Tom Farrell had always wished Hell on his boss. On New Years Eve… Hell sent someone.-Along For The Ride-

No one will ever write a horror novel as scary as reading about my symptoms on WebMD.

I am, yet I strive to not be. Do you understand, comrade?” His tone suggested fellowship, disciples of the same obscene religion. …

Such is the great nature of man, it resides the true face beneath a glittering masquerade.

Watching, watching, watching.

An old adage warns: If you don’t know your history, you will be forever condemned to repeat it. Likewise, if you don’t know your science fiction, and heed its warnings, you could condemn the Earth...

Time is tick, tick, ticking away. How many souls will I capture today? Will they be a challenge or will they be given? Only time will tell as the clock keeps tick, tick, ticking. Your...

illustration Speaking before the Marion Hobby Club Marion, OH 2013 This writer is looking for an agent.An old adage warns: If you don’t know your history, you will be forever condemned to repeat it. Likewise,...

He who writes is the martyr, seen through the eyes of the unsuspecting doll.

I believe,’ Muswell once said, ‘that mental isolation is the essence of weird fiction. Isolation when confronted with disease, with madness, with horror and with death. These are the reverberations of the infinity that torments...

And I’ve learned to hit the brakes at these kinds of stop signs rather than t-boning a tanker truck filled with 200 proof mediocrity.

Whose Daddy’s Little Girl Now?

Insects crawled across my skin, legs skittering across my flesh, numbed paths of cold left in their wake. They were the creatures that heralded my ghosts, and I knew them well, yet the revulsion they...

Eddie Carroll had just come in from outside, and read Noonan’s letter standing in the mudroom. He flipped to the beginning of the story. He stood reading for almost five minutes before noticing he was...

I’m haunted. We all are, I guess. We’re parentless, friendless, unloved, abandoned. The spirits of our deceased emotional anchors and proofs of existence will follow and demean us until we too roam a quiet lifeless...

He got up and ran on, pitching himself down the hill, flying through the branches of the firs, leaping roots and rocks without seeing them. As he went, the hill got steeper and steeper, until...

Drifting on the black, rippling surface were fingers. Thumbs. Dozens of them. Hundreds, floating like dead fish in a dynamited pond. I saw part of an ear. The lights went out.

Carroll was eleven years old when he saw The Haunting in The Oregon Theater. He had gone with his cousins, but when the lights went down, his companions were swallowed by the dark and Carroll...

Only a few can survive and face reality without a vice.