HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!...and a Thank You!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

Greetings to all my Friends!

How have you all been? Been busy as usual, so I haven't been posting as regualrly as I wanted to. To tell you the truth, I have no idea what to write about. I can post flash fitcion up every so often, but shouldn't a blog be about more than just stories? Maybe that's my problem, why I don't post much anymore. I have no clue what to post.

I suppose I could post a bunch of writing tips, throw out some advice. But what do I know? I mean honestly? What do I know about writing, what advice could I possible give that would really inspire?

I am published, I have learned many great things in the past couple years or so. But does that qualify me to give out advice? Maybe it does...I don't know. I try my best when approached with questions, and I think I help in some small way, but I think I should leave it to the pros. Folks such as: Charles Gramlich, Stewart Sternberg, Wayne Allen Salle, most everyone on my friends list, as a matter of fact. These are the people who know what they are talking about, and one must give them all a healthy ear. I have learn much from them all.

So now...I want to thank ALL my friends, everyone on that list to the right. Thank you ALL for guiding me, and giving me much needed adivce and support in the past. Thank you so much!

I will try to make my rounds and visit each of you. You are all the best.

Contest of Horrors

Hey Friends!

Long time no write! How are all of you? Hope you are all doing very well.

My friends over at Horror Library and Dark Recesses Press have a very cool contest going. If you'd like to participate, follow this link http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html. In these pages you will find stories from such writers as: Clive Barker, Bentley Little, among other great, great writers. These publications are the best in everything horror. So if you're a horror fan, please check this link http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html out and good luck!

Bad Days...

Hey Friends, you ever have a day at work when you wanted to literally kill someone, or at least maim horribly? I'm sure you have. Well, last night I had thee worst day at work. I'm a machinist by trade and the job entails one to be both crafty with their hands as well as their minds...kind of like a surgeon.

Anyway, it was that type of night when everything and anything went wrong. Sizes on the parts were off, robot was acting up, on and on with out end. One thing after another until it came to a point where I'd had enough.

I stepped away, angry, frustrated, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why can't I figure this out? I glared at the machine I run, and then turned away, disgusted with the job and the work.

My eyes strayed to my note book, where, I have begun a new novel. I stared at it for a long time before looking away. But found myself staring back at the notebook again, mystified by it.

Frowning, forgetting about my job, I sat down at the desk and opened the notebook to a clean page. I pressed the clicker on my pen, producing a ball point, and lowered the pen to paper.

The next ten minutes I was lost. Writing, writing, writing...

It wasn't until a buddy saw me there and tapped me on the shoulder did I realize how entranced I was with what I was writing. How deeply absorbed I'd become to allow everything else to fade away.

I came to, blinked, and looked up at my buddy. He smiled, shook his head and walked away.

My eyes found my notebook. It was then I discovered I had written a ten page short story that I vaguely remember writing.

It's gruesome, perhaps the goriest piece I've ever wrote. But there it was, a complete story.

After that, i felt better, I stood up, walked over to my machines (I run nine of them), and soon figured out my problem and got everything running smoothly again.

Sometimes writing can be like a trance, or a rest from the everyday pains of work and so on. A venting tool, per say. Perhaps, I suppose, that's how some writers stay sane...perhaps...

Day of the Dead: The Creeper

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERY ONE!

Here's a little something to bring out the chills in you...


The Creeper

By Lucas Pederson


A sound, something under the floor.

Listen...

There! Did you hear it? No? Listen again, closely this time. It's right under your feet.

Thud-thump.

See? I'm not crazy after all. At least I don't think I am. I'm sure you've heard a sound similar to that one, right? A strange sound in your house or apartment that you just couldn't explain. A noise in the dark. Bumps in the night. Sure you have. And...what if I was to tell you that it's not your water heater, or your furnace, or your central air unit? What if was to tell you that it's not an appliance of any kind?

What if I told you there's a monster under your floor? Right there under your feet as you read this. Yes. What if I told you that it's hungry? Would that unsettle you a bit? And if it doesn't, then what if I said it likes to creep out at night? Just wriggle that old floor board up and slip out into the gloom and creep around the place you live.

And...what if I say that tonight, Halloween, it plans to creep right up to your bed while you're sleeping? Its narrow red eyes will watch you as you dream. Maybe even its black tongue will slip from its serrated maw and lap at the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. Perhaps it'll sigh in ecstasy at the taste of you. Perhaps it'll want more.

Tonight it can have more. Tonight is Halloween, after all. Tonight...all the monsters come out of hiding.

So, I suggest, if you don't want this thing near your bed tonight, licking up your drool and perhaps seriously thinking of sinking its fangs into the soft flesh under your chin, then don't go home. Just stay clear of it, at least until Halloween is over.

If you don't, thud-thump, it just might creep under your blankets...and find you.

The End...


Hope you all have a safe, fun Halloween!

Hell Plate ----Flash #2

Hey, hey! Here's a bit of flash for Charles' freaky flash thing going on. Enjoy!


Hell Plate

Here it spewed from the cankerous maw of the earth and into the sky. The pillar of orange, the light of Hell.

Marcus shifted on his feet. They felt numb. His heart was beating too fast and his skin prickled with goose flesh. Save for himself, the plateau was an empty plate. His eyes water from the sulfur stench that huffed into his sweaty face.

He knew this night would come. He knew it would be Halloween. All things bad happen on Halloween. This year, however, would be the worst. This year was the rise of Beelzebub. Satan's second in command. The creature was too be loosed and begin it's awful plagues.

Marcus sighed, cleared his throat and slid his sword from its scabbard at his left hip. He hefted it and then glanced at the pillar. God give me strength, he thought.

The pillar split open. The odor or rot and sickness wafted to Marcus and he held his breath against it. Marcus wondered if God was watching, and decided that yes, He was watching. All Earthly Archangels were watched closely.

Then Beelzebub lurched from the orange pillar. A hunched, diseased thing, face festooned with warts that obscured its dark face. Long claws scraped the ground as it moved out of the pillar and into the night air. It lifted its misshapen head and howled at the moon.

"Beelzebub," Marcus growled.

The creature straightened, red eyes fixed on Marcus, shocked.

Marcus roared and sprinted at the monster.

In spite of its lurching and sickness, the thing moved with the speed of hummingbird. Swift and flit. It side stepped away from Marcus and swept a claw at him. It missed.

Marcus whirled, slashed his sword in a blinding arc. The beast yelped. Half of its warty face sloughed off and plopped wetly to the dirt and rock.

Shrieking, Beelzebub attacked.

But Marcus, being faster, ran his sword into the monster's sternum, twisted it, sliced upward.

He yanked the blade out and stepped away.

Beelzebub crumbled to the ground, wheezing, black blood poured out onto the rock of the plate.

Then the creature's movements stilled. Marcus lifted his sword, ready to decapitate, when a low growl sounded behind him. He knew that growl well.

"Celebus," he gasped.

Marcus turned, and was greeted by three sets of long silvery fangs.

Then he knew no more.

The Lesson

My Friends,

Well, I finally made it back again. I saw Charles has a Halloween flash fiction thing going aroudn and thought I'd post something to contribute. Not sure if I'll make anymore since I'm so busy with everything right now, but I'll try. And, as always, thank you for reading!


The Lesson
By Lucas Pederson

Humans say they see flying saucers, lights in the sky. They claim they have been abducted and probed. Most of these people are mad, some only confused. It is true we have ships, but they are nothing but machines designed for research and observation. And we have yet to abduct anyone, although we do need a sacrifice from time to time.
We travel to Earth, of course, but not in spaceships, for there is no need. Not when we can teleport by our will alone. Not when we hold magic, as it were, within us.
Witches. This is a word used by so many of you. And in their minds this is the truest of words, but not what we are exactly. We are…we are above mortal understanding let me say. Beyond what you are able to except and allow growing in your brain. But that is okay. There’s no need for you to understand or ponder.
Still, I stray from my point.
Through the centuries we have tried to co-exist with you. But you hanged us up on Gallows Hill. You hunted us down, you burned us alive. You beat us, tortured us, raped us, and we took it and moved on. We moved on, turning a blind eye to your demented actions.
Well…no more. Not after how we see your planet destroying itself. And no matter how much we sometimes consider you as our brothers and sisters we will not allow this to go on.
We would rather see you all turned to toads than continue on as you are. So we regretfully inform you that we have decided to take immediate action. And so we must.
Regretfully yours,
The United

I wrote the letter on regular notebook paper and transported it myself, with my power, to the President of the United States. There’s a joke. They call themselves united. Funny. Now I could feel the President’s shock at finding a document suddenly appear on his desk. Now I felt his eyes warily gliding over my superior script. I felt him shudder. Oh this should be great fun, indeed.
What I wrote had been true for the most part. Although it is not really The United’s plan to destroy humanity. It is not even my plan. But a few others and I are tired of this war begotten planet. The people have forgotten themselves and their true place in the universe. Which is small and actually unimportant, to be blunt. Save for a few individuals, earth is virtually worthless. Well, I have chosen to change that.
My own planet, Terrace, has yet to have a war. A duel here and there springs up from time to time, sure, but never a war. Wars accomplish nothing. And it is not a war I hope to inflict on humanity but fear. Their forgotten fears. I want to make them realize that they are not alone here, and are being watched carefully by forces they can not fathom. If a few die along the way, well, call it regrettable losses.
I slipped into my black duster, conjured an identity spell to hide my true appearance and left my little house in the Iowa country to begin our plan.
Humans are smart creatures, and perhaps they would get this message loud and clear. If not, well then it won’t end for them. Trick…or treat? We shall see. Yes we shall.
The air this Halloween night chilled me to the bone, yet it gave me a sense of refreshment. A wondrous, lovely feeling. The streets were alive and jumping madly.
Ghosts and ghouls, Spider-men, and yes, even witches zipped and zoomed from door to door. All bellowing cheerily:
“Trick or Treeet!” I could not help the smile that lifted on my unreal face. Cute.
But it’s the young ones we must drill the fear into before their parents, unfortunately. The children always get the message, and if caught at the right moment they will remember it forever.
A little boy dressed in a Superman costume, Shane his name was, sprinted passed me, giggling. I giggled back and with a twitch of my right finger his plastic pumpkin, nearly brimming with candy and sweets, jerked out of his hand and flew off as if it were alive. It swooshed passed me and then rocketed into the glittering night sky. I turned to look at the boy with his red cape and blue spandex and saw him standing there, gaping, eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect “O” of surprise.
I chuckled and continued down the first street on the north side of town.
I was soon joined by two others, my closest companions no less. Together we conjured a real spirit, or ghost for want of a better word, and sent it floating and bellowing to every child on the street. Shrill screams exploded through the air, and my companions and I laughed.
Mickili, the voodoo specialist of the three of us, reanimated two dead bodies from their graves. Not bodies buried in a graveyard, but two teenagers who had been murdered some ten years ago and thrown in shallow graves in a slightly wooded area near the town’s park. Mickili sent them to wander and groan up and down this street.
More screams erupted; some were adults I might add. And so it had begun…
The dead walked, spirits drifted and haunted, boogiemen hid under porches, in trash cans, mail boxes, the shadows. Reaching out for whatever wandered into their territory. Reaching out and grabbing with charred black claws.
Panic blew through the town like a deadly wind.
“The world is at an end! Repent! Repent your sins brothers and sisters!” A short chubby preacher bawled.
Sick of his loud screechy voice, I turned him into a bat and sent him to flutter over hysterical humans, those still out on the streets. Most had already sought shelter in their homes. Little did they know what grotesque horrors awaited them in their own houses.
Sparks sputtered from my lips as I ran my tongue out and licked them. Yes. This was delicious. Simply yummy. Human fear, it is unbeatable, a constant.
A little girl, Mary was her name, seven years old, ran into me, screaming for help. I grinned down at her, blinked and suddenly she was cart-wheeling in the air above my head. Then I set her to rest at the top of the town’s courthouse. There, no harm done. No harm. And as far as I could tell there was no harm being done to anybody. A few scrapes and bruises so far, and that was their own doing. Panic is a madness, you see, one that consumes all rational thought. But, oh, they were learning now weren’t they? Yes, yep, sure. All over the world they were learning.
“Now.” I whispered to myself.
“Let them see a real witch.”
I spoke a single word in my native tongue…and my human disguise melted away. I have never known what I look like, for if I gaze into a mirror I become trapped inside, where magic will not free me. A draw back to being what we are. But according to the people in the street, I must be absolutely hideous indeed. They saw me, each and every one, and oh how the shrieked in horror.
I thrust an index finger at a man on his stoop and pointing a shotgun at me. The gun immediately slithered to life like a serpent and then twisted itself around the man’s wrist. He bellowed. I laughed and continued on.
Candy littered every street I visited. Here a fun size Snickers bar, there a packet of Skittles. Everywhere! Humans darted every which way. Some simply gaping at the freakishness of me and my fellowship, most being chased by either zombies or ghosts or being dive bombed by large bats. All the Halloween tricks, by the stars.
Something painful struck my back and I whirled to see a stout man with short gray hair throwing stones.
“Go back to hell, Devil!” He cried and hurled another rock at me.
I held up one hand or claw as humans see it, and the stone froze in mid air about a foot from my face. My eyes moved from it to the man named Greg. I grinned and he flinched. I blinked and the stone reversed itself back to Greg…and smashed in his face with such a force I heard the collision, a flat thock! sound, clearly through all the mayhem and screaming and gunshots.
Greg toppled to the pavement and laid still, blood pooling around his head and ruined face.
I glanced at my fellowship and they glared back in stark disapproval. I could only shrug. The man had meant to kill me with those crude stones. And besides, he called me the Devil of all things. Of course I had never thought that they might conceive me as their devil, for what I was doing and what I looked like, until much later.
A car, red, sporty, skidded around a corner up ahead, slued and aimed itself right at us.
“No harm.” Spoke Velim, one of our Druid specialists.
“No harm.” I repeated. And I meant it. Greg had been a spur of the moment mistake.
I clapped my hands together once and all four tires exploded. The speeding car skidded, lost control and before it made oatmeal out of five children clustered and terrified near a shrub, I snapped my fingers. The car stalled and sparked to a sideways halt only a couple feet from the cowering children. Leaving them untouched.
“No harm.” I said yet again.
I felt more than saw my companions nodding in approval.
And so the night went on, without further casualties I might add. We terrified, horrified, and taught them the lesson of their lives.
The next day I sat in my house in the country, watching the morning news. The man on the television looked frazzled, eyes wary and blood shot, his hair a disarray. His face stood tainted by grime before the cameras.
“Last night all over the world something happened.” This frightened man said, his face grim, but very alert, watchful.
“Something unexplainable and frightening for all of us.” The newsman continued.
“This brings a new meaning to Halloween here in the United States…as well as the entire world. We all know now that ghosts exist, that the dead can walk, that monsters are real…that we are not alone here.”
And there it was. I smiled and let go a long sigh of relief. It was a start. Now they all know they are not alone in this world. Now they know what true fear is, now they are awake to things that go bump in the night. We are here and here we will stay…forever.


The End

The Dark

Friends! How are ya? Well, here's a poem I just wrote up about an hour ago and decided to share it with you. Enjoy.


The Dark

Are you afraid of the dark?
You should be...
Things that gibber in the night under your bed
what devilish things under our beds
Things that smack liver colored lips in
The Dark
In the Darkness of our closests
Our minds
They unravel to the knowledge
Are we blind to the signs?
I wonder...
Think about the dark
Think hard about what lurks beyond the foot of
your bed
It is not all in your head...
Careful of the slumping beast in the corner
It is not a bundle of blankets
Can you not see the eyes?
They glare yellow from the shadows...
In The Dark...
So, be afraid
be wary,
bite your lower lip
to quell its trembling...
Be afriad of The Dark....

Coming Soon to the Blog Near YOU!

My Friends!

How have you all been? Lol. I've been busy as hell for the past few months. I'm a reader for Dark Recesses Press (if you are a horror writer I'd definitly check this magazine out if I were you), a horror/ dark fiction magazine and PDF. So I'm reading, writing crazily...having fun.

I think I'll be having some time to cacth up with everyone here...of course I've said that before...lol. Seriously, I will be around more often now. So, if I haven't lost any of you yet...please say hello.

Heads Will Roll

Hi to all my Friends!

Well, here I am. It's been a while, yet again. All I can do is say I'm sorry. I'm not neglecting all of you, just caught up in a world of craziness. I just got accepted into another anthology. It's called Vault X. Pays 2 cents per word plus split royalties. But that doesn't matter much to me. It's another writing credit. Someone wanted my work, and it's a great feeling when someone wants to publish your work.

So, lets see...that would make it number eleven on my pub list. The fourth acceptance this year so far. The fourth to pay and the sixth to be in print. Heads will ROLL by God! Lol. I'm still in awe that it's finally happening. I'm finally published, finding it easier and eaiser to write better. To be fresh and crisp and alive...like a red apple still on the tree. All I can say is that I'm having the time of my life.

As for what I'm up to right now, well, the group novel is out of hiatus and back in progess again. This is a really fun project and I can't wait to see what its like altogether. My novel is moving along, sometimes in long bounds...most in short spurts and coughs. But its moving, there's that. Lol.

Well, I'll leave you to it...writing and life as you know it. Be happy, all of you. Always be happy...

Excerpt of group novel! Lookit!

Hey all my Friends!
Here's a little taste of what I've been working on lately. I decided to let each writer create their own character for the novel and write a complete chapter of him/or her. What follows is some of mine. Your thoughts woould be good. Thanks!

Chapter 1: Blake Olson

Tilting his head to the night sky, eyes fixing for a moment on the fat, bright moon and then shifting away, Blake brought the bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon to his lips and knocked back a couple heavy swigs. When done, he hissed out a long, hot sigh, and rested the bottle on his right knee.

Beside his lawn chair, lying lifelessly on the dewy grass, his dog, Pepper, a mutt if ever there was one, began to snore. Back in the house, Rowdy would already be in bed, fast asleep and dreaming whatever kids dreamed about these days. But then again, Rowdy wasn’t your average kid. Blake had never known a person with so much imagination. And talent! Christ! The kid had the talent of Da Vinci, with a dash of Todd McFarland thrown in for good measure.

Rowdy also had Downs Syndrome. And that was too bad. To Blake it seemed like such a waste, because, folks with Downs, or any other mental challenges, would never be accepted in today’s world of low carb diets, glamour shots and Deal or No Deal. Blake sighed, eyes returning to the moon.

“Well, Pepp,” he said and lit a cigarette. “Here we are again. Two bachelors just kickin back and watching the moon. Feels good, huh?”

Pepper let loose a bubbly fart in response and went on snoring.

Blake glanced down at the dog, then threw back his head and brayed laughter into the night air.

Across the street, the bedroom window of his friend and neighbor, Ralph Ramsey, flickered alight.

“Uh-oh,” Blake managed when he saw and continued to donkey laugh himself into heavy wheezing.

Something that felt like steel bands clamped around his chest and the wheezing thickened. Phlegm built up in his windpipe, threatening to drown him alive. The cigarette dropped from his hand, landed on Pepper, bounced off. Pepper didn’t notice. The bottle of Wild Turkey spilled from Blake’s lap and toppled to the ground, gurgling out its brownish contents. Blake doubled over, breath shallow, filled with phlegm. He groped for the right pocket of his jeans. Reddish blobs burst before his watery eyes.

He shoved his trembling hand into the pocket, and yanked out an albuterol inhaler. He felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. Someone was telling him to just take it easy, and breathe damn it, breathe…He pulled off the cap of the inhaler, his vision blurring, fading, stuck the mouth piece between his lips, pushed down the cylinder as he sucked in what little air he could. He did it again, and again. Finally, the medicine took hold, and his wheezing softened, the steel bands around his chest loosened slowly, the phlegm trickled down his throat. The hand on his shoulder eased, dropped away, and Blake fell back in his hair, taking long, slow breaths, eyes closed. As always, after a bout like that, he felt drained and embarrassed, weak and inferior.

My lungs, he thought. My fucking weak ass lungs.

Then—“You stupid sonofabitch,” a man’s voice, old but strong, quaked him from the inside out. He knew that voice right away, as he had known whose hand it had been on his shoulder. Ralph. Ralph Ramsey. When he opened his eyes, Ralph was standing in front of him, frowning in the gloom.

“Hey Ralph,” Blake breathed.

The old man’s face contorted into what appeared to be frustration. “Don’t ‘Hey Ralph’ me, you nit-wit. What are you doing smoking when you know you’re not supposed to?”

Blake shrugged.“Seemed like a good thing to do at the time,” he said. Ralph rolled his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was like thunder. “You’re killing yourself, kid! Can’t you see that?”

Blake chuckled; the bourbon was really kicking in now. Ralph appeared to be wavering where he stood.“Monkey see, monkey do,” Blake said, and laughed.

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna be one dead monkey if you don’t watch it. And what about Rowdy? What’s gonna happen to him if you go? Ever think of that?” Ralph said.

Now the old man seemed to be dancing, bopping and jiving in front of Blake. The world around them began to spin like one of those old record players. Slow at first, but gaining speed.Blake opened his mouth to respond, but instead of speaking, vomited into his lap.

“Christ, kid,” Ralph said.Blake leaned forward, vomited again. And then the spinning world faded away. He hung in darkness.

2
He floated in the darkness. But it was the darkness of his nightmares now. He jostled, floated, like a human bobber on a wavy lake. Floated, jostled, floated, bobbed. Blake knew he was in his nightmares again. He knew it, but had no power to wake his outer-self up. Besides, his nightmares wouldn’t allow such an easy escape so early in the game. His nightmares were real pricks, to be honest. Real fuck-a-roos.

Blake swam, bobbed, glanced around. He knew they’d be coming, yet he felt calm about it. He always felt calm until they actually came. Was that madness? To feel calm in an unstill darkness, knowing evil things were about to emerge, claws outstretched, fangs gnashing? Maybe, but what else could he do? How else should he feel? Sure, okay, he could be scared shitless, but this wasn’t the first time his nightmares have stolen the real world from under him. Or was this the real world? Jesus, he didn’t know anymore. Since Rowdy’s and his parents died, run over by a semi crossing the street downtown, he wasn’t sure how to feel about anything. He was twenty-five, and had his own apartment over in what Masonites called “The Old Town”, had a great job writing for the local paper.

Then his parents were killed, and there was no one to take care of Rowdy.Now, twenty-seven, working two jobs, one still at the paper, the other working the night shift at a steel fabrication company just outside of town, and living in his parents house again, he wondered if this was his punishment for letting them die? Of course it was. Hadn’t been he who wanted them to check out a new apartment downtown because he was too busy to do it himself? Yep. Check mate. Do not pass Go. And what was the real truth why he couldn’t look at the apartment? Why, the ghost, of course; the ghost that haunted his apartment building. The one that liked to yank the blankets off him every time he was about to doze off. So he had been tired. Blake had slept through his parents’ death. He didn’t know anything, except how to work, get drunk, smoke, and take care of his kid brother.

In other words, he knew how to kill himself. In the dark, Blake shivered.The first one slipped out of the wavy dark, shrieking his name, red eyes slanted downward in an ominous glare, long fangs bared. IT moved swiftly to him. And here was Blake’s cue to start screaming. The second emerged, crocodile maw snapping, ragged talons lashing the oily air. Blake’s scream never wavered and real horror burst through his dream self, freezing him in the dark waves of his nightmares.

The third swept in, and he was consumed by their brutality. His skin was ripped from his body, slashed off with every sweep of a claw. His muscles were torn from the bones, his eyes poked out by sharp talons. The pain, the sheer agony, the horror, blasted through him as he was torn apart like shucked corn. He screamed…

Blake snapped awake, bringing the scream back with him to the real world, the outside world. He sat bolt upright in his bed. Yes. He was in his bed now, in his room. Sunlight shined in through the drapes over his bedroom window, bathing him in a dull yellowish color like a nicotine stain.

Sweat oiled his face and body, soaked the sheet covering him.