearing one of her own, and she was tired of it. 


"Rabbits in the Garden" is available in print from Post Mortem Press, and in print and ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and more!!

At twelve years old, Avery Norton had everything: a boyfriend who was also her best friend, the entirety of Martha's Vineyard as her playground, and her very own garden to tend. By thirteen, it was all over.The discovery of a secret crypt in the basement starts the Norton family down many unexpected avenues, including one that leads to Avery's arrest for murder and her subsequent imprisonment in Taunton State Lunatic Asylum. Set in 1950s Massachusetts, Rabbits in the Garden follows Avery Norton's struggle to prove her innocence and escape Taunton with her mind intact

Watch the Trailer:


COMMENT with your EMAIL ADDRESS to enter the "Danny Marble" Giveaway! And don't forget to check out all of the awesome authors along the Coffin Hop!!

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Zombies Don't Monkey Around #CoffinHop


Thursday's bloody-lovely Coffin Hop post is a selection from my short story "Master Marvel's Menagerie", included in the Post Mortem Press zombie anthology, DEAD SOULS. This story takes place in a Zombie Zoo of sorts, but don't let Master Marvel hear you call it that...Oh, and don't forget to leave a COMMENT with your EMAIL ADDRESS to enter to win an ebook copy of my illustrated horror novella, "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things."

...We join two young men approaching the first stop in a zombie zoo AKA Master Marvel's Menagerie....

             The monkey house was the first occupied building on the path. They knew it would smell ghastly, but the odor was so pungent that they shut the door only seconds after opening it.
“Jesus, what do they feed those things?”
“Brains!” Jack growled again.
Sam opened the door and pushed his friend so forcefully that he tripped over his feet and crashed to the monkey house floor.
“Gross! I think I fell in shit!” Jack whined as he wiped his hands on his pants.
The interior was dim, but once Jack and Sam were front and center, a row of flood lights ignited the massive cage filled with what looked like a jungle playset.
“Jeez, what did you fall in?” Sam asked, seeing the slimy crimson stains on his friend’s pants.
All of a sudden, a fanfare blasted from the speakers and a legion of monkeys emerged from hiding. They leapt from their burrows and swung from the branches. They screeched as they scaled the sides of the cage and shimmied down twisted vines. In equal terror and wonder, Sam snapped a picture and he and Jack leaned against the gate. There wasn’t a single monkey without ratty fur. It dropped from their skin as easily as they dropped from the trees, but while some of the fur drifted down in tufts, the rest fell in sloppy chunks, weighed down by rotten flesh. The breeds were lumped together despite the fact that they obviously didn’t care for the company. The baboon chased the capuchin over the face of the cage until it finally caught its tail. It ripped the capuchin from the bars and retreated to a treetop. The boys watched in horror as it tore the monkey’s tail from its body. It gnashed its broken fangs and howled as it beat the capuchin against the trunk. The small black arm the baboon was holding ripped free at the shoulder and the body crashed to the bottom of the cage where the capuchin screamed and spat up frothy blood. The baboon had eaten half of the tail when a macaque flew past with its claws extended and slashed the baboon’s chest open. Its black heart fell like a rotten apple to the floor, but it paid the loss no mind; it still had tail left to chew. The macaque perched on a bloodstained rock and hissed at Jack and Sam.
“Look out! It's gonna throw shit at us!” Sam screamed.
“I don't think so,” Jack replied as the monkey dug its claws into the sides of its head.
The sound of its face tearing free of the fascia was one that knocked out the boys’ knees with a violent cringe. The face hung heavy in the monkey’s paw while the moldering muscle still twisted its expression. It heaved the sloppy mass at the bars, and though a good deal was caught by the cage, several bits broke through and spattered the boys in grey and red gore.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Sam said, but Jack didn’t have time to say anything.
His stomach emptied over the monkey house floor, realizing only then what he’d fallen into earlier. Vomit, blood, chunks of flesh and fur, and even a few eyeballs decorated the concrete. He gasped and slipped on his own sick, but Sam was quick to catch him.
“Can we get the hell out of here now?”
            “You don’t have to ask me twice."

To read the full story, check out PostMortem-Press.com or Amazon.com to order your copy of DEAD SOULS, available in ebook and print. Please leave a comment with your email address to enter the contest. 

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Diamond is Looking Rough #CoffinHop

Today's Coffin Hop post is a selection from my WIP horror novel, "PINS":
(Telemarketing is a drag and serving jobs are exhausting. Luckily, strip clubs are always looking for new blood. Eva "Birdie" Finch is fed up with the slim pickings in local employment, and PINS, a gentlemen's club/ bowling alley, seems to be the only option left. But learning how to strip for strangers isn't Birdie's only obstacle, especially when fellow dancers start turning up dead. From Jessica McHugh, the author of the steampunk adventure The Sky: The World and the psychological thriller Rabbits in the Garden, PINS is certain to titillate as much as terrify with a candid look at a dancer trying to keep her footing on a blood-drenched stage.) 

WARNING: The following is graphic, gruesome, and great. Well, graphic and gruesome, for sure. ;)

Also, anyone who leaves a COMMENT w/ an EMAIL ADDRESS will be entered into the "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" ebook contest!!!

       Then, the screams began again, followed by scores of frantic voices. The crowd became animated by shock and fearful curiosity and I couldn't help but join in. Even Honey had abandoned her rage to follow the masses rushing toward the shrieking dissonance. As I drew closer, hidden sounds emerged from beneath the commotion. I heard the whirring first: a grinding squeal of malfunction followed by a series of rapid thumps. The thumps acquired new qualities with my proximity. An abrupt squelch was followed by a prolonged scrape that led into frenzied crackles and clicks. It was an auditory puzzle that pulled me forward, but when I reached the front of the crowd and the pieces fell into place, I backpedaled and fell to the maple. Through the crowd's trembling legs, I saw a thousand extra crimson markers splattered across the lane, leading to blooming puddles. The pinsetter jerked up and down in repeated malfunction, slamming the pins against the pulpy remnants of a girl's face. Her blood sprayed with each blow and bits of bone and tooth tumbled across the floor like hapless dice.
"For God's sake, someone turn it off!" someone in the crowd pleaded, but once the machine was stopped and the view of the girl unobstructed by bludgeoning pins, everyone recoiled in horror.
Many fled, and I would have joined them if my legs hadn't turned to jelly, leaving me paralyzed on the floor. The damage was so much worse in an inert form. Her forehead was completely caved in with bits of gray matter seeping between the cracks of contusion. Her mouth had been stretched to an unnatural degree by the base of the pins, and any remnant teeth were reduced to shards in her flattened gums. Chunks of the girl slid down the pins and dripped back into their obliterated origins, filling the silence with nauseating plops: percussion to her body's postmortem chorus. There was no hope in identifying her by her face, but it wasn't necessary; her massive breasts might as well have been a nametag that said, "Hello. My name is Diamond."
My revulsion crept up my throat, inch by burning inch, but I was able to choke it down---until Heaven disgorged her own disgust onto Lane 5. The wafting stench of blood and vomit was too much. Still tucked between the legs of gawking customers, I had no choice but to let my stomach state it's opinion. The world got bleary and I began to wilt, but before I could collapse into the amalgamating puddles of puke, strong hands wrapped around my arms and lifted me up. My feet dragged limply across the lanes and dipped into the gutters as I was pulled away from the scene, and although he probably set me down gently, I felt like I was thrown into a chair.
"Hey, Birdie, you okay?" he asked.
I looked up woozily, expecting to see Josh's face, wanting to see Josh's face. Instead, it was James looking down at me, James still holding my arms; my arms covered in sweat and...something else. Vomit. It was vomit. It was…
I caught the sickening surge at the tip of my tongue, slapped my hand over my mouth, and ran to the bathroom. I was nearly bursting by the time I was in the stall and curled myself over the toilet. As I emptied, images filled my head and called up anything and everything my stomach had left, but the images themselves wouldn't budge. Diamond's obliterated face was the most prominent. Her sweet, milky face was nothing more than a mashed motley of bone and meat and a cavernous mouth. Then there were her breasts; those gigantic twins that led men like the Pied Piper were just heavy sacks now, hanging off her ribcage like blood-spattered globs of mucus after a violent sneeze.

(Mock cover made by Bill Coffin)


Remember to leave a COMMENT w/ an EMAIL ADDRESS to be entered into the "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" ebook contest!!!


Tuesday, October 25, 2011

"The Prettiest Girls" & CONTEST #CoffinHop


For today's Coffin Hop post, I have a new flash horror story for you, PLUS the start of the "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" ebook GIVEAWAY. Today, the contest entry consists of a comment with email address AND the name of one of my other short stories (published, unpublished, WIP). You can find the names of my short stories at
http://www.JessicaMcHughBooks.comhttp://theliteraryunderground.org/wiki/index.php?title=Jessica_McHugh, and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jessica_McHugh.


DELETED

Remember to leave a comment with the name of another one of my short stories with your email to be entered into the "Danny Marble" ebook giveaway. A winner will be selected randomly and posted on November 1st.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Danny Marble Monday #CoffinHop

Meet the SCARY THINGS
written by Jessica McHugh, illustrated by Dave McHugh, published by Reliquary Press


THE RABBIT WITHOUT A FACE
The tattered white rabbit with “Peter” shoddily sewn into the bottom of iys hind paw had certainly once possessed large button eyes, but all he had left were dark spots of worn fur and frayed thread where they should have been. No eyes, nose, or mouth accented that blank swath of cotton. Before the rabbit, he had never thought that a scary face could be constituted by the lack of a face, but that emptiness was filled with such a terrifying expression that it always did Danny in.
Peter the Rabbit, like his similar namesake, was highly inquisitive and mischievous, but instead of being fond of ravaging Mr. McGregor’s garden, it was fond of ransacking Danny Marble’s nerves. Every night when Danny settled himself into bed, Peter appeared, perched on the bookshelf with his head tilted down toward his victim. When the deep night fell and the moonlight awoke the demons from their slumber, the faceless rabbit would start to hop forward blindly, always expecting that more ground lay before him. Of course, the bookshelf was only so wide, and eventually, it tumbled down to the floor with a muffled grunt. It was then that paralysis would strike Danny. Frozen in his fear, he watched as Peter’s large black claws emerged from his fluffy paws. A low growl began to rumble in the rabbit’s throat until it erupted in a howl that was trapped behind the fabric where his mouth should have been. The bunny clawed at his bedposts, making horribly strangled sounds and desperate grunts of starvation. It was often like that: long hours of listening to the rabbit paw and scratch while that horrid growl echoed in Danny’s brain. Occasionally, Peter climbed the post to sit at the foot of Danny’s bed with his eerily blank face bathed in moonlight. Danny could hear the rabbit trying to speak, and although he couldn’t understand the muffled words, the intent was obvious enough. Peter crawled forward with his claws tearing into the sheets, slicing Danny’s legs and arms, and when he reached Danny’s chest, he hunkered down on it and a sinister giggle reverberated in his throat. Danny closed his eyes, but he could still see the rabbit’s blank face puffing up and stretching as it tried to break through its cotton skin, and with a sickening noise that sounded like fabric and flesh tearing apart, the rabbit began to rip a hole in its face. Although it had been merely thread, cotton, and wool comprising Peter’s head, when his face tore open, chunks of slimy gore slid down his chin and thick strings of crimson saliva clung to his fangs as he snarled. Danny could even smell it, strong and metallic and turning his stomach with each powerful hiss from the rabbit’s makeshift mouth. The last thing he always saw was the rabbit’s skin continuing to rip until the once blank face was a dark, cavernous pit bending over to devour him whole. That’s when the second scary thing would usually appear.

THE LEGLESS CLOWN
Danny had never been a fan of clowns so the fact that his room was residence to the most terrifying clown he’d ever seen didn’t help matters. The shiny red nose at the center of the clown’s face always drew Danny’s eye first, but it was the unnaturally large, toothy grimace that Danny focused on most. The clown’s movement was accompanied by two forebodingly bad sounds. The ringing bell on its jester hat meant it was alive. The high-pitched squeal of the large wheel in place of its legs meant it was coming. Danny couldn’t imagine the kind of person that would construct such a hideous plaything. He imagined an evil toymaker atop some dilapidated tower, silhouetted against the moon and convenient flashes of lightning. He could envision the entire scene: the mad toymaker giggled maniacally as he unscrewed the wheel from a toy bike, ripped the flimsy plush legs from a clown doll, and screwed the wheel into its torso. His soul had left a dark imprint on the toy, as he’d done with all of his other ghastly creations. He’d given the clown a horrid semblance of life as well as a squeaky but scratchy voice that sounded as if it had gargled glass. Danny imagined that the clown’s resentment toward its maker was what made it despise Danny’s other toys to destruction. The clown often went on murderous rampages, tearing the stuffing out of bears and snapping the wheels off of racecars. Only the faceless rabbit was immune to its attacks. Unfortunately, every bit of damage caused by the legless clown was blamed on Danny. He’d learned long ago to stop protesting his innocence; not that he could really blame Aunt Agatha for not believing him. It was always his word against a ravaged room. And sweet as his aunt was, how could she rationalize buying him new toys if he was just going to destroy them? After only two years, his room had become devoid of all sources of merriment. The clown had plenty of it though. It took such unbridled pleasure in Danny’s misery, and with each tear that fell, its demented laughter crescendoed to gritty shrieks. Even if Danny managed to block out the laughter and cry himself into a shallow sleep, the clown was waiting in his mind, eager to do far more terrifying things than laugh.
Just a few scratches on the window would signal the arrival of the third scary thing. He was glad to turn away from the clown’s rictus, but he knew an even more horrible grin was waiting just outside.

THE CAT WITH THE BROKEN TEETH




Not every scary thing was an inanimate object brought to life. No, the third scary thing was extremely animate, and it was the one that frightened Danny most. However, it was the only one that didn’t actually start inside his room. It stared in at him as it paced his window ledge and panted as if only Danny’s blood could quench its violent thirst. Grey and gaunt, the cat was missing large patches of fur, but for Danny, the most horrific aspect of the feline was its teeth. Whether slightly sheared or cut into shards, each one of the cat’s teeth was broken. They always appeared dyed pink by a recent kill, and sometimes, Danny could see clumps of hair stuck between them as proof.
For the first few months, the cat did nothing but stare into the room and run its razor-sharp claws down the window, but when Danny started trying to ignore it, the cat began to speak. In a voice that was more hiss than speech, the cat maliciously stated its intentions for the boy. Often times, bloody promises. But there were times when the cat would close its mess of a mouth, retract its claws, and simply rub its mangy body against the window. In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad, but as its fur wore away and more of its flesh became exposed, that’s when Danny buried himself in blankets with his hands over his ears. The flesh looked infected to the point of rotten and when the cat rubbed itself against the window, the festering flesh squeaked against the glass, leaving trails of sinew behind. Each layer was worse than the previous. Often when the squealing would stop, Danny would peek out his head to see the cat stationary with its gray skin pushed so deliberately against the window, it split on its own and Danny could see tiny insects crawling out of the diseased crevasses. He could hardly look at it without feeling his stomach’s burning opinion, and he couldn’t bear the thought of the cat touching him if it managed to break through---which it eventually started trying to do. It tore the screen to shreds and dug into the glass, making more headway than any normal cat could. The only saving grace was that it had to start over each night, but it unfortunately got better and faster at its excavation with every attempt. It took a few years, but in due time, the cat with the broken teeth busted its way into Danny’s bedroom. The first night it happened, he woke to a sour smell clogging his nostrils and when he rolled over, he saw the reeking feline sitting on the interior side of his window, grinning grotesquely as the breeze through the broken glass spread its scabby tufts of fur around the room.

"Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things" is available on Kindle, Nook, iBooks, and in hardcover for a DISCOUNTED PRICE of $12 UNTIL HALLOWEEN at ReliquaryPress.com

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Coffin Hop (Oct 24-31)

 From Monday October 24th - Monday October 31st, I'll have all kinds of spooky goodies on No Vacation from Speculation to coincide with Coffin Hop, including a giveaway for an ebook copy of my horror novella "Danny Marble & the Application for Non-Scary Things"! 
From Monday to Monday, I will be posting excerpts from my horror-related works, linking to some of my favorite ghost stories, and posting flash horror fiction I've composed throughout the week. To enter the contest to win an ebook, all you have to do is comment on any post between 10/24-10/31. I will compile the commenters and use random.org to pick a winner. The winner will be drawn and posted November 1, 2011, so please include your email with your comment!!

Don't forget to check out the other rad sites on the Coffin Hop too!!