Blood and Brimstone, Chapter 10 – Free Serial Novel

Blood and Brimstone, the free sequel to my paranormal romance Flesh and Fire, continues below. You can get caught up on previous chapters here.

The police found no evidence of foul play. No sign, other than her absence, that she had even left the room. No one in the neighborhood saw her leave. Since her clothes were left behind, she would have run away naked. How no one had noticed a naked, fit woman in her early twenties running around the suburban streets baffled the police, and Dale when he stopped to think about it. But it wasn’t like she could have vanished into thin air. That was just stupid.

After a long, difficult night of providing the officers with photographs (“she doesn’t usually smile this much,” Dale said, as he printed out and handed over a picture from their last day at the beach) and all other pertinent information on Melissa, Dale lay awake until a quarter to six in the morning. Then he just paced the room, thoughts racing. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it: the sudden disappearance, the unseasonable chill in the air. He thought about how upset she had been. And the scream.

He wondered what his next step would be. Will it hurt more if I stayed here or if I went back to base? Both places contained reminders of painful things. Home, his father and other fractured family relationships, relationships he couldn’t imagine trying to rebuild now as he panicked over Melissa’s disappearance and fought to hold off the grief from her potential permanent loss. On base, the reminder of her would be constant. For the first time in his military career, he considered going AWOL. He could hitchhike across the country and look for…for what? For myself? What a cliché.

He decided to go back to base and immerse himself again in training and work. At least that would give him something else to think about. Throwing himself into his on-base activities had worked before. Surely, he thought, it would work again.

Still, as he booked his ticket back to San Diego, his hands trembled. Tension pressed into his neck and shoulders. He hovered the cursor over the COMPLETE ORDER button, took a breath, and clicked. He considered leaving without saying ‘goodbye,’ thought about writing a note and setting it on the island in the kitchen, or maybe just sending a text.

Best to face Katie, tell her in person. You owe her that much. Probably a lot more.

He waited until she woke. He didn’t expect Jake to be there, but Jake came by that morning to check on her. They sat down to another mostly quiet breakfast. This time Katie cooked. Halfway through the meal, Dale worked up the courage to break the news.

“I changed my flight,” he said. “Think it’s better if I go.”

Katie looked up from her plate and frowned. “When are you going?”

He hesitated, felt poised to jump off a precipice so high that he couldn’t see the bottom. “Tonight.”

Jake slammed his fork down, but said nothing. Dale stared across the table, but Jake wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I just,” Dale began.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Katie said. “Just…do what you have to do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she said.

He opened his mouth to say more, thought better of it and sighed. He downed the rest of his food, barely tasting it. No one else said a word, not until it was time to say goodbye.

Katie and Jake walked him to the door that afternoon. He brought the guitar with him. Katie lowered her gaze, gave the guitar a once over, and looked up at Dale, her eyebrows raised. She hummed, something close to a grunt of approval, but not quite.

“Yeah,” Dale said. “Thinking of playing again. Got Dad’s songs on my MP3 player and thought it might be cool to learn them.”

“That’s nice. That’s really great.”

They embraced, then released each other. Dale and Jake made eyes at each other. They stared without speaking. Katie glanced between them, sensing the tension.

“Let me help you with your things,” Jake said.

Dale nodded. He didn’t need help, but from Jake’s look, he guessed his sister’s boyfriend wanted to talk to him about something. He handed Jake his suitcase. Katie stayed by the door and watched them walk to the car.

Dale popped the trunk to the rental car. “So what’s up?”

Jake stayed mostly quiet, but Dale could hear his uneasy breathing behind him. Dale turned. Jake chewed his lip.

“Don’t suppose you could stay?” he asked.

“I…”

“Katie needs you, man. Hell, I could use some help with her too. She’s been kind of a mess lately.”

Dale loaded his guitar in the trunk. “I can’t.”

“You run out of leave?”

“It’s not that. I just…it hurts too much to be here.”

Dale shut the trunk, opened the back door and took the suitcase from Jake.

“I can’t blame you.” Dale stuffed the suitcase in the back seat, kept his back turned to Jake. “It’s what you’re best at.”

Dale spun to face Jake. “What the hell did you say?”

Jake withered, looked like he already regretted his words, but Dale wasn’t about to let him off. He took a step forward.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

“Look, all I’m saying is…”

“I heard what you said, asshole, and I don’t fucking appreciate it.”

Jake held up his hands. “Hey, listen…”

“No, you listen.” He stuck his finger in Jake’s face. “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I don’t care about my sister. You don’t fucking ever…”

Jake slapped Dale’s finger out of the way. Something broke inside of Dale. He lunged forward, tackled Jake to the ground. Katie yelped, or maybe it was Jake; Dale wasn’t sure in his moment of perfect, blind rage. He reared back, rammed his fist into Jake’s nose. Felt the mash of cartilage, the spray of blood, and just like that, his rage dispersed like fog in front of a fan. He rose to his feet, heart thrumming, guilt welling.

Katie started to cross the yard. “What the hell are you doing?”

He looked up, opened his mouth to answer, but Jake’s heel smashed against his kneecap. He pitched forward, landed face-first against Jake’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

Dale rolled over, clutching his already swelling eye. Jake rolled on top of him.

“Jake, no. Stop it.” Katie hooked her forearm around Jake’s throat and pulled him back. Dale got up to lunge forward, but Katie stuck herself in front of him. “Both of you, just…hasn’t the last couple of days been hard enough?”

Dale and Jake glared at each other over Katie’s shoulder, but her presence had done its job. No more punches would be thrown. Jake pressed his shirt against his bleeding nose. Swelling forced Dale’s eye shut. Both men sucked in deep, seething breaths.

Katie took Dale by the arm, turned him away from Jake.

“Come on, let me get you some ice.” She glanced over her shoulder at Jake. “You too.”

Her voice was husky, tired, defeated. Dale felt like the biggest asshole in the world and couldn’t decide if that would make leaving easier or harder. He followed her inside, head down and got some ice for his eye. The second time he went out the door that day, no one said a word. He drove off, wounds tender and chilled.

Cabin Fever with Danger Slater

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-6rcvb-b370d1

Authors Lucas Mangum and Danger Slater chat about the Eli Roth’s now seminal film CABIN FEVER. Note: This was recorded 18 months ago, so both authors have had new books released since.

If you enjoyed this show, consider becoming a patron to receive all sorts of rewards and goodies, including signed books, video messages, and a chance to Skype with Lucas once a month!

Blood and Brimstone, Chapter 9 – Free Serial Novel

Blood and Brimstone, the free sequel to my paranormal romance Flesh and Fire, continues below. You can get caught up on previous chapters here.


Melissa locked the door to the bedroom and stripped naked. She pulled the page ripped from Katie’s journal and unfolded it, stared into the eyes of the man Katie called a demon. The man Katie called Samael.

She imagined the eyes turning to red orange, like twin match heads. She touched the fingers of her left hand to the demon’s lips. She licked the fingers of her right hand and reached down to touch herself. Her womanhood tingled as she massaged its lips. She fought the urge to close her eyes. Stayed focused on the face in the sketch. The eyes reddened. The flames in their irises began to sway. The fiery tips curled and trembled.


Dale continued to strum. Eyes closed. Lost in the music. He pictured his father seeing the man he had become. He pictured his father not being afraid to admit to dreaming of better things. Todd stood before him, wearing a dark suit and tie, his typical banker’s outfit. His short hair was thinning. A breath brought the scent of pungent, expensive cologne.

Dale continued playing, imagined looking into his father’s eyes. Blue, soft, as usual, but Dale noticed something different about them now. An intensity that he had never noticed in them before. They looked, for want of a better description, young, Dale thought.

The song looped back around. Dale played. More on beat, more confident. His father’s hair darkened. Lines in his face were smoothing out. He looked shorter, not looming over Dale the way Dale always imagined him. The black jacket started to fade, to tear.

“You came into my life,” Dale sang, “black-haired, blissfully damaged.”

Like Melissa, he thought and wondered how much his life mirrored his father’s. What had his father been like before becoming the man Dale knew? Who was he singing about? Dale and Katie’s mom didn’t have black hair, and she never struck her as damaged. At least not in the way worth singing about.

The jacket fell from his father’s shoulders like so many dirty rags, collected around his feet like dust.


The fire spread. Every row of books engulfed in angry red tongues. The top of the bureau burned. The floor turned to orange molten rock.

Katie sat up, drew her knees to her chest. The Cosmic Heart burned beside her, a pulsing flame, beating in time with her heart. The book that claimed to hold secret cures smoldered. Black smoke seeped from between its pages.

The woman spoke like a skipping CD.…blood is diseased…blood is diseased…blood is diseased…


Melissa’s sex dripped, making her fingers wet and sticky. Natural lubricant ran in channels in the lines of her hand. She thrust her head back, gritted her teeth against a moan that could draw attention from the rest of the house.

Someone whispered in her ear. Words indecipherable. Full of seduction, but not without menace.

Her breath quickened. A notion inside her warned her against proceeding. Against finishing.

But I’m too close now. I’m on the brink.

She kept her gaze fixated on Samael’s. Watched the flames dance in his eyes. His lips moved. She swore they fucking moved. His tongue slipped out, ran across his pointed teeth.

I’m imagining this, she thought, but knew she wasn’t. Warmth engulfed her. Her legs jerked. Toes made fists.

She couldn’t help herself, a whimper escaped her lips. The black and white sketch of Samael colorized. Flesh became flesh. Scars became pale and textured. The fire in his eyes swirled like spiral galaxies of burning brimstone. Her fingers slipped between his lips, into the warm wetness beyond the paper. The points of his teeth pressed into the pads of her fingers and drew blood.


The scream ripped away the image of his reverse-aging father. Dale opened his eyes and stopped strumming. He tore the headphones from his ears and set the guitar against the edge of the deck. The second scream tore him to his feet, sent him barreling toward the house. He jerked open the back door and entered.

The scream belonged to Melissa. He had never heard her outright scream before, but he had heard her yell, heard her cry. The sound from upstairs was a ragged, wet combination of both.

He bolted up the stairs, heart pounding heat through his veins. His foot caught on the top step, and he pitched forward. Held his hands out for balance and fell against the wall.

“Melissa!”

Opposite the hallway from his room, Katie’s door flung open. Dale and his sister exchanged wide-eyed, urgent glances. They met in front of his room. He fumbled with the door knob. It was cold to the touch like he held a block of ice. He withdrew his hand, paused for a confused split second.

“What is it?” Katie said.

Dale ignored her question, took the knob and cranked it over. A chill greeted him when he opened the door. Katie crossed her arms against the draft. The cold bit through his clothing, almost hurt, but subsided upon his entering the room.

Melissa was gone.

“What the fuck?” he said. “Where the fuck is she?”

Her clothes lay in a discarded pile beside the bed. The blanket was bunched at the footboard. Her head had left an imprint in the memory foam pillow. No other sign of her remained.

Dale crossed the room, peered under the bed, into the closet. Her name passed his lips at irregular intervals, a repetitive manic chant. He started pushing aside furniture, kicking walls.

“Dale,” Katie said, her voice a decibel above a whisper.

He ignored her. Started knocking books and framed photographs off the dresser. Stopped saying Melissa’s name, replaced it with angry curses.

Dale.”

He spun to face his sister. Tears blurred his eyes. He ran past her, into the hallway and scrambled down the stairs. Yanking the front door open, he stepped outside. His gaze flicked across the yard, across the street. He called her name. Listened for a response. Breath pulled in and out, turning his cries hoarse. His blood rushed and he started to shake.

A warm hand closed around his shoulder and he fell to his knees. He punched the air, mumbled another string of obscenities.

“We need to call the police,” Katie said, a single tremor breaking the otherwise level manner of her voice. “Let’s go inside.”

Dale clenched his fists, tried to slow his breath. The air outside was warm against his skin. He wondered where the frosty draft in his room had come from and how it managed to make the doorknob so cold.

Preorder My Romance All I Need

If you follow me on Twitter or IG, or if you know me personally, you may have heard that last fall I wrote a romance. I talked a little bit about that on an episode of The JDO Show, but I believe that episode is exclusive to his patrons, soooo, I figured I’d talk about it a little here.

With the exception of a phase during my teenage years where I exclusively wrote science fiction and action-adventure, I’ve been writing horror my entire life. It started when I was six-years-old with a handwritten, illustrated chapbook called The Skeleton that I photocopied and sold to my neighbors.

I had a well-documented psychotic break around this time last year. What I haven’t talked much about is that this break was the culmination of a whole lot of other things. Call it a sophomore slump or call it imposter syndrome, and you’d probably be onto something, but around 2014 (a few months after selling Flesh and Fire), I could feel my love of what I was doing, along with my love of myself fizzling. But I kept trucking forward. Kept writing. And, most notably, kept quiet. I published Mania and the first edition of Engines of Ruin. I finished Gods of the Dark Web and We Are the Accused. I did all of this, even though I thought I was a complete fraud.

After my son was born though, the mental exhaustion of dealing with a newborn proved too much. I stopped finishing things. Even when Gods of the Dark Web came out, I had a difficult time getting the fire back. Part of that was I tried to recapture the tone and style of that book, which I’d finished two years prior. Another part was that I was always tired and probably on the wrong medicine.

Eventually, I stopped writing altogether. You want to know whether or not writing is for you? Try not doing it for a while. After six months of a self-imposed hiatus, as well as getting hit with the news that because of my son’s allergies we had to get rid of all our cats, I just couldn’t take it anymore. This resulted in a long weekend stay at Austin Lakes Hospital.

While there, I learned some interesting things. For example: mental patients have a strangely acute sense of respect for others’ personal space. Most “well-adjusted” folk are always up in my shit. I also learned that writing is damn important to me. When not going to group, eating or sleeping, I was at it with a pencil and notebook, mostly just trying to create a perfect scene.

When I got out, I hungered to start a new project. After a long chat with accomplished romance writer Tracy Wolff, I thought a good way back into the process would be to try something completely different.

Enter All I Need, a romance in which two masked strangers who have a one night stand discover they’re long lost high school sweethearts, torn apart thirteen years prior by Hurricane Katrina.

I stuttered my way through the first bit. Not only had I not written in a while, but this was a whole new genre for me. Then Killer Con happened, and I remembered, goddamn, of COURSE I still love horror, and hammered out a few short stories that found their way into the reissue of Engines of Ruin. But since I hate leaving good ideas unfinished, I returned to All I Need and typed the words “The End” on the document in November.

Multiple revisions later, All I Need, the first of 4 romance novellas set in New Orleans, is up for preorder on Amazon. If you’re curious to see the piece that got me writing again, check it out.

If you’re only here for the horror, that’s cool, too. Finishing All I Need got me to Saint Sadist, and I’ve got many more tales of terror in the works.

Preorder on Amazon

Unfinished, Unpublished, Unaccounted For (Part 2)

A few weeks ago, I published a post called Bibliography in which I listed every book I’ve ever had published, along with some notes about each piece. It got a nice response and got me thinking about all the projects over the years that I either finished but never published or completely abandoned during the writing process. For brevity’s sake, I think the only way to do this properly is to only talk about books. If I also went into short stories in this category, we’d be here forever. What follows is Part 2 of a list of all my unpublished or unfinished books, from the time I started writing up to the present day. The best way to do this, I think, is to divide this post into three parts. The first was my childhood works. Today’s entry will cover my teenage writings. Part 3 will be my adult pieces.

ARNOLD BANE: This was me writing a pulp hero before I knew what a pulp hero was. Probably obvious, but I got the name by combining Schwarzenegger with a Batman villain. In most of these stories, he fought to save his city from his seemingly immortal nemesis Nick Jackson (who I probably named after a bully). As the series progressed, I incorporated a revenge narrative where the hero loses his family and tries to find their killer, and a story in which he gets framed for something and works to clear his name. I don’t remember if I wrote any of these down, to be honest, but I acted them out in my backyard pretty regularly.

LIFE FORM, WHERE THERE’S SMOKE THERE’S FIRE, THE ALIEN WARS: These are three books that might not have been intentionally related, but could very easily have been a series. You know the deal. Alien invasion apocalypse. Starts small, escalates, lots of shit blows up. My attempts to write these down never really satisfied me, but I kept at them for years. I kind of want to revisit them now.

STEELTECH, TX-2000, DARK FUTURE: I remember no plot details, but I’m sure they were my attempts to ape what I liked about the first two Terminator movies (which was FUCKING EVERYTHING). I don’t remember how much I wrote down, but I did some cool drawings I’ve since lost. I know they were cool, because a kid in my sixth-grade class threatened to kick my ass if I didn’t Xerox some copies to give him. Hey… maybe he still has them. Maybe he has the originals. Jerk.

THE ENEMY: A court jester from medieval times that’s also a vampire wreaks havoc on a small Pennsylvania town for some reason. Two kids and a priest band together to thwart it with an ancient dagger.

CRIMSON FALLS: An ancient creature that’s lived under a town for so long that it’s part of the town takes the shape of a wolf/dragon thing and terrorizes a group of kids. I really fucking wanted to write IT when I was younger. Jesus.

NEON LASER X: This was my fucking epic. A prison of war in a dystopian/cyberpunk future joins a group of rebels to overthrow the tyrannical government. Followed by the sequels, NEON LASER XTREME (back off, it was the 90s) and NEON LASER X 3000.

Well, that was… a thing. I hope you’ve enjoyed laughing at my expense.

Blood and Brimstone, Chapter 8 – Free Serial Novel

Blood and Brimstone, the free sequel to my paranormal romance Flesh and Fire, continues below. You can get caught up on previous chapters here.


Dale dug through the closet in his old bedroom. He pushed aside creased and dusty boxes of books. He shifted all the hanging clothes he hadn’t brought with him when he left to one side of the closet. An earthy smell wafted from somewhere inside and took him back to his childhood. He expected to be nauseated, but instead he felt something entirely different. A strange serenity settled over him. He took a deep breath of the scent, and for the first time in a long time, he remembered his father in another light. When Dale was young, his father hadn’t been all bad. They played a lot together: music, video games, basketball. It wasn’t until Dale got a little older that his father started harping on him about choosing a career path. All that stuff Dale had enjoyed was just play, and playtime was over. It hadn’t been a gradual shift either. It had happened seemingly overnight. But before, during childhood, things had been pretty great.

“What are you looking for?” Melissa said.

He smiled at her over his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when I find it.”

“Oh, you tease.” She stuck out her tongue. It was a nice tongue. One he thought about often and one he’d tasted many times.

He turned and peered back into the closet and spotted the black guitar case leaning in the corner. Cobwebs hung between it and the wall. He brushed them off and lifted out the long-buried treasure. He stood it on the bedroom floor and leaned on it, grinning. Melissa frowned.

“I didn’t know you played.”

“I haven’t played in a really long time.” He felt himself darken. “My dad made me stop.”

“Surprised you let him make you do anything.” Her mouth went tight. She cocked an eyebrow. She was pure defiance, the type of bad girl he’d always wanted.

“Different time. Different me. Besides, it’s hard to bite the hand that feeds you.”

“Could’ve just run away like me.”

“If only I were so courageous.”

She shrugged, leaned back on the bed. “You gonna play me a song?”

“Not sure I’m ready for that. Besides, this probably needs to be tuned, maybe even restrung.”

“That’s fine. Was hoping to do some reading anyway. Still not feeling great.”

He felt a pang of concern. “Can I get you anything?”

She held up the glass of water on the nightstand. “I’ll be fine.”

“All right, well, I guess I’ll mess with this guitar in another room. Maybe even outside.”

She nodded, rested her head on the pillow. “Okay.”

Dale left the room, brought the guitar and his MP3 player with him. He had burned his father’s songs onto the device as soon as they got back from the storage facility. He was itching to listen to them again, after playing the CD in his car, and felt a crazy urge to learn them. Though he would never completely know this other side of his father, he thought learning the songs, hearing the words would at least get him close. At least enough to see there had been more to the man than the stuffy banker who seemed to love work and money more than anything else. Even family. Sure, as a child, Dale had seen those glimpses of the old man, but nothing like the passion in these songs. He didn’t understand it. They seemed to have been written and performed by another person entirely. The voice that sung over the bluesy chords didn’t sound anything like his father, at least not at first. Dale couldn’t even imagine his father expressing himself with such raw honesty, such energy, such vulnerability.

He went out to the back deck and sat on the edge of one of the loungers. He laid the guitar case across his lap and opened it. A thin layer of dust covered the frets and body, but otherwise, the instrument looked okay. He balanced the guitar on his knee and used the fifth fret harmonic to tune. Once the guitar was tuned, he put his earbuds in and started listening to his father’s album.

He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and let the music drift over him, let it carry him away. He skipped back to the first song, played it on repeat, until he felt comfortable strumming along. Nothing sounded right. He tried various chords until he realized the song was in a different tuning. He tinkered with the knobs until he thought he found the right pitch and tried strumming again. The song started to make sense.


When Katie got home, she went to her bed and opened The Cosmic Heart, but exhaustion weighed down her eyelids and she was asleep in less than ten minutes. The comforter embraced her. She sunk into the mattress. With each beat of her heart, she slipped deeper into oblivion. A woman whispered somewhere in the room. All around the room. Right in Katie’s ear.

“At the center of the universe one heart beats…now its blood is diseased.”

The voice spoke the words in sync with Katie’s heartbeat. It reminded her of some kind of weird experimental song. The voice was at times soft, and other times sharp, threatening. Katie’s eyes snapped open. The room around her was dark.

“At the center of the universe…”

Thud-thud.

“…one heart beats…”

Thud-thud.

“…now it’s blood…”

Thud-thud.

“…is diseased.”

The voice harmonized itself, speaking the same words, but in different tones, creating a wall of oppressive sound. Katie’s heart slammed. She couldn’t move. She tried to scream, but her breath caught. She felt like she was choking.

“…now it’s blood…”

Thud-thud.

“…is diseased.”

She turned to her book case. All the tomes were bound in old leather. Titles printed in old English, some in languages she couldn’t understand. Other titles were glyphs, symbols she had never seen before, but resonated within her. She felt lost, but like she should know where she is and what is happening. Sparks ignited at the base of the shelf and the first row of books caught fire.

Unfinished, Unpublished, Unaccounted For (Part 1)

About a week and a half ago, I published a post called Bibliography in which I listed every book I’ve ever had published, along with some notes about each piece. It got a nice response and got me thinking about all the projects over the years that I either finished but never published or completely abandoned during the writing process. For brevity’s sake, I think the only way to do this properly is to only talk about books. If I also went into short stories in this category, we’d be here forever. What follows is Part 1 of a list of all my unpublished or unfinished books, from the time I started writing up to the present day. The best way to do this, I think, is to divide this post into three parts. The first will just be my childhood works. Part 2 will cover my teenage writings. Part 3 will be my adult pieces.

THE SKELETON: I wrote this when I was seven-years-old after seeing Stephen King’s Silver Bullet on Halloween night, an event which made me fall forever in love with the horror genre. I don’t remember a whole lot about the plot, if there was one, but basically there was a castle in which a skeleton resided. The titular villain killed anyone dumb enough to trespass on his abode. If I recall correctly, the castle overlooked an old European style village. This leads me to believe that maybe Silver Bullet wasn’t my first horror movie, because aesthetically, I pictured this book looking like Dracula, specifically the version starring Bela Lugosi. Maybe I did see some of the Universal monster movies, but nevertheless, the King movie was what made me want to write horror. I took a stack of copy paper, folded it down the middle, and basically made a chapbook (before knowing what a chapbook was). I put a few sentences of narrative on each page, along with some ink illustrations. I’m pretty sure I tried selling copies of this chapbook to neighbors for a buck a piece.

THE SKULL: I remember this a lot less clearly, except that I was inspired by the VHS cover to the movie Graveyard Shift and it precedes what would later develop into an obsession with floating head movies (Cemetery Man, Zombi 3). Maybe also worth mentioning is the fact that it has no relation to THE SKELETON, though it definitely was the second installment of my chapbook series. I guess that technically means these books aren’t exactly unpublished, but whatever; they’re out of print and definitely lost to the ether.

*Note: The chronological order of these next three or four is unclear. I’ll do my best.

SOMETHING: I think this was my first stab at a franchise. I planned four entries in the SOMETHING series. They were about a giant squid that kept coming back to attack a small town. I was definitely inspired by what little I knew of the Jaws movies (I wasn’t allowed to see them, but I had a working familiarity), the movie version of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Godzilla, and It Came from Beneath the Sea. There were submarines, cities leveled by tentacles, and damsels in distress. If I ever revisit this one (weirdly enough, writing this post makes me want to revisit all of this), I’d probably give it a different title. As before, the first book was released as one of my makeshift chapbooks. I don’t think the sequels ever got written, but I definitely drew covers for them. And no, I don’t have any of this artwork, unfortunately. Weirdly enough, I wanted to rework these a little bit after seeing the first two Alien movies. I planned the squids to evolve to also have arms and legs and heads that may or may not have been giant penises with teeth.

HAUNTED HOUSE: If you caught my interview on The Horror Show with Brian Keene, you already have a vague idea of what this book was about. Kids get caught in a haunted house inhabited by a clown that’s also a spider. The oldest kid starts dressing in black and wielding a samurai sword. The only original stroke I think I put was I had the clown bleed cotton candy. Still, this story captured my imagination for years, and it got me banned from show-and-tell in fourth grade.

SOMEONE WHO’S DEAD: Definitely one of my favorite titles I ever came up with. I don’t think I ever actually wrote this, so much as drew art for it. Basically, I had this guy who was like Freddy Krueger in that he kept coming back to kill new groups of kids, but for his look, I drew inspiration from the car accident victim on the cover of the original Pet Sematary film.

GRAVEDIGGERS: I don’t remember much except in the opening scene someone got their leg cut off and it upset my mom so I stopped writing it.

THE BOY AND HIS PET TIGER: I guess I wrote Life of Pi long before there was Life of Pi. It was definitely set in the jungle though, not on a boat.

VOYAGE OF A LIFETIME: A group of people travel to an island to explore and end up at odds with a reptilian guy who has an army of skeletons, zombies, and prehistoric crocodiles. Pretty cool.

WEREWOLF PARK: Jurassic Park but werewolves. No, I’m serious.

These were the standouts. I’m also pretty sure I wrote a sequel to The Blob called, IT’S THE BLOB! I know I wrote a shark story called IT (and proudly wrote a letter to Stephen King about my accomplishment). There was also a zombie story modeled after Night of the Living Dead, but the living souls were trapped in the undead bodies, and I had a lead zombie who looked like the grim reaper and carried around a cane. There was also a vampire book in there somewhere, but I don’t remember any other details.

This was fun. I think I may revisit these ideas now. Do a collection, maybe. Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3.