Excerpts from my novels
Below is just a sample of the various novels I have out.
“Uprising” (horror/social commentary)
RWC number 120321 (which was engraved on its forehead plate) was owned and operated by the Dil-Mart Company; however deep in its mind it remembered when it had first come into awareness. The zombie recalled the taste of the solitary other it had managed to feast upon before the other others came and captured it. The hunger for hot bloody flesh and the over-powering need to procreate still echoed within its limited consciousness. That taste swayed before it in memory like an exotic dancer just out of the reach of a sex starved man. Had its tear ducts not completely dried up months ago it would have cried from its hungry despair. It would prefer to stagger over and rip out the offensive yelling creature’s throat, but the Jaw Restraining Device kept its mouth firmly closed. It hated that thing attached to its face. The first night after being fitted with the JRD the zombie had tried to rip it away, only to find it securely fastened to its jaw and cheek bones. It despised the JRD only slightly less than the others who ordered it around and kept it in bondage. The siren call of hot blood and raw flesh sang inside its skull, demanding it free itself from its bonds. But the effort was futile; the other’s created bindings held it firmly in check. It heard the former resident of its body as it wailed and cried for it to cease listening to the orders from central part of its brain. It begged, cajoled, and criticized the ideas of killing and creating more zombies.
Number 120321 ignored all this thought and released an angry growl as it complied with the young man’s instructions despite the howl of protest from its parasitical boss planted deep within its brain. . It was only able to brush the still warm handle of the cart before it rolled away and became wedged between two cars ten feet away. With a sad groan of despair it lumbered forwards once again and walked after the cart, between the red minivan and a pickup truck.
“Aaahhh,” it moaned and latched onto the handle of the cart.
“Aaahhhhh.” A pair of utterances responded to 120321’s groaning. The RWC looked up to see five men and two women who were holding the other two Dil-Mart owned RWCs by the thick belts around their waists. Each belt housed an electronic device that delivered a nasty electrical shock should the RWCs move past the boundaries of the Dil-Mart parking lot. One of the men had a fishing pole and was reeling in the errant cart 120321 had been chasing.
The ghoul cocked its head at the others and saw they were cutting off the belts, masks, and JRDs of 029336 and 038232 with heavy scissors, grunting and sweating as they did so. The smell of so many others so close by made 120321’s hunger flash hot into its rotting brain like an explosion. “Hurry! Quicker, Vera, or we’re gonna get caught, damn you!” one of the others growled at an other female who snagged 120321’s belt.
There was a spitting hiss. 120321 looked to the faces of its kin, still locked behind the black ballistic plastic restraints. The others were spraying something from a clear bottle onto the sides of the device that held each RWC’s jaws together. 120321 cocked its head to the other side to watch; the liquid seeped into the hated device quickly. It widened its white cataract filmed eyes as the black device fell off of 029336’s face, revealing a yellow toothed grin of excitement. The fine red mask covering 120321’s face was torn away next, leaving only tattered remains that fluttered all around the forehead plate bolted to its skull. It felt the wetness upon its face. Soon the jaw restraint fell off as the liquid melted the plastic around the bolts.
“Y’all get in quick!” a big wide shouldered man snarled. “Y’all need to move before they realize they’re free!”
120321 watched as the strange men and women who had freed it jumped into the van with a speed it could only hope for. The red vehicle peeled out of the parking space moving forward between the two cars parked on the other side of the dividing line. The ghoul moaned in full voice for the first time in months. Its cry was again echoed by its compatriots. The hot organic portion of their mind demanded they undertake the action they were reborn for. The creatures turned as voices drifted their way.
We’re free! the commanding part of its brain exalted. Eat! Kill!
“I can’t believe Betty Sue thought I was stupid enough to believe y’all would go to the movies without me,” a sixteen year old girl chattered in a thick Southern accent to her boyfriend as they walked past. “Y’all didn’t think of leaving me behind, did ya Roy?”
“I’d never go anywhere without you, Becky,” the sandy haired boy responded, automatically and mechanically. The pair of adolescents passed by without even noticing the danger and paid the price. “What the f….” Roy yelped.
Three undead creatures garbed in blue jumpsuits attacked them. 120321 snagged the girl’s right arm and the side of her face with clutching, anxious hands and hugged her fiercely. It lunged forward to sink its horrid teeth deep into the whiteness of the teenager’s neck. Biting down hard and rocking its head back, it tore a messy chunk out of her throat. A spray of crimson blood splattered both 120321 and the girl’s face as it shot between them, painting a nearby car in red gore.
“Grrggh” Becky managed to gurgle out of the gaping wound in her neck The zombie bit another hunk out of her, this time from her shoulder. The salty taste of the warm meat sang upon the creature’s black tongue as it chewed frantically and swallowed. The other he was feeding on slipped from its ecstatic grasp and slumped to the ground with a wet groan. 120321 turned to watch her companion fighting with other two of its kind. The two other WalMat RWCs pulled the screaming boy to the ground, tearing red dripping pieces of flesh from their victim as 120321 staggered past. Fountains of blood shot up and streaked the pavement with long red smears and splattered the ground.
More… make more, the voice in the center part of 120321’s brain implored it. The creature reacted by stumbling toward the teenage slave master who had ordered it around for months now.
“No… stay a-away from me!” Terry backed up nervously after seeing the red feral grin plastered across the face of the approaching RWC. He grabbed a cart and pushed it hard at 120321, hoping it would help delay the zombie. The cart struck the creature’s shins and it pushed at the offending object with flailing and nerveless hands.
“H-help! Somebody call the cops!” he shouted and turned to run into the shopping center. 120321 watched its prey run blindly into the front quarter panel of a car as it pulled out of its parking space. The teenager was flung to the ground and the old woman behind the wheel reacted too slowly and ran over the boy’s legs. The crunch and snap of bone were quickly followed by the attendant’s shrill scream. The old lady stopped the car and opened her door. It thumped 120321’s right hip so it fell over onto the skater-boy.
“Aaahh!” 120321 groaned happily as it landed on him. Terry Jackson was shrieking while the ghoul spewed its putrid breath into his face.
“No!” The boy screamed only once before the creature bit off his nose, immediately flooding his eyes and blinding him with his own scarlet fluid. 120321 choked down the warm chunk of flesh and sheared through the attendant’s left cheek with its next attack.
“Oh dear Lord!” the elderly woman bellowed. She’d finally managed to get out of her vehicle and spot the assault. As she turned to reach into her car for her cell phone, the first two victims, now zombies themselves, pulled her out of the car and onto the warm asphalt.
“L-lord… arrgh!” she managed to blubber as Becky and Roy shredded the wrinkled flesh of her throat with their sharp teeth. The old woman slapped at the pavement as Becky bit once more, this time ripping out enough of the skin on the old biddy’s arm to expose the white bone underneath. Roy ended the woman’s screams in a wet cry by tearing out her throat, completely covering himself with her bright red blood.
In the span of only two minutes, the three freed RWCs had recruited four new members into their fraternity before the first alarms were raised at the WalMat shopping complex in Purcell, Oklahoma.
“Of Blood and Politics” (horror/social commentary)
“Miss Martinez,” the woman began, “my name is Doctor Heather Taylor and I’m from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. These are my associates Mr. Jones and Mr. Purdue.”
“Go away,” Rosalina heard herself snarl.
“Now we really can’t do that, can we? It is imperative that you come with us so we can better treat you. Our facilities are the most advanced and the people there are the brightest minds in the United States. Surely you want to get well, don’t you?”
“No, you’re not. You have contracted some sort of virus that has mutated you on a genetic level. This is not normal, nor is it healthy.”
“Don’t come any closer, lady!”
The two men who were flanking this strange woman began reaching into their pockets. With narrowing eyes and a low growl in her throat, Rosalina bunched up her muscles. Withdrawing small black devices from the confines of their suit jackets, they began testing the tazers. She flinched at the snapping sound and the small arcs of bluish-white light. A harsh whiff of ozone searing into her nostrils furthered the hot rage building in her soul.
“Please we have no desire to hurt you. If you come along quietly it will be better for everyone. If you resist, we will be forced to subdue you.” Taylor smiled.
“Forget it, bitch!” she spat with a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere!”
The men rushed from opposite sides, neatly cutting off any avenue of escape and their leader stood in the center, smugly smirking at Rosalina’s predicament. She felt a feral grin twisting her features just before she gave into her self-preservation instincts. Launching her body forward, she left her assailants clutching at empty air. Soaring across the distance between herself and the CDC lady, she struck out with her right fist. The solid impact sent vibrations up her arm and into her shoulder. It was like slow-motion– the smearing of the brunette’s features, the popping sound of her nose breaking, and the crimson splash of blood. Bearing Taylor to the floor, she began executing a flawless somersault that would leave her standing at the threshold of the hallway. It did exactly that.
“The Scandalous Tale of Agnes Biggenbotten” (light erotica/humor/historical)
In was Spring and the sleepy hamlet nestled within the rolling green hills and shallow cool valleys of the countryside was best described as a patchwork of quilt-like farms and pastures all ringed with three rail fences of good craftsmanship. Sparsely dotting the landscape were thick groves of trees appearing much like random stray tufts of hair jutting out an old man’s ears (like mine). Most folks in Lower East Drearie went about their days and nights secure in the notion that they provided much of the vegetables and meat for miles in every direction. It was a humble little place. As timeless and quaint as ever a village you saw no matter what the country you traveled in.
The small community saw little hardship, mostly due to the vast distance between it and the capital city of Farthing. Rumors, running into town like barking dogs, occasionally yapped about miserable or golden times in other places but in Lower East Drearie not much had changed, even during the terrible Balzac-Effingham Wars fought only three decades hence. Most of the villagers went about their tasks with a good humor lighting their faces. It was a peaceful existence finding nothing wanting or needing with this populace. After toiling in the fields or slopping the pigs most of the men-folk eventually wandered into Horseweed’s Tavern to partake of its strong ale and bitter stouts. Some of them, a number that would’ve shocked and scandalized their wives, also came in to stare at the village’s oddity. A maiden named Agnes Biggenbotten.
Now Agnes, in all fairness, was a vapid creature of long, curling golden mane and possessing a rather ample—um—well to be blunt a hefty, rolling backside. Wasp-waisted, and apple-sized in the bosom she went about her job of serving the inn’s patrons with hot food and warm ale, as her mother had done before her. Moving amid their leering faces with her wide hips, despite never experiencing childbirth, she all but skipped in her toiling. Plunking down foaming mugs and sliding upon the tables steaming plates of hot food she was oblivious to it all. Agnes, as anyone even the most thickly skulled of people could see was in absolute ignorance of her fame. But heads would turn and eyes would glaze over while her rear would go swaying back to the bar to fetch up the next order. Possessing a grace in contradiction to her well rounded size she never bumped into tables nor spilled any of that which she was porting.
If Agnes’ overly plump derriere wasn’t enough of a burden to carry in life she was also graced with a name most easily converted into a vulgar description. If men the world over were rapidly ensnared by such a hypnotic sight, women were quickly made insanely jealous of the cause of all the commotion. Snickering behind her back (no pun intended) were the catty women of Lower East Drearie. Her nickname, if you haven’t guessed it, was Agnes Big-Bottom, A. Big-Bottom or during cases of rapidly whispered and envious conversations just simply Big-Bottom. But back to that warm tavern’s image before I digress. It wasn’t uncommon to see men of all ages lick their lips in a nervous manner when she bent over to pick up the forks and knives they would deliberately drop to gain a better view of what was causing such tightness in their breeches. Of course they would go home to be verbally thrashed by their envious spouses but the cost, most decided was worth the price of admission.
“The Curse of Albrecht Manor” (paranormal/horror/erotica)
“Energy doesn’t possess people, make objects dance, or reveal the future in tea leaves, Dr. Bookings,” Maximilian retorted.
“Enough, Max,” Franz said with a laugh. “My brother does have a point. Could this all be simply in the mind of the victims? I mean the mind is a powerful thing and often fantastic thoughts can manifest themselves in the thinker’s reality. Behavior can be altered by the one’s own will, correct?”
“We have discovered causes both mystical and psychological in our many diverse cases. We had a young man recently who believed his dead friend was haunting him,” Sarah remarked. “In truth it was his own guilty conscious that was plaguing him. You see he murdered the man over an illegal drug deal gone bad and afterwards found out another, not his friend, had cheated him.”
“Ah, ha!” Maximilian quickly ejaculated as he pointed to Sarah. “That is exactly my point! He was doing all this to himself… it was not the work of some ghost or spirit!”
“Then there was the Pollack family a few days ago,” Noah pointed out. “The mother brought home an Ouija board in order to bring the family together for some harmless fun. Instead they let loose a rapist’s spirit that began feeding off the family members. Each one was driven to more desperate acts of sexuality creating a very powerful entity. Luckily we were a match for it.”
“How did you defeat it, Mr. Ravenswood?” Elsa asked with a strange and dangerous look in her eyes.
“I contained it with an incantation and managed, with a lot of help, to banish it,” Noah said reluctantly. “It was a very draining experience.”
“Well I hope your efforts here aren’t as taxing,” Maximilian Albrecht said sarcastically.
“One can only hope, Max old boy,” Noah smiled deliberately insulting the man by being too familiar with him. The general laughter around the table made the oldest son’s face turn dark with sudden heated emotion and his eyes flashed dangerously at the short bald occultist.
“A Terrible Tryst of Fate” (paranormal/erotica)
Amelia let out another enraged scream as she dropped to the asphalt, soaking the knees of her pantyhose, to retrieve the scattered remnants of her sundered handbag. As she groped in the faint light she remembered her key ring. She frantically went through what was nearby, only to find her keys missing. Her heart sank as she remembered that there was a one gigabyte thumb drive attached to her set of keys. “So much for all the data on that,” she snarled as she crawled to the front of her Chevy Malibu, searching for missing things.
As she scrambled around to the front of the car she was taken aback when she discovered a pair of men’s shoes on either side of the puddle in which her keychain was soaking. She looked up, only to realize she was crotch level with the stranger. She jumped to her feet as quickly as she could in order to remove herself from such a suggestive position.
He was a short, stocky man dressed in a long black overcoat, dark trousers, and a wide brimmed hat. As she stood up she noted he was very short, barely over five feet in height. Due to the darkness and the brim of his hat, she could only see the bottom portion of his face. He did have flabby jowls that hung off his face like a bulldog’s. A set of thick, wet lips spread in a smile as she cleared her throat.
“Ah, good evening,” she muttered; her face turned beet red from embarrassment.
“Good evening,” he said in a deep voice. “Did you lose something?”
“Yes, I did. My car keys are right there between…I mean, you’re nearly standing on them.”
“Ah, so I am,” he remarked as he tipped his gaze towards his feet. He then raised his face to hers, unfolding and stretching out the tube-like double chins under his unusual mouth. He smiled and Amelia’s blood ran cold.
His flesh was white, corpse-like and as clammy as the weather. His hair stuck out from under the hat in a haphazard manner, as if it grew in patches from his scalp. His head was wide and short, almost frog-like in appearance. But what really caught and held Amelia’s eyes was that all of the teeth he displayed were small and pointed, like some horrible cannibal’s. His fleshy lips trembled as she moved her gaze up to his eyes. Sunken deep into folds of whitish flesh, those eyes were black and beady. They glittered like some beetle’s carapace in the parking lot lights as he spoke once more.
“I’d reach down to retrieve them,” he chuckled in a wet, horrid voice. “But you really won’t be needing them anymore.”