Today, the monster steps into the world. Today, unhooded, he is seen.
He has done this for many years now, ever since he began to understand the possibilities Halloween offers him. For one night, the town is transformed, becomes a wonderland of the ghoulish and grotesque. A town made for him.
Continue reading “The Monster And The Boy by Jaime Gill “
Okay, this is a weird one.
I have a story about a story that has fuck all to do with the story.
Please bear with me.
I’d like to write about Dean R Koontz’s ‘The Bad Place’.
As I have said before, with any of these that I do, I want to tell you more why the book has stayed with me rather than all the technical stuff. I have read six or so of Mr Koontz’s books and have enjoyed them. He does have a tendency to use
children and dogs within his plots. (The dogs, I can forgive – Kids not so much!)
But this book stands out due to it being so random. Here comes the story within a story, well sort of. Years back I read something that stated Bobby Darin had said that he could write anything. Someone, a DJ, I think gave him the line ‘Splish Splash, I was taking a bath’ and well, we know the rest. The reason that I mention this is, I reckon (Wrongly, I might add!!) that Mr Koontz was bet that he couldn’t get these topics into a story.
Telekinesis.
Inter-Planetary travel.
Vampirism.
And hermaphroditism.
By fuck he did!
I give you ‘The Bad Place.’
What a bonkers but entertaining book!!
And I don’t want to spoil anything but I do need to give you one line.
When the MC knows that the evil guy was coming for him, he tried to warn his pal. They were both in a unit for Special Needs. He told his friend, ‘There’s a bad thing coming’ and the wee soul replied, ‘What, poached eggs?’
May sound like fuck all but it makes me laugh every-time I think on it!!
Koontz isn’t my favourite horror writer, I prefer King, Laymon and to me, the best ever, the late great James Herbert. But for something so inventive that, in my mind, has a link to Bobby Darin, I would suggest that you have a look at this book. It is by far, the most inventive book that I have ever read.
Hugh Cron
The chemistry of life in an era of endless miracles can be deceptively corrosive. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Like putting a hen’s egg in vinegar, it reveals the soft, internal wonders of the world—the things we’re so prone to build shells and containers around. Living in this era of endless miracles does, however, require special handling and some degree of caution. It often demands we abandon our reliance on the element of reason. Just as you should never mix vinegar with bleach, parsing miracles with reason and rationality can blister your lungs and blind you where you stand.
A magician taught me this.
Continue reading “Pink Tongue Flailing by Dana Rollins”
You can believe in hauntings and not in ghosts. You shrink a bit when you enter your parents’ house for Christmas dinner and feel your powerless teenage self slip her tired arms around you and whisper a reminder that you’re not enough and somehow also too much. The rage that boils in your chest while you watch your father criticize your mom only finds a way to possess you at this table, in this room. The icy indifference that serves as your answers to all your mom’s questions is a ghost of the child you killed so you could survive long enough to become an adult.
Continue reading “Christmas Spirits by Anna Sahli”
(Please see tags for content warning)
“‘I can’t go on,’ just doesn’t cut it. Doesn’t stand out from the crowd.” Mandy pushed the offending piece of A4 back across the table.
Timothy looked at her and she knew what he was seeing.
Continue reading “Signing Off in Style by Simon Berry”
“You got old early.”
Hannah didn’t need to finish the thought. She’d already said it so many times, and then, when she got tired of saying it, she left. But even when she came back to pick up this or that, she sometimes would say it again, maybe for old time’s sake. “You got old early when you lost your job and started spending your days getting way too wrapped up in the neighbors’ business.” I never had a good response, even though clearly I had plenty of time to come up with one.
Continue reading “Your Grief Doesn’t Interest Me by Simon Nadel”
The young girl’s sandals slap the buckled sidewalks of Wesley Street. She feels silly and conspicuous in her grandmother’s sun hat, the sweatband stained blue-black by hair dye and perspiration. Stiff from decades of blackland prairie summers, the straw crown swallows her head like an overturned bowl, hot and heavy on her scalp. She thinks about taking it off, but wearing it was a condition of the old woman’s consent for this little outing, and spying eyes lurk behind curtains along the way. In this town, everybody knows everybody’s business.
Continue reading “1964 by Bett Butler”
Poetry is one of those things that seems to divide readers into quite different camps. I am a poet and a poetry lover but fully understand how other people just don’t ‘get it’. This piece, though it’s about a poet is not altogether about poetry. Mick Bloor shows yet again what a knowledgeable and well read writer he is. Excellent stuff.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever by Mick Bloor”
Jon Brower Minnoch (1941-1983) was, and remains, the heaviest known human being ever to live (according to Guiness). He topped out at 1400 pounds ( a hundred stone in the UK). He holds many weight related records including the most pounds lost (900 plus) and the greatest weight difference between husband and wife (1300). Mr. and Mrs. Minnoch had two children, which is testament to both the determination of life and a prime example of something I’d rather not consider too deeply.
Continue reading “Week 482: Remembering Jon Brower Minnoch; Five Acts of Daily Goodness; the A to Z of Slang and Catchphrases”
He rolled out from under the boat and lay on his back. The sun soaked into him. But the fly that had awoken him kept buzzing near his ear. It landed on his face and he brushed it away.
Continue reading “The Young Man by Danny Antonelli”
literally stories 