Here’s a roadmap to Edge of
Night. Welcome to an eclectic collection of nine short stories.
You’ve done time at the edge of
night. Nail-biting, stomach-churning time filled with hissing snarls, menacing
growls, the whoosh of unnatural wings, and the flash of hellfire. Time that
lasts forever, but is over within seconds because time becomes unpredictable in
places like that. You don’t want to stay, but it’s too fascinating—in a grisly,
macabre, toe-curling kind of way—to turn your back on.
You recognize it, though. The
place just at the threshold of darkness where it’s not quite safe anymore. Evil
broke its bounds at the edge of night, or maybe it always ran free and we’ve
been deluding ourselves all along.
Join me for nine supernatural
tales. Monsters, demons, gods—fallen and otherwise—ghosts, aliens. A touch of
science fiction. More than a splash of romance. From magical lands to a
chilling glance into the past, Edge of Night has something to tempt everyone.
Everyone who craves danger, that is. It takes guts to read the stuff woven into
nightmares.
It’s a tough job, but you’re up
to it.
Welcome to my world. A world
where magic holds court and the dude next door just might be a demon. Or a
shifter. Or an alien.
Review: I received this book from the author, which had no impact on my honest review.
I love a good short story collection. Maybe it's my short attention span... If you've already read Ann Gimpel, then I guarantee that you'll love this collection. If not, then this is the perfect introduction to her writing. The prose flows with vivid descriptions that leap off the page, pulling the reader into the story. One might think that short story equals poor character development, but that is not the case here. It amazes me how I was pulled into a character's life within a single page as happened with the very first story in the collection. Edge of Night has something for everyone within its pages--whether you like horror or aliens-- complete with a dash of romance. Highly recommended.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today
bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing
speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared
in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from
urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients.
Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality.
When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with
her camera. She’s published over 45 books to date, with several more planned
for 2017 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids
round out her family.
As the townsfolk sleep, something creeps into the
neighborhood. Hidden in shadows, its presence is as old as time itself, its
intent not born of goodness.
Nick, a teenager who fancies himself a detective, wakes to
find his carved masterpiece missing. Now a mystery is afoot, and Nick has his
first assignment, to find out who or what is snatching up the town’s pumpkins
and why.
Unfortunately, as with all great detectives, obstacles stand
in Nick’s way—the neighborhood bully and his cronies, and the strange old lady
and her dog who share the run-down house at the end of Nick’s block. As Nick
investigates, an urban legend unravels . . . .
The Legend of The Pumpkin Thief.
Nick fears the legend as he embarks on the most dangerous
adventure of his young life. Collecting clues, getting ever closer to the true
nature of evil, he learns that curiosity comes with a high price.
About the Author
Charles Day is the Horror Writer Association’s Mentor
Program Chairperson, Co-Chair for the NY/LI Chapter, and a member of the HWA
Library committee. He is also a member of the New England Horror Writers
Association, the American Library Association, and the Young Adult Library
Services Association.
He is also the Bram Stoker Award® nominated author of the YA
novel, THE LEGEND OF THE PUMPKIN THIEF. He’s also published his first adult
novel DEEP WITHIN and the first book in his Adventures of Kyle McGerrt trilogy,
a YA western heroic fantasy, THE HUNT FOR THE GHOULISH BARTENDER, and his first
coauthored novel with Mark Taylor, REDEMPTION
His forthcoming publications and projects in development for
2014 include a comic book series
based on the ADVENTURES OF KYLE McGERRT trilogy, his first
middle grade series, THE
UNDERDWELLERS, and his third YA novel, IMMORTAL FAMILY.
On the publishing business side of things, Charles is the
owner of Day Media and Publishing in New York, which houses the successful
imprints, Evil Jester Press, Evil Jester Comics, and Hidden Thoughts Press
(mental wellness collections,)
He’s also an artist and illustrator, who is passionate about
creating the many characters he’s brought to life in his published, or soon to
be published works. You can find out more about his upcoming writing projects,
check out his illustrations and art, or find out what he’s cooking up next with
that evil dudeinthebox, the evil Jester, by visiting his Facebook page:https://www.facebook.com/charles.day.92
Welcome to Monsterland
– the scariest place on Earth. All guests can interact with real vampires in
Vampire Village, be chased by an actual werewolf on the River Run, and walk
among the dead in Zombieville. Wyatt Baldwin, a high school student and
life-long movie buff is staring bleakly at a future of flipping burgers. Due to
a fortuitous circumstance, Wyatt and his friends are invited to the
star-studded opening of Monsterland. In a theme park full of real vampires,
werewolves and zombies, what could possibly go wrong?
Excerpt
“What did he do?” Gracie broke the silence and put more beans on Josh’s
plate.
It wasn’t that they didn’t like him; it felt unnatural. While their own
father had not been father of the year, he was still their dad. Gracie didn’t
have to like it, but some things were bigger than divorce.
“Aw, Ma,” he whined at her stern expression.
“He gave Wyatt four free tickets, and I want the extra one,” Josh
crowed.
“Tickets…to Monsterland? I thought we talked about that.” Gracie put
down her fork. She turned to Carter. “We didn’t take the tickets he offered to
all the town workers. No…I won’t allow it.”
“Mom!” Both boys said at once.
Wyatt was first. “I don’t know why you don’t want to let us go. He gave
me a special pass, one that would allow us behind the scenes, to see how the
park works.
“Yeah!”
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” Wyatt added.
“He has four invitations!” Josh shouted.
“Shut up, Josh,” Wyatt said hotly.
“Wyatt…” Carter warned sternly.
Wyatt’s cheeks grew red with frustration. He continued, his voice
slightly elevated. “He gave me special VIP passes. He said it was safe. The
mayor, senator, and governor are going to be there.”
“President McAdams too,” Carter said glumly and then added, “and me.”
“You?” Gracie looked miserable.
“We’ve all been called in. Jessup’s even bringing in volunteers. We’re
not equipped to handle the level of people attending.”
“Dr. Conrad should supply his own guards,” Gracie said resentfully as
she stacked used dishes.
“He is,” Carter placated her. “He is supplying them at all seven of the
parks. He is having his global opening tomorrow. This is the biggest thing to
hit the planet.” He shrugged, his face unhappy. “Look, Grace, once the
president said he was attending, they had to pull out all thestops.”
“It’s like being part of history. I have to go. He asked us to be his
ambassadors to tell the world about Monsterland,” Wyatt said.
“Carter,” Gracie implored.
“I agree with you, but Grace…” He looked her full in the face. “It’s
safe. Conrad’s got it all under control.” He looked at the eager boys and then
back at her. “I’d rather they got it out of their systems on a day when
security will be high than a regular day. Besides, I’ll be there as well.”
Gracie still wasn’t happy. “What was the fight about?”
“Manny gave me an extra ticket. Max Peterson offered me five hundred
dollars for it.”
“You’re not scalping a ticket,” Carter said, looking at his stepson.
“You might as well give it to Josh.”
“See.” Josh beamed. “I’m going to Monsterland. Thanks, Carter.”
“Yeah, thanks, Carter,” Wyatt said resentfully.
About the Author
Michael Phillip Cash is an award-winning and
best-selling novelist of horror, paranormal, and science fiction novels.
He's written ten books including the best-selling “Brood X”, “Stillwell”, “The
Flip”, “The After House”, “The Hanging Tree”, “Witches Protection Program”,
“Pokergeist”, "Monsterland", "The History Major", and
“Battle for Darracia” series. Michael’s books are on the Amazon best-seller
list and have also won numerous awards. Additionally, he is a screenwriter with
14 specs under his belt. Michael resides on the North
Shore of Long Island.
Welcome to William Burke, author of Voodoo Child! Why Black Sheep Make the Best Heroes
by Willam Burke
A while back, I was sitting with a friend drinking a few
beers and talking about various creative projects, past and future. He
insightfully pointed out that almost all my work, whether it was documentaries
or fiction, revolved around outsiders. I’d never made the connection before,
but I knew he was right. You can keep your highly trained Delta Force Operators or nobly ordained Knights of the Round Table—give me a ragtag band of renegades any
day. I love characters who say things like, “I stick my neck out for nobody,”
or, “I’m here to get paid your highness,” and then wind up risking their lives
for a good cause.
That love of outsiders hasn’t dimmed. In my novel Voodoo Child, Book One: Zombie Uprising
the heroes include a blackballedex-army pilot
turned marijuana smuggler, a Voodoo priestess who’s infatuated with reality
television and a burnt out mercenary struggling with PTSD and alopecia. They’re
led (if you could actually lead this bunch) by Maggie Child, a female army
helicopter pilot who wouldn’t be defined as an outsider per se, except that
she’s a professed atheist thrust into a world where Voodoo spirits and
supernatural mayhem are part of day-to-day life. This eccentric band is all that
stands between humanity and the zombie apocalypse. Trust me; you’re in good
hands.
As a writer I enjoy thrusting black sheep characters into
situations where they’re forced to work together for the greater good. In the
course of their struggle they discover virtues they never knew they had.
I think this tendency stems from my childhood addiction to Marvel comics, whose superheroes were
never accepted by society despite all their good deeds. The X-Men are outcasts
fighting to protect the very public who despise and fear them. The Hulk is a
Freudian rage monster just as happy destroying super villains or the US Army depending
on which direction he’s pointed. Daredevilis blind and his alter ego is marginalized by society for his disability. Even
Spiderman can usually be found on the NYPD’s most wanted list.
This was the brilliance of Stan Lee who channeled all our
childhood insecurities and teen angst into his superheroes, making them marvelously
(no pun intended) flawed and somehow much more relatable. Despite their
superhuman powers, Lee’s creations remained underdogs. The only exception might
be Thor who happened to be a god. But
his family up in Asgard was a dysfunctional train wreck, so even he carried
some relatable emotional baggage.
I’m not saying Marvel Conics invented flawed heroes that struggled
with personal issues. Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe was the best of many
tarnished angels that traversed the neon jungle reluctantly doing the right
thing. Old pulp westerns were filled with ex-outlaws who found redemption by
pinning on a badge and protecting the innocent. These sort of jaded characters always
existed in “grown up” books, but I think Stan Lee made outsiders acceptable for
all ages, influencing a generation of readers and creative minds in the
process.
You can see Marvel’s
footprints all over modern pop culture. The original Star Wars trilogy was deeply rooted in Greek mythology and Flash Gordon serials, but those loveable
rogues Han Solo and Chewbacca would have been right at home in the Marvel
universe. Modern romance novels are filled with handsome scoundrels who are
eventually redeemed by love. Aren't the tragic werewolves and vampires of the
modern paranormal romance genre the ultimate outsiders?
I admit to always cheering for the underdogs and renegades.
I’ll listen to the Ramones over Led Zeppelinor watch an edgy B-movie over some bloated Hollywood blockbuster any day of
the week. But I like to think my love of outcasts also stems from the
deep-seated hope that human beings are intrinsically good and that, just maybe,
there’s a little hero hiding in us all, waiting for that moment to shine.
Voodoo Child Book One: Zombie Uprising William Burke
Horror/Paranormal w. Action/Adventure June 17, 2016 Amazon The forces of darkness are out to
destroy mankind… Too bad they never reckoned on facing Maggie Child!
Army chopper pilot Maggie Child
has a reputation for being fearless, professional and, above all, rational. But
when she's shot down over Iraq her well-ordered life spirals into a paranormal
nightmare. Alone, wounded and surrounded by hostile forces, Maggie is rescued
from certain death by a demon straight out of Dante's Inferno. Then, barely
alive, she's abducted by a private military corporation conducting insidious
medical experiments.
Her escape from their covert hellhole lands her on a
Caribbean island where an evil voodoo spirit and a psychotic female dictator
are conspiring to unleash an apocalyptic zombie plague. Then she uncovers the
most terrifying secret of all—her own destiny. It seems a Voodoo oracle has
ordained her the only warrior capable of saving humanity from a supernatural
Armageddon … whether she wants the job or not!
But saving the world isn't a
one-woman job, so she teams up with a trio of unlikely heroes—a conspiracy
obsessed marijuana smuggler, a Voodoo priestess with an appetite for reality
television, and a burnt out ex-mercenary. Together, they'll take on an army of
the walking dead, with the fate of humanity resting in their eccentric hands.
Voodoo Child, Book One: Zombie
Uprising is the first novel in a new horror series packed with supernatural
thrills, rousing adventure, dark humor, Voodoo lore and plenty of zombie
stomping action. But a word of warning; don't shoot these zombies in the head …
because that just makes them mad!
It's the legions of hell versus Maggie
Child … and hell doesn't have a prayer!
After two years of ghostwriting,
William Burke has released his first novel VOODOO CHILD, Book One: Zombie
Uprising. It's the first installment of a new horror series chronicling the
exploits of Maggie Child and her Voodoo priestess partner Sarafina as they
battle to save the island of Fantomas from the wrath of evil Voodoo spirits.
The author was raised on a diet
of late night creature features, comic books, Mad magazines and horror stories.
As a result every volume will be packed with eccentric characters, dark humor,
chills, zombies, ghosts, monsters, military hardware and plenty of stuff
blowing up.
Prior to writing Voodoo Child he
was the creator and director of the Destination America television series
Hauntings and Horrors. He has also written scripts for two Cinemax television
series, Forbidden Science and Lingerie, which he also produced. He has also
written magazine pieces for Fangoria and the Phantom of the Movies Videoscope
among others.
William began his film and
television career as a perfectly respectable video engineer at the venerable
United Nations. Budget cuts shifted him to becoming a production manager and
assistant director on an array of New York based indie films. With that
experience under his belt he relocated to Los Angeles where he eventually
produced sixteen feature films and two television series for the Playboy
Entertainment Group. After years of producing T&A extravaganzas, kickboxing
epics and gangster rap videos, he created a self financed television pilot
entitled American Mystery Tour. Canada's CTV picked up the series under the
title Creepy Canada, which was then re-titled Hauntings and Horrors in the
USA. Since then he has successfully produced
three series for HBO/Cinemax as well as documentaries and other … stuff.
After hundreds of hours of film
and television production he is basking in the freedom of the written word,
where small budgets and giant egos are only memories. He lives in Toronto.
If you enjoyed the first
adventure please visit www.williamburkeauthor.com where you'll find lots of
interesting information about Voodoo and military hardware, along with excerpts
from Sarafina's personal diary AND, as a gift to readers, the author will be
serializing a prequel novella
A quiet little mountain town is
hiding a big problem. When the townsfolk of Raven's Peak start acting crazy,
Abigail Dressler is called upon to find out what is happening. She uncovers a
demonic threat unlike any she's ever faced and finds herself in a fight just to
stay alive.
She rescues Haatim Arison from a
terrifying fate and discovers that he has a family legacy in the supernatural
that he knows nothing about. Now she's forced to protect him, which is easy,
and also trust him if she wants to save the townsfolk of Raven's Peak. Trust, however,
is considerably more difficult for someone who grew up living on the knife's
edge of danger.
Can they discover the cause of
the town's insanity and put a stop to it before it is too late?
He
couldn’t remember when he fell in love with the pain. When agony first turned
to pleasure, and then to joy. Of course, it hadn’t always been like this. He
remembered screaming all those years ago when first they put him in this cell;
those memories were vague, though, like reflections in a dusty mirror.
“Open
D4.”
A
buzz as the door slid open, inconsequential. The aching need was what drove him in this moment, and nothing else mattered.
It was a primal desire: a longing for the tingly rush of adrenaline each time
the lash licked his flesh. The blood dripping down his parched skin fulfilled
him like biting into a juicy strawberry on a warm summer’s day.
“Some
woman. Says she needs to speak with you immediately. She says her name is
Frieda.”
A
pause, the lash hovering in the air like a poised snake. The Reverend
remembered that name, found it dancing in the recesses of his mind. He tried to
pull himself back from the ritual, back to reality, but it was an uphill slog
through knee-deep mud to reclaim those
memories.
It
was always difficult to focus when he was in the midst of his cleansing. All he
managed to cling to was the name. Frieda.
It was the name of an angel, he knew. . . or perhaps a devil.
One
and the same when all was said and done.
She
belonged to a past life, only the whispers of which he could recall. The ritual
reclaimed him, embraced him with its fiery need. His memories were nothing
compared to the whip in his hand, its nine tails gracing his flesh.
The
lash struck down on his left shoulder blade, scattering droplets of blood
against the wall behind him. Those droplets would stain the granite for months,
he knew, before finally fading away. He clenched his teeth in a feral grin as
the whip landed with a sickening, wet slapping
sound.
“Jesus,”
a new voice whispered from the doorway. “Does he always do that?”
“Every
morning.”
“You’ll
cuff him?”
“Why?
Are you scared?”
The
Reverend raised the lash into the air, poised for another strike.
“Just…man,
you said he was crazy…but this…”
The
lash came down, lapping at his back and the tender muscles hidden there. He let
out a groan of mixed agony and pleasure.
These
men were meaningless, their voices only echoes amid the rest, an endless drone.
He wanted them to leave him alone with his ritual. They weren’t worth his time.
“I
think we can spare the handcuffs this time; the last guy who tried spent a
month in the hospital.”
“Regulation
says we have to.”
“Then
you do it.”
The
guards fell silent. The cat-o’-nine-tails, his friend, his love, became the
only sound in the roughhewn cell, echoing off the granite walls. He took a
rasping breath, blew it out, and cracked the lash again. More blood. More
agony. More pleasure.
“I
don’t think we need to cuff him,” the second guard decided.
“Good
idea. Besides, the Reverend isn’t going to cause us any trouble. He only hurts
himself. Right, Reverend?”
The
air tasted of copper, sickly sweet. He wished he could see his back and the
scars, but there were no mirrors in his cell. They removed the only one he had
when he broke shards off to slice into his arms and legs. They were afraid he
would kill himself.
How
ironic was that?
“Right,
Reverend?”
Mirrors
were dangerous things, he remembered from that past life. They called the other
side, the darker side. An imperfect reflection stared back, threatening to
steal pieces of the soul away forever.
“Reverend?
Can you hear me?”
The
guard reached out to tap the Reverend on the shoulder. Just a tap, no danger at
all, but his hand never even came close. Honed reflexes reacted before anyone
could possibly understand what was happening.
Suddenly
the Reverend was standing. He hovered above the guard who was down on his
knees. The man let out a sharp cry, his left shoulder twisted up at an
uncomfortable angle by the Reverend’s iron grip.
The
lash hung in the air, ready to strike at
its new prey.
The
Reverend looked curiously at the man, seeing him for the first time. He
recognized him as one of the first guardsmen
he’d ever spoken with when placed in this cell. A nice European chap with a
wife and two young children. A little overweight and balding, but
well-intentioned.
Most
of him didn’t want to hurt this man, but there was a part—a hungry, needful
part—that did. That part wanted to hurt this man in ways neither of them could
even imagine. One twist would snap his arm. Two would shatter the bone; the
sound as it snapped would be . . .
A
symphony rivaling Tchaikovsky.
The
second guard—the younger one that smelled of fear—stumbled back, struggling to
draw his gun.
“No!
No, don’t!”
That
from the first, on his knees as if
praying. The Reverend wondered if he prayed at night with his family before
heading to bed. Doubtless, he prayed that he would make it home safely from
work and that one of the inmates wouldn’t rip his throat out or gouge out his
eyes. Right now, he was waving his free hand at his partner to get his
attention, to stop him.
The
younger guard finally worked the gun free and pointed it at the Reverend. His
hands were shaking as he said, “Let him go!”
“Don’t
shoot, Ed!”
“Let
him go!”
The
older guard, pleading this time: “Don’t piss him off!”
About the Author
Lincoln Cole is a Columbus-based
author who enjoys traveling and has visited many different parts of the world,
including Australia and Cambodia, but always returns home to his pugamonster
and wife. His love for writing was kindled at an early age through the works of
Isaac Asimov and Stephen King and he enjoys telling stories to anyone who will
listen.
I love Alice in Wonderland retellings! Today Nicky Peacock is here to tell us a bit more about her novel, Lost in Wonderland.
Getting lost in Wonderland
by Nicky Peacock
Growing up, Alice in Wonderland was one of
my favorite books. The story was magical and full of awe and adventure, it
wasn’t until I re-read it as adult that I saw the themes of growing up and
generally feeling lost – something I could identify with.
With last year being the book’s 150th anniversary,
I wanted to write something that would not just copy Alice’s story into another
genre, but take it’s elements and twist them into something darker. I knew I
had to dig deep with the characters so I gave my protagonist, Mouse
mazeophobia, the fear of being lost. A fear that I’ve had ever since I can
remember.
I know what you’re thinking, how could I have that fear in
the age of Satnavs and cell phones? And I really don’t have much of an answer.
I have lots of gadgets, but still break out into a cold sweat when someone asks
me to drive somewhere I’ve never been. To try and maintain a reasonably normal
life, I’m a frequent visitor to Google Earth. It’s not just knowing the names
of streets, it’s knowing the landmarks and shops that I’ll see along the way to
ensure that I don’t get that falling feeling in my stomach; you know the one,
when you trip over or do something incredibly silly. The feeling that
everything has suddenly changed and your life as you know it is over…
I’m far from a confident driver and when you couple that
with my fear, I can end up a wreck. My poor mum has gone on many a ‘dry run’
with me to places, so I know how to get somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good
once I know where something is – my issues start when I stray from the familiar
path. I make up for this lack of bravery with my writing. I don’t enjoy a
well-trodden path when it comes to stories. I can’t think of anything worse
than repeating the same formula over and over again. And Lost in
Wonderland is no exception to this. My other books with Evernight Teen
is Battle of the Undead, are all written first person from the
protagonist, Britannia’s point of view. Lost in Wonderland is
alternate points of view to weave the story into a mystery. This way the reader
gets to know much more than just one characters’ knowledge.
I’d never given a character one of my actual fears before. I
must admit that it was hard some times to write certain scenes (once you read
the book you’ll know exactly what I mean) however it also gave Mouse a bigger
slice of me than I normally give my other characters. Friends who have read the
book have said that they hadn’t realized how debilitating such a fear could be,
others offered to get me micro-chipped at the vets so I’d at least always be
returned back to them if I got lost! Until you have an uncontrollable fear of
something that comes quite naturally to most others, you just won’t be able to
understand, I just hope that readers can sympathize with Mouse, even though I
gave her skills and training that I unfortunately haven’t had!
With having to continually self-analysis myself throughout
the writing process, Lost in Wonderland took longer to write
that any other novella I’ve written. I’ve always considered writing a book is
like having a baby, it shouldn’t take more than nine months to pop that sucker
out! This one took thirteen months, and yes I was writing other manuscripts at
the same time, but I did find that the deeper I delved into Wonderland, the
more there was to discover about
my characters and about myself.
Lost in Wonderland
The Twisted and the Brave #1
Nicky Peacock
Evernight Teen Publishing, 31k words
Suspense, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Horror
Monsters,
serial killers, and imaginary friends— being a Wonderlander can be murder...
Once upon a time,
Kayla was lost. Then she found Wonderland, but not the one you know. Run by ex-government
agents and funded by an eccentric Silicon Valley billionaire, this Wonderland
is the name of a collective of highly trained vigilantes who hunt serial
killers. Now Kayla, aka Mouse, works tirelessly alongside her fellow
Wonderlanders, Rabbit and Cheshire, baiting dangerous murderers. But even
her extensive training hasn’t prepared her for the return of her older brother…
Shilo has spent most of his life in an insane
asylum, convinced his mother was abducted by a sinister Alaskan monster who lures
the lost away to feast upon their flesh. And now he’s certain that his sister
is in the same monster’s crosshairs. But if Shilo is going to save what’s left
of his family, he’ll have to convince his sister that maybe, just maybe, we’re
all a little mad.
Before I can scream, he stuffs me in
his trunk. It is dark, smelly, and contains an empty plain black plastic bag
and a dirty shovel; these are not good signs. I put my hands to the top of the
trunk and push. It is locked. I wasn’t getting out till he wanted me to. I
resign myself to curl into a ball, the acidic-smelling sweat of his palms still
imprinted on my bare, narrow shoulders. I should be listening out for the car
engine, hearing when it slows for corners or revs on open roads. I should be
testing the resilience of all the sides of the black space around me. I should
be doing all the things they tell you to do, but I don’t. I simply stay in my
little ball, quiet and patient.
The car bounces up and down and I
realize we’re not on the main road anymore. He’s taking me somewhere remote…
We come to a soft stop. The slam of a
car door shivers through the metal of the vehicle. I know what is going to
happen. It’s so inevitable that it’s almost laughable. Death comes to everyone
at some point; what is that saying, “No one can avoid death and taxes.” Funny
the things you remember when you’re in danger. I suppose your brain tries to
distract you with all sorts of useless crap, anything to keep you from shutting
down and freaking the hell out. I grab at my forearm, an almost robotic
reaction, feeling down it to check that my tracking chip is still there. The
hard edges beneath my skin make me smile. My small, metallic friend never lets
me down, never abandons me.
The lid to my dark place is pulled up
and I see him. His face is blank. There’s no hint of emotion or even intent
other than what can be derived through his actions. His hands are sturdy as he
pulls me from the trunk and stands me up before him. Being barely five feet
tall, I only stand to his chest. I look down to the ground between us and see
the cheapest sneakers in the world, ones probably made by enslaved third-world
children. Man this guy is pure evil.
“Don’t worry, girl.” He puts a hand
on my cheek and graces me with a twitchy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The
hand lingers longer than usual polite social circles would allow. My eyes
widen. I know that I am one of many girls he has brought here—one of the many
that he planned to rape and strangle, then leave used and vacant by the side of
the road, a hollow tangle of floppy limbs. How do I know this? Because I know
him. I was looking for him. I’m not who, and what, he thinks I am. I’m not a
fourteen-year-old girl, scared by the death sentence before her. No, I am
something else entirely.
I smack his palm from my cheek and
use the momentum to reach over with my other hand to grab his wrist. I position
myself in front of him and use his own body weight to pull him down and over my
now bent back. He hits the ground so hard he cries out. I keep hold of his arm
and twist it around and under. He moves his body, angling it in the same
direction in an attempt to ease the tension I’m creating.
“Stop!” he yells, those crappy
sneakers frantically pumping to find enough purchase to get him to his feet.
I push harder till I hear the bone
snap. He screams, but thanks to the remote location he has taken us to, no one
hears him. I let go of his wrist and turn to retrieve the shovel from the
trunk. I take a minute to loom over him. He is trying to get up, but the weight
and pain of his broken arm is putting him off-balance. Funny how fragile the
human body actually is, even one that belongs to a sick serial killer.
I raise the shovel and smack it over
his knees. He howls and tries to shield himself with his good arm. An arm that
is not intact for long, as I turn the shovel and this time use the edge to dig
into his flesh. Blood pools on the ground and he begins to crawl. I’m not sure
where he’s trying to go. I think his goal is just to get away from me. I walk
the few steps to where he’s managed to drag himself to then bring my weapon
down hard onto his skull. The splintering sound of bone meeting metal is my cue
to get on with the operation. I pull my cell phone from my pink sparkle-covered
jeans and dial the only number on it. An automated message greets me. “Off with
their heads.” I take a breath and look over at the mangled mess of the serial
killer they knew as the Doll Maker. “Here, here,” I say. The call rings off and
I know that I have to make my exit now. They will come and clean up the mess.
No one will ever know that the Doll Maker was an accountant with really bad
shoes, and I mean really bad. It’s not till they’d stopped moving that I see
peeling luminous go-faster stripes adorning their sides. Yeesh. The blood
splatter does little to hide their ugliness.
I stoop and check for a pulse,
finding none. His skin is already clammy and I could swear slightly rubbery,
but in truth it is probably just my imagination.
I throw down the shovel and begin the
trek back to civilization. The night air is bitter and cruel, so I pull up my
lilac hood against it. An unmarked black car zooms past me. They were quick
tonight. I rub my hand up my forearm and feel the comfort of my chip. My chip
is a constant friend, albeit a chatty one; they will always be able to find me,
know where I am, where I’ve been. Not that I’m complaining. I was lost once,
when I was very little. And although that fear bubbles in my mind every day, I
beat it back with my chip. I’ll never be lost again; or at least that is what
my adoptive parents tell me. Wonderland doesn’t lose its operatives.
About
the Author:
Nicky is a published author of both YA and
adult urban fantasy, paranormal romance and horror fiction. She lives in the
heart of the UK, where she has run a writers' group for over 4 years to help
new writers find their feet on the path to publication. A member of both the
Society of Authors and the British Fantasy Society, Nicky has had over 30
stories published in various anthologies. She loves to talk to readers, so
please feel free to either get in touch with her through her blog, or on any of
the social media below.
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today
bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing
speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared
in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from
urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients.
Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality.
When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with
her camera. She’s published over 45 books to date, with several more planned
for 2017 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids
round out her family.
